Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginning's End

Closing time, every new beginning
Comes from some other beginning's end — Dan Wilson, Semisonic

I put down my keys and badge, closed the door, and walked to my car. I felt the weight of my shift with every step. It ended with what has become an all too familiar heartache. Another life was lost to senseless violence. It was a fitting end to my (almost) four years as a hospital chaplain. In that time, I’ve seen horrors I will never unsee. Serving in this role has been beautiful and terrible, life-giving and life-taking, healing and hurtful. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Being a chaplain has forever shaped how I want to live, love, and serve people… ALL people. So often, I stepped into intimate spaces of grief and loss with people, not knowing what to say or do, only to discover that the divine was already present and caring for their deepest needs. My job was simply to direct them to God’s healing, holy, light-bringing presence. Sometimes I even did that well.

As I move into a different position, serving again as a pastor in a congregation, many people have asked what my role will look like. What will my responsibilities be? I have plenty of ideas and expectations, but if my time as a chaplain has taught me anything, it is not to let my plans, agenda, or expectations become more important than showing up and loving people well. Listen more than I talk. Don’t let what I have to say or do stand in the way of helping others feel seen and heard. So, I know what my job description says, but I don’t fully know what my work will become apart from listening well, holding space, and accompanying people along the way.

Others have asked what this change means for my creative work. Will I keep writing, playing music, speaking, and traveling? Yes. That work will continue for the rest of my life. Every season shapes that part of my work in new and unique ways. I’m eager to discover more of what that looks like. I do know I will keep writing. Writing is how I think. Sharing in narrative form helps me make sense of what I see and experience. It helps me know what questions I’m asking. This substack page (BrianSpahr.substack.com) will remain the primary location for my ongoing short-form publishing. I also have two new books I’m working on, one I’ll be ready to share more about soon. I won’t be traveling as much as I have in 2023. One of my significant commitments in this new season is to be HOME. Working second shift for the last two years has made it difficult to be as present with my family as I prefer (and they deserve). I will still travel some as my schedule, and commitment to my family first allows. Look for lots of new music ahead. On the near horizon is a new single/music video. I’ve also been invited later this month to appear on “Meet the Music” with WBOI Indiana Public Radio. That session will be recorded in both audio and video formats. Finally, I plan on recording all the songs from this season of touring Don’t You Care That We Are Drowning? with some stellar musicians to release in early 2024. Fear not, dear reader/listener. There is much creative work to come.

As I closed the door and walked away from the hospital Saturday night, my eyes blurred with tears. As I descended to the parking level on the elevator, my thoughts went to my co-workers and friends. What extraordinary work they do. What an honor it was to serve alongside them for a time. They aren’t heroes, although some people refer to them that way. I think calling them heroes implies they have superpowers. They don’t. No, they are skilled, studied, caring people who show up in places where not everyone is willing to go. Every day. They are ordinary people who do extraordinary work. Many of them are overqualified, undervalued, and underpaid. Few people will ever know or remember their names. But what amazing humans they are. I am forever grateful to have been their co-worker for a time.

I may have laid down my badge and keys, but I will always be a chaplain. #chaplainlife