Disasters bring destruction and sorrow.  In the midst of the unthinkable, there are also stories of strength, resilience, and hope.  Whatever the emotion, chaplains are called to bring the presence of the Holy to listen, comfort, and sustain those whose lives have been changed forever.

Recently HealthCare Chaplaincy asked chaplains throughout the country to write about their experiences in providing spiritual care following disasters for a special issue of PlainViews,  our highly regarded online professional journal for chaplains.

This special issue of HealthCare Chaplaincy Today gives you from that edition excerpts from the stories of three board certified chaplains who describe their responses to disaster, whether  tornados in Joplin, Missouri, the earthquake and tsunami in Japan, and the terrorist attacks in New York on September 11, 2001.

The first September issue of HealthCare Chaplaincy Today will focus exclusively on reminiscences of HCC staff from that awful day ten years ago.

My Experience in the Joplin, Missouri Tornado

By Todd Decker

May 22, 2011, 5:41 pm. I will never view disasters the same.

I had been through tornados before – F0’s (light in intensity: wind speeds 65-85 miles per hour) and F1’s (moderate in intensity: wind speeds 86-110 miles per hour).

This was different. Some people describe it as the sound of a freight train. It was more like being under the train, or the blast of a jet engine.

It was an EF5 tornado: incredible damage in intensity: wind speeds exceeding 200 miles per hour.

When I heard the sound, it was too late to seek shelter. I ran to the bathroom and closed the door. When I realized that I needed a blanket or mattress over me, it was too late. I could hear it hitting. I knelt in the tub. And I prayed. Realizing I was surrounded by glass shower doors, I had thoughts of being cut. I could hear the roof ripping off as the tornado bore down like a giant blender. I called my wife but couldn’t hear if she answered. I told her I loved her and felt that I might die.  It would be three hours before I would talk to her again.

It seemed like the tornado would never end. I could hear and feel it ripping away the walls of my rented home. I knew the longer it lasted, the greater the chance of injury. The quiet finally came and my bathroom was left intact. When I opened the door from the bathroom to living room, I was pelted by rain and hail. I retreated, not believing what I had just seen.

Left standing were two closets, my bathroom, and partial walls. As far as I could see, there was total devastation. My heart could not take in the ruins my eyes were seeing.

I threw what I could salvage in a large suitcase, and headed toward the hospital.

I looked for the chaplain on duty. She was white as a sheet. She said, ‘I saw things I never thought I would see.’ We were unable to call for additional help from our staff. All lines of communication were down.  

Shock and adrenaline did not feel good, though I think that is what enabled me to function. We did what we could. We learned that two other chaplains had lost everything, but they survived. Another chaplain arrived to help. We encountered over 500 people in our Emergency Department, and over 1,000 people in our lobby area, either injured, or looking for family members. Mothers and fathers were looking for children, and sons and daughters were looking for mothers and fathers. It was overwhelming, and the injuries were horrific.

People were flown to other hospitals in Missouri. At 5:00 am, the hospital began to deflate. We had shipped out hundreds. We were able to get a few hours of rest.  It was surreal the next day. And I had no idea that the hardest work had just begun.

“The chaplain question went from ‘Were you in the tornado?’ to ‘How you were affected by the tornado?”’ to no longer even having to ask the question. We have all been affected.  I have found meaning in sharing my story. Disaster does come. Be as prepared as possible.

Todd Decker is Director of Pastoral Care, Freeman Health System, Joplin, MO.  Todd earned his Doctor of Ministry from Midwestern Baptist Theological Seminary and was Board Certified by APC in 2007. He is a past manager of Pastoral Services with Mercy Health System, a husband for 28 years, the father of two children and an expecting grandfather.

Reflections from the Japanese Tsunami

By the Rev. Dr. Naomi Paget

	Searching for Signs of Life

The little, seaside town of Onagawa was one of many Japanese towns in Miyagi Prefecture that was destroyed by the tsunami following the 9.0-magnitude earthquake March 11, 2011. A typical fishing village, Onagawa’s hope was in the sea and its future was in the community of people who fished and lived their daily lives in harmony with land and sea. The city lay quietly between steep hills that formed the harbor, the city, and the community. As the water rumbled into Onagawa, the same picturesque hills acted as a deadly funnel that crested the water at heights of 100 feet and more – three times the height of cresting waves in most other communities.

Today, we see splintered remains of homes, businesses, fishing boats, and lives. Cars were launched to tops of four-story buildings. Wheel chairs cast their occupants aside. Fishing nets ensnared shrubs and light poles, instead of mackerel and tuna. People fled to higher ground to escape the death threat that the tsunami promised. A smashed and battered car remains in the entrance of the Onagawa Hospital – a silent testimony of the catastrophe that nearly took the lives of vulnerable patients who lay sick and suffering already. More than half of Onagawa is reported dead or missing. They continue to search for signs of life.

As we walk along the narrow, debris-lined streets, we see mile after mile of twisted metal, shredded wood, broken glass, and crushed plastic. The sights don’t change. They are like reruns of nightmares with little hope of waking up. Cars are stacked in piles of wreckage, with mud acting as mortar, to create obscene walls hiding the broken remains of hurting lives in muddy houses.

Strong Woman of Ishinomaki

We stop to visit with a small woman carrying a large bucket of mud and debris, inquiring about her well-being and needs. She doesn’t need help – she is managing. She bows to thank us for inquiring about her situation. We notice her flowerbed of pansies and petunias, gaily dancing in the breeze. The contrast is so great, we comment on how beautiful they are. ‘My world is so ugly when I look at my neighborhood. I could not bear to see it anymore. The flowers give me pleasure. There is still beauty in the world – somewhere.’

This is a strong woman who waits patiently for her world to change. How do I help her see the beauty that lies in hope? How do I help her take heart, waiting patiently for something truly worthwhile? Hope could be the dancing face of pansies in the middle of the mud and wreckage.

What prepared me for 9/11

By Rabbi Stephen Roberts

On August 2, 1985, Delta Air Lines Flight 191 crashed in Dallas, Texas. One of the people who died on that flight, Scott, was like a brother to me. I can still see in my mind what I was wearing when my mother broke the news to me. Another image seared into my soul was getting Scott’s dental records for identification purposes. My family, our friends, the community we live in, spiritually survived this disaster experience because of the great disaster spiritual care we received by the community rabbi.

Later, when I became a rabbi and then a chaplain, I started working with the American Red Cross to provide chaplains after plane crashes. I volunteered to serve on the national task force overseeing the program. I made local and national connections with other responders. I recruited a number of other professional chaplains in the New York area to also get involved. We expected to “someday” be deployed to help respond to air disasters, never dreaming it would be of the magnitude of 9/11.

I live less than a quarter mile from Ground Zero. Two nights before the attack I had gone to a movie just across the street from the Twin Towers. When the attack occurred, I was the first Spiritual Care Officer in New York City for the American Red Cross. Local people knew me, and I knew them. I continued to oversee operations for a long time afterwards. I felt blessed that I could ‘pay forward’ the gift I received of amazing spiritual care after the earlier disaster my family went through.”

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