Pandemic Reflection: Spiritual Counselors Do What it Takes to Create a Sacred Space

Providing spiritual care during the early months of the COVID-19 pandemic was frightening, challenging, and extraordinary. Little, if anything, seemed ordinary. It demanded flexibility, innovation, determination, trust, and a whole lot of faith – faith in science and personal protective equipment (PPE), faith in my colleagues, and faith that the Divine would calm my fears enough so I could fulfill my role.

As a hospice spiritual counselor, it is my privilege to provide a sacred space of listening and a calm presence that promotes open and safe conversations. My goal is to help patients and their families find comfort in their faith or in their understanding of life and death, to allow them to experience moments of hope and compassion during their end-of-life journeys.

Since I work primarily with people living in nursing homes, the pandemic presented extraordinary challenges to providing that sacred space. During the first few weeks of lockdown in Spring 2020, the doors of those facilities were closed to all but our nurses, and very few allowed our hospice aides to continue to provide care. Almost every facility was overwhelmed with residents exposed to, sick with, or dying from this novel virus that was spreading like wildfire. I could no longer sit with patients and families while holding hands or talking through fears and worries. I couldn’t play recordings of my patients’ favorite songs or offer them a blessing or prayer. The focus and methods for accomplishing the work shifted dramatically.

Helping our hospice co-workers

Supporting the staff who continued to visit patients in person became a high priority. At weekly team meetings, a spiritual counselor offers a moment of inspiration through a poem, prayer, or story to lift the spirits of our co-workers. As the pandemic raged, once a week wasn’t nearly enough, so daily an inspiration piece from a spiritual counselor was sent to the entire staff.  Reaching out to my nurse colleagues, who in turn supported our courageous aides, became essential as they had to work through their fears, repeatedly don PPE, and care for patients in facilities ravaged by the virus. These were the people who rolled beds to windows so families could see their loved ones and speak to them through the glass before they died. These were the brave souls who sat with patients, ensured their comfort, and used a telehealth phone app so families could see and speak to their dying loved one. 

So, I called my colleagues and I asked, “How are you?” We talked about the compassionate and expert care they were deeply committed to providing amid the fear and the sadness. And I called the families, who were angry and frustrated at being locked out, fearful of the virus, and filled with grief while not being able to be with their loved ones. And I asked, “How are you?”  And I listened.

Adapting to provide spiritual care 

As the weeks moved on, it was those brave nurses who enabled me to begin to provide spiritual care to our shared patients and families. They brought me into rooms on the little phone screen via telehealth apps. At first, many patients didn’t understand what it was all about. But my eyes filled with tears that first time a Catholic patient and I prayed the “Hail Mary” together and in perfect unison.

When nursing homes began to open their doors to spiritual counselors, it was one of those brave nurses who met me at the entrance to a facility to ensure I knew how to put PPE on correctly. I had to summon the courage to quelch my own fears so I could be a calm, non-anxious presence to a COVID+ patient. Yelling through a mask and face shield to be heard, holding a hand with gloves on, memorizing Scripture passages and poems so nothing extra need be brought into the room, became a new norm.

It became a new norm, but it never became comfortable. One time I was assigned to visit a patient in a COVID+ unit that was quarantined behind a plastic curtain. Prior to entering the unit, I was told to put on a complete Tyvek suit from head to toe, plus a face mask, face shield, and gloves. One of our dedicated social workers was with me and we did our best to calm each other’s fears. We unzipped the curtain, entered the unit, heard coughing as we walked the hallway, and entered our patient’s room. While we did our best to introduce ourselves and explain that we were there to support and care for him, I wondered how awful it must have felt when every person you encountered was dressed as we were. How do you offer sacred space when the barrier feels so thick, and you’re supposed to stay six feet away? It seemed important that he know he was not alone, and that if people could not be with him, his God would never leave his side. 

Providing spiritual care during the pandemic has been extraordinary. The pandemic changed how we do some things. Zoom meetings, talking with people while standing six feet apart or through masks, regular testing, wearing gloves and washing hands vigorously, using telehealth apps…we’ve become used to it.  Yet, there are some things the pandemic could not change: my profound respect for my colleagues and that call from the Divine to create sacred space so that faith, hope and compassion can slowly and steadily surface.

Spiritual support is one part of the multidimensional care the Care Dimensions offers our hospice patients and their families. Learn more about our hospice care team and services.

About the author

Rev. Beth Loughhead is an ordained American Baptist minister. She earned her B.A. from Kalamazoo College in Michigan and M.Div. from Harvard Divinity School. She served at the headquarters for the American Baptist Churches, USA, for five years, and as a minister of the First Baptist Church in Beverly for 29.5 years. She has been a spiritual counselor with Care Dimensions since January 2019.