We read in Paul’s Letter to the Colossians, “Luke the beloved physician sends you his greetings . . .” Though the evidence is slim, tradition holds
that Luke was a physician. That
tradition suggests the overlap in the vocations of priests and physicians.
Few
books capture the reality of the demands, sacrifices, and pain that are part of
the vocations to medicine or priesthood.
Among the small number that do is a 1947 novel written that proved prophetic when covid emerged.
While relevant to all who had to cope with
the biological, psychological, social, and spiritual crises driven by that
pandemic, it holds particular import for
physicians and priests.
The
Plague by Albert Camus, should
be required reading for anyone studying medicine or preparing for ordination.
It limns the anguish of confronting the most vexing problem in the universe and
the most painful cross under which our vocations converge.
Dr.
Rieux recognized the infection spreading through Oran as bubonic plague. He
approached it courageously and with unflinching commitment to his
patients. Midway through the book we
hear Rieux speaking with Tarrou, an enigmatic character who became a
friend. At the end of a long
conversation that cannot be summarized easily we read: “Tarrou asked ‘Who
taught you all this Doctor?’ The was
immediate, ‘Suffering.’”
If
we allow it, suffering instructs physician, priest, patient, and others. That teaching takes time, demands courage,
and requires a willingness to recognize and endure one’s own pain, impotence,
and rage so as to help the other. None
of us emerges unchanged from the confrontation with suffering. In time we learn the truth described
by Aeschylus,
“He
who learns must suffer, and, even in our sleep,
pain
that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart,
and
in our own despair, against our will,
comes
wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.”
Benedictine
Basil Cardinal Hume, the late Archbishop of Westminster, was the son of a
physician. He accurately described the
overlap between the vocations of priest and physician in a short meditation: “The physician and the priest have much in
common. Both are concerned with people
and their well-being. Our starting
points are different but inevitably we discover that our interest
converges. The experience of people
tells us, priests and physicians, that many are still bewildered, indeed
haunted, by the perennial problems of pain, suffering, and death.”
As
it was for the characters limned by Camus, so it is for us today.
The
late Ned Cassem, SJ, MD was the consummate physician. Chief of Psychiatry at
the Massachusetts General Hospital for thirteen years, Ned possessed tremendous
empathy for, and sensitivity to, the suffering of others. Among his papers was one titled CREED. Three
tenets of creed fleshed out Cardinal Hume as if Ned were writing midrash:
"As clinicians our responsibility is to
always protect the patient."
"The secret of care for the patient is
caring for the patient."
"The core of the doctor's healing role is
loving the patient as the doctor loves himself."
One can address these to physicians or priests with equal
relevance.
Today, every physician has multiple options
to sin through destroying life in the womb, desecrating and mutilating the
human body for bizarre purposes, by impairing a child’s physical, mental, and
cognitive development through puberty blockers, and by participating in the
planned execution of the sick elderly. When commenting on his opposition to
euthanasia to solve the problem of suffering,
Robert Twycross a British hospice physician wrote, “Any physician who
has never considered killing a suffering patient is either very new to the
profession . . . or singularly lacking in empathy.” He went on to explain why euthanasia must
never be an option. The same applies to
priests.
Priests and physicians suffer in concert with
the patient unless, as suggested by Twycross, they are totally devoid of
empathy. Each is consumed by the awful
and angry protest why. Each may nurture the desire to end the
perceived meaninglessness immediately.
Physician and priest look toward the heavens. Both scream WHY? But the answer never comes. The answer never will come. We can only slog away trying to diminish
suffering as much as we can, in whatever manner we can, and when we can, one
patient at a time.
John Paul II wrote in Salvifici Doloris
that:
“(suffering) is a universal theme that
accompanies man at every point on earth: . . .
it co-exists with him in the world, and thus demands to be constantly
reconsidered.” He goes on to note: “Man
suffers in different ways not always considered by medicine, Suffering is wider
than sickness, more complex . . . more deeply rooted in humanity itself. A
certain idea of this problem comes to us from the distinction between physical
suffering and moral suffering.” Camus
outlined and elaborated that distinction.
Neither
physician nor priest can answer the why of suffering, but each is obliged to
offer understanding and care rather than death to the one who suffers, each is called by his vocation to
share in the burden of suffering in whatever way possible.
Just
as the plague was ending and the city gates were to open, Tarrou died of an
atypical presentation of the disease.
Knowing the inevitable outcome if it truly were plague, Rieux took
Tarrou into his own home. In a few words
describing the doctor looking down at his friend’s body, Camus summarized the
anguish that physicians and priests encounter throughout their lives.
“The
doctor could not tell if Tarrou had found peace, now that all was over, but for
himself he had a feeling that no peace was possible to him henceforth, any more
than there can be an armistice for a mother bereaved of her son or for a man
who buries his friend.”
When confronting suffering both priests and
physicians find themselves praying as Jesus did in Gethsemane, that the cup be
taken from them. But like Jesus, and
like Dr. Rieux, if they are to truly live their vocations they must drink the
cup to the dregs.
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Photos are from the Hospital of the Good Samaritan in N'Djamena. It was quite the challenge to adapt to the heat, lack of electricity, water, or tech.
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An old 12 lead one-channel EKG. Teaching students how to apply the leads using a classmate as the teaching model, a long-time custom in med school.
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| Examining |
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Young man with hepatitis. It proved to be Hep A and he was allowed to go home
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Pumps are not universal. Hadn't seen a glass IV bottle in a long time.
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Storing medications for dispensing in the pharmacy.
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| Statue of the Parable of the Good Samaritan |
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Fr. Jack, SJ, MD
