Circle of healing, learning

Student chaplains guide and listen to vets in rehab

As the stone is passed from hand to hand, there is a peace that permeates what has become something of a sacred space for those who have found themselves here, moving beyond the daily fix, the fidgeting and the shame that always appears once the "high" has worn off.

Adapted from American Indian spiritual practices, the "rock ceremony" signifies the quest for a permanent change in the lives and hearts of those who have been trapped inside drug and alcohol addiction, with an emphasis on truth-telling. It is one benchmark along the path toward a new beginning for those participating in residential substance abuse treatment.

Yet this day, at the Veterans Administration Hospital, there are participants who haven't been addicted, haven't been to war, haven't felt the despair that engulfs those who have entered the depths of hell on earth.

But they've observed it.

Living with drug and alcohol-addicted vets in detox wasn't on his mind when David Pascoe signed up last fall to become a chaplain.

It wasn't part of the required educational regimen, and no one ever had requested the chance to spend a week in the tank at Salt Lake's VA Hospital simply to learn what it's like when you have to be there.

So when Pascoe found himself considering the experience, "there was more than a small moment of panic" when his colleagues and family encouraged him to live with veterans in the North Star treatment program at the VA for a week during what most people consider "the most wonderful time of the year." It would be a pre-Christmas gift to remember.

Pascoe is one of nearly a dozen people who are currently "in process" as part of Utah's newest chaplaincy training program (see accompanying story).

Though the coursework includes ministry in various areas of the hospital, it doesn't mandate any 24/7 experience. But the more Pascoe pondered the inner drive to do it, he felt the pull of his ancestry.

Raised in the border country between England and Scotland, he is descended from Christians converted by seventh-century Irish monks who — rather than try to "civilize, sanitize, Romanize and Latinize" converts, as Roman missionaries and, later, Crusaders, did — simply formed open, monastic groups to live among the pagans they sought to teach.

"Putting myself in communion with these people is following the Celtic Christian way — it's in my blood and history. In my mind, that's what it is to be a Christian and bring the gospel to people."

As with the Irish monks, Pascoe wanted to integrate into people's lives and "show by the way you live what the story of Jesus Christ is all about."

Though he didn't know anything about substance abuse, addiction or therapy, what Pascoe did know is that simply showing up a few hours a week and asking how he could help the veterans spiritually didn't seem to cut it — especially at Christmas time, when Christians often ask themselves more deeply, "What would Jesus do?"

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