Let the Little Children Come
As I reflect on the words “Let the little children come to me and don’t hinder them for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven” (Luke 18:15–17), I envision the golden gates of heaven being thrown open and little children everywhere running around with the purest joy you can imagine. Big smiles, no earthly ailments to hinder their physical abilities. I imagine the happiest moment in my life, but instead of just reliving that one moment, it’s a feeling that never ends. But today, this scripture has a whole different personal meaning when I hear it.
I have recited that scripture verse countless times, especially in my context as a pediatric chaplain in the nation’s largest pediatric hospital – I primarily cover a 162-bed Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (or NICU for sort). If you told me when I started my chaplain journey ten years ago to guess how many times I would recite that scripture, one held so dearly to me, my guess would be way off.
When many people hear of Neonatal Intensive Care, all they picture is cute babies. But I’ve seen the sickest of the sick little ones, and I’ve navigated many tough conversations as parents and families have had to make difficult decisions – from decisions about life-altering surgery that would affect life expectancy, to making end-of-life decisions in the minutes after this new life was born.
As a pediatric hospital chaplain, I find that having guided, thoughtful conversations is key, especially as parents often ask me, as tears are either forming or falling down their face, “If you were in my shoes, what would you do?” My heart breaks into a million pieces. I keep my thoughts to myself, as it is not my place to impose my own opinions on others. I only affirm their love for the new life by having a quiet, gentle presence – and sometimes with a hug too.
If I decided it would be appropriate, I would then offer the ritual of baptism. This ritual consists of the name of the person being baptized, reciting the scripture “Let the little children come to me and don’t hinder them for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven,” blessing the Holy Water, and reciting the words “I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.”
This ritual has special significance for me personally as a Catholic. Oftentimes this ritual (a sacrament in my faith tradition) is administered when the person is an infant. Friends and family welcome this new life into the Church in this joyous occasion. In my time as pediatric chaplain, I have learned two things: that in case of emergency, anyone can baptize, and that this is not always a joyous occasion.
I recall one time where we had an outside transfer come into the NICU but immediately began to code. As a chaplain, I am a part of any and all code teams, so I went. The parents of this baby already realized the likelihood of their baby girl not surviving; as a result, noting that they were Catholic, I offered the ritual of baptism. They agreed, and I did the quickest baptismal ritual in between pulse checks. The entire ritual was not performed due to the urgency of the situation, but the moment does stand out to me, as I can still picture the tears of relief that the ritual that was so meaningful to this family was performed, but also the immense grief that came as the time of death was called shortly thereafter.
In my realm of pediatric chaplaincy, children are literally at the center of all I do. Not just in the professional context, especially now as I navigate being a mother of a toddler as well. With all that I’ve seen in the past ten years as a pediatric hospital chaplain, I often have to remind myself that what I’ve seen is such a small percentage of what reality is. What I’ve seen is literally the worst-case scenario for the majority of the population, but it does not mean I will experience these same scenarios as a mother. It’s a reminder I not only find from others but also from within myself.
Nonetheless, the commonality is that I now seek ways to let my own little one come to God, just as I do with my patients.
