Apothercary 2016

The Master's Chaplain’s Sermon
Master’s Day, 25 September 2016
1 Kings 17:17-24, Luke 8:43 – 48
Firstly I’d like to thank Derek for asking me to be his
chaplain for this year. I’ve already tested the meals in
Apothecaries’ Hall so I know I shall be well fed (it’s an
important part of the discernment process for any
chaplain). But also the invitation has provided me
with the opportunity to explore a little of what you do
as a society, which has been of great interest.
I also think in Derek you will have a hard working
and wise Master. He has vast and varied experience in
his profession. His unassuming and steady manner
will guide and serve you well.
I do not have a scientific or medical background,
but I did act as chaplain to the UK fundraising office
of the charity Mercy Ships for a few years. You may
have heard of this charity, they operate the world’s
largest hospital ship, infact are in the process of
building a brand new one. This floating hospital
spends most of her time on the West coast of Africa
offering free surgery and medical care to some of the
world’s poorest people. They specialize particularly in
maxillofacial and ophthalmic surgeries as well as
other general medical procedures. Staffed entirely by
volunteers - doctors, nurses, dentists and a whole host
of extras make up the ship’s crew, people give two
weeks, two months, two years and in some case over
two decades of their time and skill for free, in what is
an amazing place of healing and kindness.
And one thing I learned in my time as chaplain to
them, and I witnessed first hand on the occasion I was
able to visit the ship in Togo, was something you will
all know – that healing is rarely just physical – that ill
health has most often a social, emotional, economic,
sometimes political edge – and that the gift of
medicine and skilled practitioners has the potential to
transform not only physical health, but also restore
livelihoods, relationships and mental wellbeing.
I witnessed this whilst watching simple cataract
surgery and surgery correcting a child’s squint. The
strength of the sun in that part of the world, combined
with constant dust in the air, and lack of early
intervention meant cataract patients were literally
blind. They would queue up in the morning and be
admitted on to the ship, each one clinging on to the
back of the other, their feet fumbling along the gang
way.
The skill of a surgeon’s fingers fascinated me, how
transformation can happen with just the smallest of
movements, and about 20 minutes in surgery led to
the return not only of sight, but also of livelihoods.
And the boy who I watched have his squint corrected
was able to return to a village where his mother had
been told she must throw him out, because he was
seen as having an evil eye that would curse them all.
And I saw this whilst having the privilege to share
in a ceremony held regularly for women who had
received fistula-corrective surgery. The constant
leakage of urine caused them great embarrassment
and stigma.
One woman told me how her husband had taken a
new wife. When she was very sick even her children
were not allowed to help her. Another woman spoke
about having lived with the condition for 20 years and
the smell that people complained of.
A third woman spoke of her traumatic experience
of childbirth. ‘They thought I was dead’, she said ‘and
they took me outside the village to bury my body. It
was only when I started shaking that they knew I was
alive’.
But these women who knew not only physical
suffering but also social stigma, before they leave the
ship – are dressed in the most beautiful new clothes.
Someone styles their hair and wraps colourful fabric
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