I walk
into the room knowing little more than a name and age. Standing in front of the door, I check the
information one more time, to make sure I do not say the wrong name. I look at the room number, then at the scribbles
in my notebook. Yes, it is the right
room. The patient has been in the hospital
for a few days and was referred to me by a nurse. No reason given; just a suggestion that this
patient might appreciate a visit.
Entering the room, my eyes immediately assess what is in front of me: an
African American patient in his late thirties lying in a bed, IVs and other
wires attached to him. The blinds are
closed over the windows, leaving the room dark and stuffy. A TV blares from the wall. As I step into the room, I take a moment to
wash my hands in the antibacterial gel provided in each room, my heart pounding
slightly. I walk forward toward the
patient, trying to empty my mind of the worries that accompany me on many of my
visits
I find
myself in this situation each time I go to work, preparing to encounter a
patient and controlling the nerves that are my companion. A little more than a year ago, the idea of
walking into a stranger’s room to talk to them would have terrified me. In fact, it did terrify me when I began working as a chaplain. I would pace up and down the hall before
gathering the courage to walk into the room and introduce myself. Slowly, with practice and experience, my
confidence grew. But entering a room and assessing the situation remained a
struggle.
Not
long into my career as a chaplain, I attended a seminar with the hospital’s
clowns. The clowns are employed by the
hospital to provide care and bring joy to the children. In the seminar, the clowns spoke passionately
about the similarities between clowning and chaplaincy. Both require immediate response to the
situation presented when we walked into a room.
Both provide care to the patient with the intent of helping them through
a difficult time. In clowning and
chaplaincy, they told us, we must respond immediately, and from our
hearts. If we got caught up in our heads
too much, we weren’t able to provide the immediate care that was required.
That
idea held with me as I drove home following the seminar. I remembered how difficult it was for me to
walk into many patients’ rooms. I
remembered how, sometimes, I had to pace up and down the hall before stepping
into the room for a “cold call” visit. I
realized that in those moments, my brain was working overtime. Instead of responding to the situations with
my heart, I got caught up in my head. I
imagined my mind whirring like a great bunch of cogs, but making little
progress for all the work it was doing.
This
was the problem I was having, I realized.
It was the problem I had with visits, and the thing that was holding me
back during my ordination interviews. I
decided to take an improv class.
I am
not a person who enjoys standing in front of people and talking. My first experience preaching was
terrifying. I am not a performer by
nature. So, the idea of taking improv
went against the very core of who I saw myself as. Yet, I thought it was important to try it out
and see what I could learn. After all,
it was only a seven week class, and if I was terrible at it, I didn’t have to
invite anyone to the final showcase.
The
first few classes were both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. I learned how to not be nervous when walking
out in front of an audience. I found
that when I did not prepare for a scene by coming up with a starting line, but
instead walked out with nothing in my head, I was more confident and present in
the scene. This was demonstrated to me
one day in class when we did a particularly challenging activity. One by one, we stood in front of the class
and make up a character on the spot, speaking as that character. For several minutes, we would monologue,
until our instructor called out “Next!”
Then, we would switch, creating another character entirely. There was no
time to plan out characters, no time to think through what we would say
next. By my second character, my brain
was working overtime, whirring and churning with no results. But by the final character, my mind was empty
and as I spoke, the character sprang fully formed from my mind. When you are able to stand in front of a
group of friends and create characters on the spot with no prior planning,
walking into a room to visit patients seems easy.
Improv
taught my mind to be quiet, something I had never learned before. It was the opposite of what I learned in literature
classes where we processed and analyzed and thought things through. It was even the opposite of what I had
learned in pastoral care classes, where we were taught theories and systems and
family structures that put reason behind people’s actions. I spent nearly four years in school learning
to process and analyze so that when it came time to do the work, it would be
second nature. Improv quieted my mind
and opened my heart, allowing it to speak, untethered for the first time in a
long time. And what I discovered was
that my heart knew what to say. My heart knew
how to respond, without needing my brain to process and analyze.
Improv is
an incredible gift to my ministry. It gives
me the confidence that I lacked and the knowledge that I can do this. After all, there is little you can’t do after
you’ve stood in front of strangers and played make-believe.
Please consider contributing to my GoFundMe page, where I am raising money to take level three improv. Thank you!
Please consider contributing to my GoFundMe page, where I am raising money to take level three improv. Thank you!
