Yesterday I went to the funeral of my older daughter-in-law's mother. She was a much-loved person who was very active in her church. The beautiful Episcopal ceremony evoked her spirit with love and humor. The minister conducted the service in a spirit of inclusiveness and solidarity. The words from John 14:2 - "In my Father's house are many mansions" - were interpreted as reflecting love of all humanity, not as a promise to believers alone.
For me the service brought out what is best in religion. Three years ago I wrote that all liberal (i.e., inclusive) religions are comparably true and good and all fundamentalist (i.e., exclusive) religions are comparably false and bad. I continue to hold that view.
Even though I'm thoroughly in the secular humanist fold, over the years of medical practice I often found that religious language felt truer to the aims of clinical care than purely secular modes of expression. Here are four examples:
"Omniscient being." In all areas of medicine we often bump up against uncertainty. At times that my patient and I wished we knew what to do or what to expect, I might say something like "if we had access to an omniscient being, we wouldn't have to wonder about XYZ..." The concept of a god evoked our wish for the assistance that a benevolent god would give us, and at the same time, acknowledged our limitations.
"Blessing." Historically, to be "blessed" meant having god's favor. Our perfunctory"God Bless You" when someone sneezes goes back to pre-antibiotic days when sneezing might presage pneumonia and pneumonia could mean a rapid death. Even though I don't believe in a god who might intervene, comments like "let's hope that you will be blessed with better health" felt like a stronger expression of hope and possibility than they would with purely secular phraseology.
"Prayer." Many years ago, a patient of mine who conducted himself courageously despite significant impairment from chronic schizophrenia, ended an appointment by asking me to remember him in my prayers. Without thought or hesitation, I said I would. I took my patient to be requesting that I care about him deeply and feel for him what I've written about as "the right kind of love between doctors and patients." Since I did feel that way about him I felt I was speaking truth in committing myself to remembering him in my prayers.
"Calling." In its original meaning, a "calling" came from god in the literal form of god's voice. The clinicians I respect most among physicians, nurses, social workers, and other health professionals ("profession" is another term that comes from a religious context) all think of health care as a "calling." Many religious clinicians understand the calling to health care as a call from god - literally, to do "god's work." But when I've used the concept of "calling" with first year medical students in the ethics class, it gets a mixed reception. For some it rings true. They feel "called" to a sacred profession, whether they're believers or not. But others have chided me for being too moralistic. For them, medicine is a "job." I don't try to talk them out of this view, but I do suggest that when they're with patients at the bedside, the "job" may be transformed into a "calling."
When my mother experienced the cerebral hemorrhage from which she died a few days later, the ambulance took her to a Catholic hospital. I was impressed and comforted by the spiritual wisdom of the care she and her small family (me and my father) received, especially from the nurses. And when I visited the Swami Vivekananda Hospital in Saragur, India, in 2009, I learned that twice a week they conducted a non-denominational prayer service for patients and staff. Religious language and "liberal" religious practice make superb partners for the enterprise of health care!
For me the service brought out what is best in religion. Three years ago I wrote that all liberal (i.e., inclusive) religions are comparably true and good and all fundamentalist (i.e., exclusive) religions are comparably false and bad. I continue to hold that view.
Even though I'm thoroughly in the secular humanist fold, over the years of medical practice I often found that religious language felt truer to the aims of clinical care than purely secular modes of expression. Here are four examples:
"Omniscient being." In all areas of medicine we often bump up against uncertainty. At times that my patient and I wished we knew what to do or what to expect, I might say something like "if we had access to an omniscient being, we wouldn't have to wonder about XYZ..." The concept of a god evoked our wish for the assistance that a benevolent god would give us, and at the same time, acknowledged our limitations.
"Blessing." Historically, to be "blessed" meant having god's favor. Our perfunctory"God Bless You" when someone sneezes goes back to pre-antibiotic days when sneezing might presage pneumonia and pneumonia could mean a rapid death. Even though I don't believe in a god who might intervene, comments like "let's hope that you will be blessed with better health" felt like a stronger expression of hope and possibility than they would with purely secular phraseology.
"Prayer." Many years ago, a patient of mine who conducted himself courageously despite significant impairment from chronic schizophrenia, ended an appointment by asking me to remember him in my prayers. Without thought or hesitation, I said I would. I took my patient to be requesting that I care about him deeply and feel for him what I've written about as "the right kind of love between doctors and patients." Since I did feel that way about him I felt I was speaking truth in committing myself to remembering him in my prayers.
"Calling." In its original meaning, a "calling" came from god in the literal form of god's voice. The clinicians I respect most among physicians, nurses, social workers, and other health professionals ("profession" is another term that comes from a religious context) all think of health care as a "calling." Many religious clinicians understand the calling to health care as a call from god - literally, to do "god's work." But when I've used the concept of "calling" with first year medical students in the ethics class, it gets a mixed reception. For some it rings true. They feel "called" to a sacred profession, whether they're believers or not. But others have chided me for being too moralistic. For them, medicine is a "job." I don't try to talk them out of this view, but I do suggest that when they're with patients at the bedside, the "job" may be transformed into a "calling."
When my mother experienced the cerebral hemorrhage from which she died a few days later, the ambulance took her to a Catholic hospital. I was impressed and comforted by the spiritual wisdom of the care she and her small family (me and my father) received, especially from the nurses. And when I visited the Swami Vivekananda Hospital in Saragur, India, in 2009, I learned that twice a week they conducted a non-denominational prayer service for patients and staff. Religious language and "liberal" religious practice make superb partners for the enterprise of health care!
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