A Ministry of Presence
Chaplains are spiritual paramedics who tend to the soul. They enter hospital rooms behind physicians who deliver devastating prognoses. They counsel soldiers, prisoners, executives, factory workers, students, athletes, and law enforcement personnel. They lean on their own faith while respecting the beliefs of those who need their support.
Theirs is to comfort, not to convert.
During 2020, many have been near the front lines of the biggest news stories of the year. Some have had to push their own fears and concerns aside to be available to the people they serve. Others have had to shift their emphasis as their fields of ministry became unsustainable.
Within a few weeks, the Rev. Paul McCabe went into nursing homes with National Guard members who were deep cleaning for COVID-19 prevention; supported a guardsman as she grieved for her grandmother, the fifth member of her family to die from the virus; and accompanied the Guard into the midst of frustrated demonstrators, some of them hostile, on the streets of Atlanta.
Fulton County Chaplain, Reverend Clifton Dawkins
The Rev. Clifton Dawkins, Fulton County chaplain, is burying more indigent residents than usual this year, some of them dying from COVID-19, some succumbing to other conditions but whose families are suffering economically because of COVID-19.
Ministering in the time of pandemic and protest has meant that the Rev. Donna Mote had to leave her beloved parish of millions of travelers and thousands of employees at Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport. During this time of racial unrest, she has found a new calling—working with Dr. Catherine Meeks, director of the Absalom Jones Center for Racial Healing, to apply the ministry of chaplaincy to the relationships between law enforcement personnel and the communities they serve.
Mote is also presiding over the Eucharist for training sessions on dismantling racism. She does it virtually from her home but emphasizes that the Eucharist is “real” even though the method of delivery is modified.
As the number of Americans who have no formal religious affiliation grows, chaplains fill gaps once firmly occupied by the family pastor. But chaplains have much to offer even the most ardent churchgoer. With a focus on certain circumstances or facets of life, they can involve themselves in a way that the parish pastor cannot.
Supporting the Guard || McCabe actually has multiple congregations and a special relationship with each: He is rector of the Church of the Annunciation in Marietta. He’s also chaplain of the Johns Creek Police Department, the 201st regional support group of the Georgia National Guard, and the Guard’s 170th Military Police Battalion. Just to make sure he has plenty to do, he also serves as the diocesan coordinator for disaster preparation and response.
Before he was a chaplain, Atlanta native McCabe served in the U.S. Navy and was a cop—an officer in the Fulton County Police Department for eleven years. He entered the theology school at the University of the South (Sewanee) when he felt the call to become a priest. After a year and a half as a curate at St. Edward’s church in Lawrenceville, he became rector at Annunciation eleven years ago. The chaplaincy, he said, grew out of his police work.
He supports the Johns Creek police as they deal with homicides or other deaths and accompanies them as they break bad news to relatives. He counsels officers in the aftermath of disturbing situations, such as a few years ago when an officer shot a knife-wielding woman.
As chaplain to the National Guard, he tries to assist soldiers going through personal struggles. He quotes the motto “Nurture the living, care for the wounded, honor the fallen.” An element of caring for the wounded now is to try to prevent suicides, he said, and to work with the comrades of soldiers who take their own lives.
When a sergeant killed himself a few months ago, his friends felt angry at the loss and guilty at failing to see his desperation. McCabe’s role was listening, allowing them to air their feelings, then reassuring them that they were not at fault.
The unusual demands on McCabe’s National Guard units began in the spring, when the Guard began sending infection-control teams into nursing homes throughout metropolitan Atlanta to help deter the spread of COVID-19. Any members of the Guard with medical backgrounds were sent to help out hospitals. The Guard also provided mobile COVID-19 testing sites to serve residents of long-term facilities. And they helped distribute food from food banks.
McCabe went wherever the Guard went—into hospitals to check on the workers, to cleaning sites and testing locations, and to anywhere else in the community where the Guard was lending a hand.
The early days of COVID-19-related projects were “very daunting” for some members of the Guard as they realized the gravity of the situation, McCabe said. “They were going into a location with an invisible enemy.”
Matters would only become more complicated as spring turned into summer, the COVID-19 crisis continued, and protestors took to the streets of Atlanta and other cities across the nation to express outrage at the deaths of African Americans at the hands of police.
The National Guard was sent in to help with crowd control during demonstrations, and once again McCabe was with them.
