During my seminary days, I was a hospital chaplain one summer.  Unfortunately, I drew my first night on call over Memorial Day weekend.  University Hospital was the Level III trauma center for Central Kentucky, so all the gunshot victims, car accident survivors, and drug overdoses came to our Emergency Room.

As I reported for duty, one of the nurses warned me it would be a busy night.  “It’s Memorial Day weekend and a full moon,” she said.  “Plus, it will stay in the 80’s tonight.  That’s three strikes.  Don’t expect to get any rest tonight.”  She was right.

I had been on duty for about an hour when the first accident victims came in.  There were screams of pain as the doctors and nurses swarmed around the stretchers.  The man had a broken leg; the woman had lacerations to her head and fractured ribs.  At the appropriate time (after they gave them something for the pain), I prayed with them.  They both told me their accident was a wake-up call from God.  They were stitched up, put in casts, and discharged.  I hope they stayed awake for God.

The next trauma case was two guys in a bar fight.  Lots of stitches.  Other folks were in the ER waiting room with various aches and pains.  One man had an ice bag he held against his head.

It was about 9:00 PM when I was paged up to Labor and Delivery.  There was a woman in the stirrups, sweating and panting.  An anxious young man by her side looked at me and asked, “Are you the preacher?”  I told him yes, deciding this was not the moment to distinguish between “chaplain” and “preacher.”  He said, “We want to get married.”  She let out a soft moan.  I replied, “That’s probably a good idea.”  He looked at me as if I wasn’t getting the message.  “Can you do it now?” he asked.  She moaned again, a little louder this time. 

Never in my short ministerial career had I been asked to perform a wedding with such urgency.  I asked if they had a license.  This earnest young man, in all sincerity, asked, “You need a license to get married?”  I explained being married in the eyes of God and in the eyes of the state, but I kept my explanation short.  The woman’s moans were louder and coming more often.  It turned out he wanted to be sure the baby had his last name.  When he discovered they could give the baby his last name without being married, his anxiety diminished. 

It was midnight when I made it back down to the ER.  I was walking by a gurney when a resident grabbed me and said, “Hold this guy down.”  They were about to do a gastric lavage to see if there was internal bleeding.  I watched as they sliced open the man’s skin, then inserted a tube to see if there was any blood.  This particular ministerial duty was not covered in seminary.  I had dreams about that procedure for a long time.  Once they packed off the tube, the resident tapped me on my shoulder and said, “Nice work, Chap.”  That was the only time I have ever been praised for my skill of holding people down.

I looked in on a drug addict who was in restraints.  He was coming off a bad trip and didn’t want to talk to the chaplain. 

In another bay, there was a body with a sheet over it.  The doctor saw me and said, “Come with me, Chap.  I’m about to tell the family he didn’t make it.”  We walked into the consultation room, and I saw the anxious eyes of the family scan the doctor’s face.  They were crying before he started to speak.  He told them the nature of the injuries, and how they had tried to save their loved one.  But, the doctor said, he succumbed to his injuries.  An old man, maybe the deceased’s father, said, “What does “succumbed” mean?  The doctor hesitated and it fell to me to say, “It means he passed away.”  Tears ran down the old man’s face.  I prayed with the family, knowing my words would not take away the pain.  They had started the day with plans and chores and before the next day dawned, their lives had changed forever.  The family’s pastor showed up shortly thereafter, and it was plain to see he was better able to minister to that family than I was.

At about 2:00 AM a young girl was brought in to have her stomach pumped.  She had swallowed a bunch of pills to prove a point to her boyfriend.  When I talked to her, she said she couldn’t believe she was so stupid.  She hadn’t really wanted to kill herself; she just wanted him to pay attention to her. 

There were a few more car accident victims that night, one burn case from someone whose grill got away from him (who grills at 3:00 AM?).  Around 5:00 AM, things started to slow down.  The guy with the gastric lavage had the tube removed and was headed upstairs to a room.  The drug overdose guy let me pray with him.  I checked back with the couple in Labor and Delivery.  The baby had arrived and was doing fine.  There was no further mention of marriage.

My relief showed up at 8:00 AM and I went back to my dorm room, exhausted.  Before I drifted off to a fitful sleep, I thought about all I had seen on that hot, full-moon night.  This thought crossed my mind: Jesus loved every one of those people I saw.  He loved the accident victims, the drug overdose girl, the odd couple in Labor and Delivery, the guy who didn’t make it, his family, plus all the doctors and nurses, and the very tired student chaplain.  He was at work in each of those lives.  The hot, full-moon night didn’t chase him away.