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Minister soothes souls in final daysBy GREG HAMILTON © St. Petersburg Times, published May 20, 2001 When the end is near, many people call upon Hospice of Citrus County to help them get through the pain of their final days. There, they come into the embrace of many caring staffers and volunteers. They also become part of L.B. Thomason's flock. As congregations go, Thomason's is unusual. While all of us know we are going to die at some point, the people whom Thomason ministers to every day as one of two Hospice chaplains know that their days are dwindling to six months or less. While the rest of the Hospice staff concentrate on easing the physical pain, Thomason tends to the soul. "If people are at peace with themselves and others and with God, then they can go peacefully," he said. With his calm, avuncular demeanor, Thomason has soothed hundreds of souls in his five-plus years as a Hospice chaplain. It's a calling that asks a lot of a minister. Some of the people he meets are angry -- at their illness, at family members, at God. Some are confused and bitter. Almost all are frightened. Thomason's mission is to try to ease their troubled hearts, as well as those of the patients' family. "I'm going with the families where the doctors can't go," he said. "I tell them that this is a passage from life to life. Death is not the end." Last year, Hospice cared for 600 patients, 75 percent of whom were diagnosed with cancer. In today's Citrus Times, you will find the beginning of a series of articles on the impact that cancer has on the people of Citrus County. You'll read about the physical and emotional tolls this disease exacts from its victims, with an extraordinary 900-plus new cases diagnosed in Citrus County each year. You'll also learn about how much of the county's medical community is involved in cancer diagnosis and treatment, how cancer can be described as big business here. For Thomason, cancer is much more personal than sheer numbers. When he talks to cancer patients and their families about their feelings, he doesn't have to try to imagine their pain and fears: He's lived it. Thomason, 68, lost a twin brother to colon cancer at age 32. He asked the same questions of God that his patients now ask. "I prayed for my brother to be healed. I prayed for the Lord to take him and ease his suffering," he said. "God answered both of my prayers. He healed him by taking him home." When patients are angry at God for their suffering, he doesn't try to lecture them. "I affirm their anger. I tell them, I would be angry, too. I don't know why things are the way they are. Life is a jigsaw puzzle, one piece alone doesn't make much sense. But look at it like God sees it -- all together." Sometimes it's too much to expect a dying person to accept such logic. Sometimes, all Thomason can do is recall a line from a favorite hymn: Have strength for today, and bright hopes for tomorrow. Thomason's calming manner and spirituality is the result of having been a minister for most of his adult life. For nearly 27 years, he was pastor of First Baptist Church of Crystal River. Hospice approached him to become a chaplain in part because he knows so many people in the county, especially on the west side of Citrus. But because he knows so many families around Crystal River, Thomason asked if he could be assigned to the east side of the county. "I was so emotionally involved with the people of my church," he said. "They were like a family to me." The Rev. Cliff Walton is the chaplain for the west side of Citrus. Thomason certainly makes emotional connections with the people he helps through Hospice, but he acknowledges that he has to keep a certain objectivity in order to be effective. While he mourns the passing of his Hospice patients, he can't allow himself to fall into deep grief -- much as a doctor must maintain a similar balance in order to carry on with his work. "There is a constant spiritual replenishment on my own part," he said. "I sometimes question God: This just doesn't make sense. But as I tell others, life isn't fair -- God is." Thomason is a Baptist, but he ministers to people from virtually every faith. He refers to himself as "trans-denominational" or, simply, "a messenger of God's love." "I'm a chaplain for families who have no priests, pastors or church. I don't intrude if there is a priest or minister whom they want. I call the church and tell the minister about the patient's request. "Primarily, I deal with people who have no connection to a church, no particular faith, no reservoir of spiritual experiences. Perhaps as a child they did, but it has lain dormant for many years. Sometimes, people have had a bad experience with a church or they haven't gone in years. I talk to them in a non-threatening way. No sermons or platitudes or promises. "There is a spiritual dimension to death and dying. I urge them to live their lives meaningfully to the end. I feel honored to have been invited by the family to be part of such a sacred and intimate part of their life. I take the family by the hand and try to ease their fears as we walk into the valley of the shadow of death." Reconciliation is a big part of Thomason's work. "I see a lot of family estrangement, fathers and children who haven't spoken in years. We try to bridge the gaps when possible." Perhaps the most heart-rending part of the job is when a Hospice patient wants to discuss his or her own funeral. Trying to maintain emotional calm at a time like that is difficult, but it can be rewarding as well. "I remember one woman who asked me to do her funeral. She was insistent. She said, "I want you to be the last person to see me before they close my casket.' " At that, the minister who faces death every day with a comforting smile, who stays upbeat while knowing that every one of his small flock will soon die, turns away slightly and allows himself a small tear.
 © 2006 • All Rights Reserved • St. Petersburg Times
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