“I was with Guard members when they were called out the first night of destruction and violence at the Lenox Mall area and was standing near one soldier who was hit with a large rock in the chest,” he said. “I was also hit by the fireworks that were thrown at the police and soldiers. I prayed each night with the soldiers for a peaceful night to the protests and that everyone went home safe. For the most part, that is what happened, and I am grateful I was able to be a calming presence in the midst of uncertainty.”
A particularly poignant moment came several days into the protests, when participants in the demonstrations started to urge members of the Guard to “take a knee” in solidarity with them. “It was a difficult position to be put in,” McCabe said, “as Guard members are not allowed to participate in any political movements while in uniform. A large crowd began forming around a woman who was loudly challenging the soldiers.’’
The Guard members looked to McCabe for guidance. “I stepped up and stated that we were not allowed to take a knee, and she became irate,” he said. “I told her that although we would not take a knee, we would pray with anyone who wanted to participate. She accepted my invitation, and I was handed the microphone to pray. At that moment, the crowd got silent, and we took off our helmets, and everyone bowed their heads in prayer. It was a powerful moment where barriers were broken down and God’s grace and love was invoked in our midst for healing and reconciliation for a broken system and nation. These are the moments that affirm my ministry as a chaplain and priest.”
McCabe’s parishioners at Annunciation have been very supportive of his other roles, he said. Some people from Annunciation made masks for the soldiers; others sent money to meet their needs.
“Whether you’re a priest or a chaplain, it’s still your congregation,” McCabe said. “You’re still taking care of your flock.”
The Rev. Clifton Dawkins, Fulton County chaplain, lays the indigent to rest with respect and dignity.
Burying the Indigent || Most clergy are asked to perform occasional funerals and memorial services. Clifton Dawkins has two every week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. As Fulton County chaplain, his duties include overseeing the burial of those who have no family or whose families can’t afford to meet their final needs.
Since assuming the role in 1999, he has performed thousands of funerals. All are meaningful. Some are unforgettable.
There was the eight-year-old boy playing a choking game who accidentally killed himself.
There was the infant who died of alcohol poisoning at the hands of adults who wanted him to go to sleep.
And there was the elderly woman whom nobody missed until a mail carrier called authorities after two weeks.
When the body of an abandoned infant is found in a dumpster, when a homeless man freezes to death on the street, or when a John Doe dies at Grady Hospital, Dawkins makes sure the remains are treated with dignity and respect.
The state of Georgia and Fulton County share the costs. Burials take place at Lakeside Cemetery in Palmetto. Sometimes family members attend; sometimes there is only Dawkins to bid a final goodbye.
“I use Scripture and talk about the eternal hope of resurrection and heaven and peace,” he said.
Dawkins was raised near Spartanburg, South Carolina, attended seminary at Atlanta’s Interdenominational Theological Center, worked in a Methodist church and was ordained a Baptist minister. He founded his own congregation, the True Worship Christian Fellowship, in 2009. Through his church, he cares for the living, providing meals and support to those in need. Dawkins is also a chaplain to the Fulton County police and other employees.
Most years he buries about three hundred people, but this summer he has averaged more than forty a month. Only a handful each month have been deaths actually caused by COVID-19, but the economic impact of the pandemic has meant more families have difficulty coming up with the money to pay for a funeral and a cemetery plot.
The Rev. Clifton Dawkins oversees a burial at Lakeside Cemetery in Palmetto. The number of funerals has increased with COVID-19.
Each person gets an individual service and burial, one after the other. The most Dawkins has done in a day is fourteen. “I’ll probably have a couple more like that before the year’s out,” he said.
When a child is being buried, volunteers from Holy Innocents’ parish in north Atlanta witness the service. “That’s been a beautiful thing,” Dawkins said. “I have a lot where it’s just the mother and baby and people from Holy Innocents’.”
The parishioners are taking their church’s name seriously. The Holy Innocents, as recounted in the Gospel of Matthew, were the children killed by Herod in his attempt to rid himself of the Christ child. Holy Innocents’ Episcopal Church focuses much of its outreach on caring for and advocating for children and supporting the adults who care for them.
“People were going about their normal lives, and we were burying a baby. It’s one of the most meaningful things I’ve ever done.”
—Mary Marvin Walker
Parishioner Mary Marvin Walter remembers the first time she attended a funeral service Dawkins conducted at Lakeside. The baby’s name was Libby, the same as Mary Marvin’s granddaughter. The casket was smaller than a shoebox. No one was there but Dawkins and a few people from Holy Innocents’.
