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Jörg Büchel (62) has been a pastor for almost 30 years. He listens to people because active listening is something we are increasingly forgetting.
Alexandra FitzCo-Head of Department Society
Jörg Büchel sees everyone. So does Urs, who stands half a day a week in front of the lifts at the Graubünden cantonal hospital and shows patients and visitors the way. They are volunteers, explains Büchel. They don’t get any money, but in return they have a task. «Hi Urs, nice, I’m back. How are you doing?” Büchel asks in a low voice. Urs begins to say that he was ill, it was so difficult, but he didn’t know any different. Büchel listens. At some point the pastor says: “And now you’re done. That’s nice.”
The way you approach a person and start a conversation is amazing.
You have to be able to make small talk, otherwise it won’t work. But just small talk is terrible. I suffer.
My cousin recently passed away. In his final weeks, he spoke extensively with the hospital chaplain, although he has long since left the church.
Some people have reservations and think that we ministers should start straight away with religion. But we won’t come up with that. The patient determines the topics. We listen and absorb what comes. We also ask questions, but listening is much more important.
Can we still listen?
Today everything is very fast and has to be functional. Pastors are the last fools who are simply allowed to be there and have time. We don’t have to have worked through a program in the evening, you can’t do that at all with this work. We don’t document anything either.
Are you even allowed to do that?
I write down two keywords for myself to remember what we talked about. But when the patient leaves the hospital, everything is shredded. Nothing is kept. The moment is important.
We interrupt the conversation. The chaplain has to pick up a patient. Rita comes to the hospital regularly for treatment. Pastor Büchel picks her up in the cafeteria and takes her to registration. Rita has dementia and lives in a retirement home. Büchel says the hospital visits are like coming home for her. The older woman links her arm with Büchel, he holds her hand, the two chat like old friends. Rita compliments the pastor, but also says: “You’re not always so serious!”, then she smiles and asks: “Have I seen nonsense again?” Büchel helps Rita sit on the bed, takes off her shoes, hands her over to the nurses and promises to pick her up again. Such a service is rather the exception. A good relationship developed between the two over time.
How else do you work?
I go from room to room as far as I can. And just ask. I don’t know anything.
Are you also visiting someone who has broken a foot?
Perhaps the patient has problems in the partnership. It’s not always just about the issues the patients are here for. There are completely different burdens. We are there for them too. That is the difference to the doctor or therapist. We are open and do not proceed in a targeted manner. The first thing is to create trust. For me, the beginning is the tricky moment.
How do you start?
I ask how the patients are doing and whether they are satisfied with the care. I only learn what the patients tell me. I don’t know the file. Sometimes I’m also present at the doctor’s consultation and help to understand and classify everything.
Can the doctors do this too little or do they not have the time?
The doctors are doing very well now. But yes, sometimes they don’t have much time, and often the big questions only come up afterwards.
Is there a question that worries many patients?
Yes, the taboo subject of suicide. Many patients want to talk about it. When they tell the doctor or nurse that, all the alarm lights go on. They tell me that I can handle it. Most patients want to say that they are at the limit with the load. It’s not just about the pain. The greater motive is the dependency they fall into and that they become a burden to others.
Are you talking about euthanasia?
Yes. It is important to me that we as a society learn that this is an issue for many people – and also an option.
Who mainly deals with this?
Usually older people who, despite all the medicine, can no longer expect too much. People want to have options, to be able to choose. Otherwise you are a victim of the benefactors and that feels bad. And palliative care is another option that many people don’t even know about.
Pastor Büchel would like to see a patient he visited the day before. A special case. A man in his late 70s who actually has nothing. The body is healthy. But the head! Delirium, a state of acute confusion, is suspected. Büchel knocks and enters the room. The man is sitting at the table with a crossword puzzle book in front of him. The situation is hopeless, he has nothing, but he wants to die. “You want to die, but it’s not enough,” says Büchel. The patient grabs his head: “Everything is just confused.” He didn’t deserve that. The man tells what he has accomplished, how important his job was, how big his car is. Material follows material. Büchel interrupts: “But the biggest thing is your wife!” The man says, “Oh yes, that’s a great one.” You have thousands of questions for these patients: How does the confusion manifest itself? Wouldn’t he rather go for a walk outside? Why can’t he be home? It’s difficult to hold back. Buechel does it. It’s not his job to talk about the diagnosis. The phone rings. “My daughter,” says the man. “Thanks for the interview,” says Büchel. “Nice that you were there” the patient.
Do you also have patients that you visit over a longer period of time?
It is often cleared up in one go. We are there before the relatives are mobilized and come to the hospital. But if something happens, we’ll stay tuned. I am currently visiting a patient more often. She is from eastern Ukraine and was injured. Now she hears from a distance how her hometown is being bombed. That’s awful. She wonders where to go next.
How do you deal with hearing so much suffering and lamentation every day?
It’s just other people. If I am affected myself, it hurts me too. I can empathize well, but I don’t take it with me. I need to be free for the next patient. I also have the gift of oblivion. (laughs)
When will you reach your limits?
In young people suicide. I looked after two people who threw themselves in front of the train and lost both their legs. Or when children have an accident, it affects me. There are no words for the pain parents experience. Enduring this pain, exhausted.
Büchel is addressed everywhere. Same on the hospital corridor. And then you also understand why a pastor has no appointments, but is open to any conversation. A man speaks to him. He’s got some plasters on the backs of his hands. He had an infection, but he can go home today. The pastor and the man saw each other for the first time last week. At a memorial service for parents who lost children to suicide. Büchel was there as a pastor. The man because his 16-year-old son took his own life. He is now talking about him in the corridor of the hospital. Büchel listens, never conveys to his counterpart that he has to continue. There is no time at Büchel. At the end, the pastor thanks you for the interview.
Such topics every day, it’s intense. Why did you become a pastor?
I can’t do anything else (laughs). I had many problems as a teenager and dealt with them. The inner world of man, that is my world. There is much riches – and also much pain. I’ve never aspired to material things, I can’t even drive a car, I just don’t care. I like to go where things get personal, where things are precarious, where it hurts and developments are possible.
Büchel goes to pick up Rita again. The older woman beams when she sees the pastor. “Fine, pick me up!” Rita hangs on again, the two leisurely make their way to the exit.
Their names have been changed to protect the individuals.
On behalf of others
Jörg Büchel studied theology in Zurich and has completed numerous psychological training courses. He was a pastor in the community of Sent in the Lower Engadine for 20 years. He has been working at the cantonal hospital in Chur for nine years, making him the senior. Two more years and then he will retire. The pastors are financed by the two regional churches and the hospital. According to Büchel, what has changed in recent years is that patients want to be better informed and have a say. In addition, in the early days, the church was a more frequent topic for patients than it is today.
Jörg Büchel studied theology in Zurich and has completed numerous psychological training courses. He was a pastor in the community of Sent in the Lower Engadine for 20 years. He has been working at the cantonal hospital in Chur for nine years, making him the senior. Two more years and then he will retire. The pastors are financed by the two regional churches and the hospital. According to Büchel, what has changed in recent years is that patients want to be better informed and have a say. In addition, in the early days, the church was a more frequent topic for patients than it is today.