Finding Confidence and Claiming Identity

Last April, I wrote about an event I witnessed at the Subway near my church.  An older, deaf man collapsed while in front of me in line.  As other people around me rushed to fulfill positions (a medical professional ran to his aid, someone grabbed a chair for the man, the Subway worker called 911), I stood there, wondering what to do.  Here is what I wrote about this:

What was my role in this moment?  As a pastor, did I have a task I should be doing?  Should I comfort the wife, who was standing by her husband looking frightened and confused?  That would require pushing through the throng which surrounded the man in the chair.  I didn't know her, and she didn't know me.  There was nothing about me that identified me as a pastor, as a person who seeks ways to help.

I've been thinking about this story a lot as I've been getting used to my role as a chaplain at the children's hospital.  Reading this story again, I realize that yes, I could have gone to the wife and introduced myself to her.  I could have held her hand as others cared for her husband.  I could have - but the me of last April would not have done, and did not do that.

What I was missing at that moment was not only confidence in myself, but confidence in my identity.  Sure, it's easy to identify yourself as a minister when you're in your church, or even when you're at a church event outside the building.  But to do so outside of the church, in a completely secular place with people I did not know...that required me to be comfortable and confident in my position as a pastor in the world.  And I was lacking that confidence at that time./

I didn't know it then, but looking back it is so incredibly clear.  I wasn't confident about others seeing me as a minister.  I wasn't confident in claiming that identity among "normal" people.  I wasn't ready to witness their reaction, to wait to see if they would accept me in that identity, or if they would laugh at me and turn away.  I wasn't confident.

To be a chaplain requires confidence in self, and confidence in identity.  When you walk into a room, you do not know the people, and the people do not know you.  There is nothing to identify you as a chaplain, other than your badge (in tiny print).  YOU must identify yourself.  YOU must have the confidence to claim that identity and tell it to those you are visiting.  If you can't claim that identity, then you'll never make it into the room.  There will be people who deny you that identity, who say "You're too young, too female."  There will be people who do not want you to have that identity.  But having that confidence of identity makes you strong enough to risk hearing their denial.  Because you believe in your identity, and others have celebrated that identity that you claim.

I was terrified walking into rooms the first few times I did it.  I'll admit - I'm still a little terrified.  But each time I walk into a room and introduce myself as "Nicole, one of the chaplains," I become a little more comfortable, a little more confident.  And having that confidence allows me to care for those in the room.

If I were to return to that Subway with the experience and confidence I have now, I know what I would do.  I would put my hand on the wife's shoulder and say to her, "My name is Nicole, and I'm a pastor.  Is there anything I can do for you?"

Community

There is something so wonderful about sitting with a group of friends and talking. It doesn't matter if the discussion is being led, or if it comes and goes as the group wills it; what matters is that we are gathered together in this time, at this place. What matters is the moment and the community.
A while ago I joined a knitting group. The group meets in a coffee shop on Wednesday nights for three hours, talking and laughing and enjoying the time away. Many of the group are young mothers; some have demanding jobs. It was clear to me from the start that most of the members of this group came to knitting as an escape, an away place, a time where things were different.
I came to the group for similar reasons. Being in seminary while working in a church means that almost all the time you are surrounded by one type of person: religion geeks. And that is exhausting. And so I came to that group on Wednesday nights to escape my real life and be with people who did not talk about church.
It was a different kind of community for me. These women were so varied, ao different, yet they shared a commonality in their love of fiber arts. The group gave me a space to find myself, to find my identity outside the student, the youth minister, the preacher. I was able to find my identity as a knitter.
I believe it is important that we make room for community time jn our lives. Not just the communities we are a part of every day, but communities that are made up of different kinds of people. In my knitting group I was able to meet people whose lives were drastically different than mine, and I could appreciate them for those differences. I was able to see beyond my church and school walls to the world outside. And none of this would have happened without my knitting.
Knitting allowed me to connect with these women, to find a point of familiarity and engage in conversation. And from conversation about projects and yarn and technique, we were able to move forward to conversations about favorite movies, family, and more. From such a simple starting place, we were able to connect and create a community.