“Jets were flying overhead to and from the airport,” Walter said. “People were going about their normal lives, and we were burying a baby. It’s one of the most meaningful things I’ve ever done.”
Looking out over the lake that gives Lakeside Cemetery its name, Dawkins said he feels both sadness and hope as he lays to rest so many people he’s never met.
“I’m a little discouraged when nobody shows up,” he said, “but I’m glad there’s a program so that these folks are not just discarded. Whether they have family or not, we can provide for them.”
Honoring Remains || One of Donna Mote’s roles as a chaplain at Hartsfield-Jackson was also dealing with death. Along with the Delta Honor Guard, she met the remains of members of the U.S. military personnel coming to or through Atlanta. Some were killed in action or died in accidents. Some committed suicide. And some are recently discovered and identified from long-ago wars. In the last three years, she said, several dozen casualties of the bombing of Pearl Harbor came through Atlanta.
Raised Southern Baptist, Mote felt the call to be a pastor in a denomination that refused to ordain women. In seminary in Louisville, she was able to take advantage of a consortium of six theology schools in Indiana and Kentucky and, through other denominations, fell in love with liturgy. She pastored for a while in the Alliance of Baptists, a liberal offshoot of the conservative denomination, and explored other religious traditions. She worked as an editor, taught at a community college in Tennessee, and moved to Japan, where she found a university teaching position. She returned in 2003 to be near her aging parents and entered a doctoral program in religion at Emory University. During her studies, her father died, and her mother went blind.
While at Emory, she “found the Episcopal church,” specifically St. Bartholomew’s in DeKalb County.
Encouraged by friends to explore ordination, she met with then Bishop Neil Alexander, who offered to accept her under a special provision that allowed her to audit courses in Anglican studies while in a temporary teaching position
at Sewanee. By then Alexander was at Sewanee as dean of the theology school and invited the new Atlanta bishop, Robert Wright, to give the commencement address. Chatting with Mote while on campus, Wright asked her what she wanted to do the next academic year besides continuing part-time teaching at Sewanee.
“I want to be at the airport,” she said.
“You’ve got my attention,” the bishop replied. He invited her to submit a proposal, and a ministry was born.
She calls her conversation with Bishop Wright a “Holy Spirit” moment because, without thinking, she blurted out what she really wanted to do. One of her earliest memories had been going with family members to the airport to meet her grandmother, who was returning from Asia.
As a chaplain at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, the Rev. Donna Mote participated with the Delta Honor Guard in ceremonies involving military remains.
“In ways I wouldn’t understand till much later, when I went that evening to meet my grandmother, I went to meet the world,” she said.
Increasingly her airport chaplaincy work consisted of working with military personnel coming through Atlanta, she said. Often she counseled the military escorts accompanying the remains of their comrades.
“I’m the companion of the companions,” she said. “It’s hard and holy work.”
In 2017 she spent time with a young Green Beret who was part of an escort. Four of his fellow Green Berets had been killed in Niger, and he knew all of them. Three came through Atlanta. She stood with the honor guard for two of the three. One escort was visibly shaking. She approached him and stayed with him between his flights. “He had a lot to say,” she said. “He had served with them. He felt it was his duty to perform this service for a friend who had died and for his friend’s family. He was sobbing.”
Whenever he wasn’t standing at attention for the unloading and loading of the remains, he inched closer and closer to her until their shoulders were almost touching.
“We talk about the ministry of presence sometimes like it’s an abstract thing,” Mote said. “He drove home the power of its reality for me. We need to be with one another. We are comforted by the animal energy we exchange by being together.”
Through being there alongside Delta’s voluntary honor guard who receive the military remains, she earned their trust and confidence and became a pastor to some of them.
She voluntarily gave up her position as the pandemic curtailed activities there. While away from the airport, she has done some chaplaincy work with the Georgia State Defense Force, an all-volunteer service that can be activated by the governor to assist state and local agencies and relief organizations, including the National Guard, in emergencies. Mote blessed the volunteers as they prepared for their work decontaminating National Guard personnel who had, in turn, been sanitizing nursing homes and elder care facilities.
Mote talks about 2020 as “Coronatide” and says that with unexpected changes and losses, it has also brought new opportunities.
“This is a strange and difficult season for the whole world,” Mote said. “I hope more of us will be open to imagining something new. I hope our new circumstances will be the midwife of innovation. Who knows?”
