From: Barb Kavouras Sent: Wednesday, April 10, 2002 3:09 PM To: Confessional Lutherans in Missionary Boldness Subject: CLIMB: Chaplain's Field Report Cleveland 4-09-02 Barb K Cleveland kavouras@ameritech.net Chaplain's Field Report Cleveland Ohio April 9, 2002 Dear Friends, Enclosed is a short report in connection with my evening's activities. About 7:30 while sitting at a restaurant with my wife and a friend, I received a page from Cleveland Police Radio. Returning the call, the duty Sargeant informed me that Patrolman Greg Cook was requesting I visit the home of a family in which a 15 year old girl had taken her own life the night before. Since the incident took place last night, and Radio didn't notify me until tonight, I didn't feel any need to cancel dinner plans and go immediately. However by 8:30 I was sufficiently antsy, that my gut told me to go now rather than tomorrow, if nothing else for the Officer's sake who might also be affected by such a scene. Arranging for the friend to take my wife home, I left the restaurant, put my tab collar back in place, donned my badge and ballistic vest and proceeded to the Second District to confer with Officer Cook. After he had explained the grisly details, I assured him that I would stop tomorrow and see the family. But he didn't think it should wait and asked if I could possibly go tonight. Though it was getting late (by now it was 9:30) I went. Among other details Greg told me that this was a black family of the Baptist faith, and this helped me to better prepare for what I would do. I've had the honor of observing black chaplains as they ministered in their special way to their own people, and in so doing had picked up a few pointers which would be helpful to me this night. Arriving at the home, there were a good many people coming and going. I introduced myself to the first people I saw in the driveway, told them I had come at the request of the officers who had been on scene, and asked where the young lady's mother was. As I entered the rather small train-style house, I estimated about forty people crowded into the kitchen and two average-sized rooms leading from it. I again introduced myself to the mother, Mrs. Johnson, and told her that the officers had requested I stop by to offer my condolences and pray for the family. The great joy that this simple gesture brought her became instantly obvious and could hardly be over-estimated. She hugged me and began to cry gentle tears. After a moment, I asked her if she'd like me to have a prayer and read the Bible for all present, and I didn't have to ask twice. She immediately led me into the front room, this white face in a sea of black, turned off the soft music playing in the background and told everyone to gather around because the Reverend was here to pray. I've seen black chaplains do this on several occasions. They walk into the most ghastly scenes and with few preliminaries open their Bibles and begin to read and then to pray. They don't spend countless precious minutes doing the psychological silliness taught in Clinical Pastoral Education courses; they don't apologize for who they are or what they're there to do - they just do it. They inject the soul-soothing Word of God into the tears and the numbness and the insanity of it all, then fuse the whole mixture with prayer. I've never seen anyone the worse for it or heard anyone complain because the pastor didn't ask them about their feelings. I waited for a moment as people gathered and the talking died down; now a reverent silence ensued, broken only by a few gentle sobs first here, then there. Once again I introduced myself, this time to the whole group, told them that the police and medical officers who were here the night before extended their sympathies, and that this wasn't just a job for them, but that they truly cared about the people they served. I further informed them that these same officers had asked me to visit tonight and do what I could for them. I told them I'd like to read from the Scriptures and offer a prayer, and this they were all willing and wanting to hear. Opening my Bible to the 23rd Psalm I read in reverent yet deliberate voice those mighty, healing words. Having finished I told them that "the Lord" here mentioned is none other than Christ Jesus the Good Shepherd, who laid down His life for the sheep, and that "we" are those sheep. Then I turned to John 10 and read the New Testament's counterpart to this psalm and once again spoke a few brief words of comfort. This completed I opened the Lutheran Prayerbook and spoke a prayer that was written more than five decades ago. Though well up in years, that prayer was as fresh as the spring rains which descended this night, matching outside drop for drop, each tear that fell within these flooded walls of sorrow. I quote it here with slightly updated language and a reference to Baptism not in the original. "Amid our tears O Lord, we praise You as you have received our loved one to Yourself in glory for all eternity. We thank you that in Baptism you have brought her to the knowledge of Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior. Comfort us with the glorious hope of the resurrection and the life eternal. Grant us grace to say with a believing heart: "Thy will be done," and to know that Your will is a good gracious will even in this present hour. Comfort us through your Gospel, which promises strength and help to the troubled and weary. O Lord, forsake us not in this hour; for Jesus' sake we ask it, Amen. (Lutheran Book of Prayer, 1951 page 159) Now I asked them in closing to join me by praying the prayer that God will never deny. As I've experienced so often before in tragic situations, they all prayed the Lord's Prayer by memory just as loudly and clearly as you please. Forty people sounded like a hundred. As we prayed, the flood gates opened and loud wails intermingled with louder prayers, as God's people prayed God's Words, and received His special answer this night of nights. I concluded with the apostolic blessing and bid them farewell once again receiving a long, hearty and tearful hug from Mrs. Johnson as I left. As I walked down the driveway, I heard a muffled voice behind me say something which I couldn't make out; as I turned to hear it more clearly, a young lady perhaps in her late teens said: "I said, 'God bless you sir'. You came at the right time." And so it would seem Officer Cook, so it would seem. "When other helpers fail and comforts flee Help of the helpless Oh abide with me." TLH 552 Rev. Dean Kavouras, Chaplain Cleveland Police Division chap7953@ameritech.net http://safetychaplain.tripod.com + + + Confessional Lutherans in Missionary Boldness + + + The CLIMB e-letter brings you unedited, uncut reports directly from the mission field, whether in South America, Africa, Europe, inner-city, rural, or collegiate America, or military installations and battle sites around the world. It is our contention that those who truly hold to the ~Book of Concord~ as the pure exposition of Holy Scripture and the true confession of the Christian faith are also the most zealous supporters of the preaching of the Gospel in every corner of the world and, as such, ought to be kept thoroughly informed of how those endeavors are faring and shown how they may be rightly carried out without the destruction of orthodox doctrine and practice that some within the pale of Lutheranism now advocate. 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