Issue 10 - The Pilgrim - October 2012 - The newspaper of the Archdiocese of Southwark

Features The Pilgrim October 2012
So what does a Paralympic chaplain do
James Parker
Page 8
“So, what does a chaplain actually do”
This was the resounding question I faced
many times a day as I embarked upon being
the first ever Catholic lay chaplain to
the Paralympic Games.
My areas of responsibility came to include
the Aquatics Centre and the Basketball
Arena within the Olympic Park. Not exactly
a hardship, you might say!
One of the first questions that began to
rise within me was: how does a parish
priest split his time and service between
two parishes, especially when both may be
such a distance apart
Although not exhaustive, I nevertheless
found myself needing to walk several miles
a day just to be present in each venue at
different times. I already began to feel
slightly split, and even disabled, as I embarked
on being a chaplain.
A second question that arose was: what
difference and authority can a lay person
have as a chaplain to such large numbers
Surely, I had thought, a priest, or a religious,
would be better suited for the role.
I then recalled Pope Benedict XVI’s recent
words that the laity should be seen as truly
“co-responsible” for the Church, and not
just “collaborators” with the clergy.
He went on to say that “co-responsibility
requires a change in mentality, particularly
with regard to the role of the laity in the
Church.”
No, I cannot celebrate Mass, but I could
strive to “be courageous and a credible
witness in every sphere of society” – Paralympics
included.
A third question was: how could I best
serve the officials, athletes, staff, volunteers
and spectators at each venue, especially
given that I now had access to the
equivalent of a reasonable sized town of
over 28,000 people
The answers to all these questions arose
as I came to understand that what a chaplain
“does'” and how a chaplain merely
“is” makes all the difference between effective
and inadequate chaplaincy.
Before each shift, I prayed that God
would open the doors to the people he
wished me to meet that day. What I then
experienced was nothing short of remarkable.
My approach at each venue was to try
to meet briefly with each of the staff members
and volunteers on duty, to greet them
with the words “I am your venue chaplain. I
am just wondering how you are doing today,”
and to then shut up and listen.
At times I met with a brick wall. For
many people, however, especially those of
other faiths and of no faith, they were inquisitive
as to what a chaplain might actually
do.
A tailored response was often necessary.
And yet openness had been presented to
share and dialogue in response to a valid
question about the powerful role that
faith, and for me Christ himself, can have
in our lives.
In providing people with the opportunity
to just talk and be heard, I found myself
becoming an outlet where volunteers
would share the deep joy they were feeling
through being of service to others.
For some, the chaplain clearly represented
the trusted other to talk with about
concerns left behind at home.
Seeing often profoundly disabled
people compete in elite sport was also impacting
on many people – and challenging
Nana Anto-Awuakye
their misperceptions and prejudices.
These thoughts and feelings all needed a
sufficiently safe place to be verbalised
and owned.
What best summed up the chaplain’s role
for me when a father burst into the Aquatic
Centre to see his disabled son compete,
only to discover that, having been given
the wrong time, the heats had already taken
place.
The blood ran from his face and he began
to cry. Beneath his sobs, he murmured
I loved my school dinners, especially
liver and bacon, which I
cook to this day. I’m lucky
enough to have a husband who
loves his liver as well.
Sadly my son Matthew hasn’t inherited
our love of liver, but he
does love his food. His latest
phrase when sitting down to eat is:
“I’ll still be hungry even after eating
this!” It feels like we need a
second mortgage to keep him fed.
I was brought up the old fashioned
way. My parents didn’t ask
me what I wanted to eat for lunch
or dinner. I was simply told to eat
what was put in front of me, and
to be grateful for it, as there were
others all over the world not fortunate
to have three meals a day.
And there was no leaving the
table until everything was
eaten up. My parents live locally,
in Crofton Park, and we often
drop in on a Friday after school to
say hello. Matthew always gets his
plate of Joloff rice and chicken.
My Dad tells him stories about
“scrumping” plantains on his way
to school and how the farmer
chased him and his school friends
off the land.
Matthew loves hearing these
tales and my parents love feeding
him and telling him that he’s
growing into a big strong boy.
Food is at the heart of all cultures
and dominates our lives. We
sow the seeds, we grow fruit and
veg, we eat the produce, share it
with family and friends and for
some of us with an entrepreneurial
streak, what we have left over
we sell.
I can’t imagine wondering when
I might next have enough food to
feed my family. Yet on the many
visits to Africa I’ve made for
Cafod, I’ve seen that this is the
daily reality for families.
I’ll never forget my visit to
Dhirihori primary school in
Marondera, Zimbabwe, in 2009.
The school looked deserted until
from nowhere, like a scene from
the Pied Piper of Hamlin, children
came running out of dilapidated
buildings, clutching rusty
enamel plates, and then queued
up ready to receive a lunch of
maize porridge.
The headmaster told me at the
glowingly of the belief and passion he has
for his son.
Some minutes later he had composed
himself and turned to leave. Glancing
backwards, he uttered the words “Thank
you. I really needed that” and off he went.
Job well done I don’t know. All I did was
to be there for him. In fact, I had been rewarded
with reflecting on God’s belief and
passion for me and all those he has created.
Maybe, just maybe, that is what chaplaincy
is all about.
And these thy gifts which
we are about to receive
time that he delighted in this
sight, as he explained that only a
few months earlier there was an
eerie silence from the children as
most of them were too weak to
play or speak, with many fainting
in school from hunger.
More recently, the story that
remains with me from the East
Africa drought of last year was
that of great-grandmother Ayapan
Aribokin in northern Kenya,
who tied a rope around her stomach
to stave off hunger pangs.
The golden summer is over and
harvest is now upon us a time of
year when we reflect on the
meaning of sharing what we have
with those less fortunate.
Harvest reminds us that God
created the world with enough
food for all to share, but yet so
many people, are still going hungry.
This is not right.
We are called to reach out to
ensure that Ayapan and her
grandchildren are able to get
their fair share of the food God
has given for us all.
I’m working on instilling this
concept of “sharing what you
have” with Matthew. But he said
to me the other day, “I know,
Mummy, why don’t we send the
poor children my vegetables”
Yet another one of his dastardly
plans to avoid eating broccoli.