Hold Nothing

Hold Nothing

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Hold Nothing
Hold Nothing
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nothingeverything

On chaplaincy, holiness and my final night of parenting.

Elena Brower's avatar
Elena Brower
Aug 13, 2024
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Halfway into our first year of chaplaincy training, each core training introduces us to folks who’ve chosen to serve, to be a cloak of pure presence. Chaplains aren’t necessarily religious; we’re offering spiritual care, with no agenda except an open heart.

Each core learning session is informing how I parent, partner and walk.

This week we met with Reverend Trent Thornley, Executive Director at the San Francisco Night Ministry. His work in street chaplaincy changes lives every night, both in person on the streets, and on the phones. With the simple aim of acceptance, Trent’s presence and teachings opened my eyes.

Below, an abridged list, feels important to share this as this epidemic of homelessness becomes more prevalent. More to come on learnings, teachers, and other topics soon.

The unhoused are our human family. They are not different, other, or less than. And I can stop being scared around them.

With those experiencing homelessness, our practice is to respect them, to offer presence.

A fact: Homelessness is closer at hand than we might think. One lost job, dwindling resources or support, friends slip away, enter substances, and it’s a short, swift fall.

Homelessness is primarily an experience of profound separation, broken relationships. We’re here to re-include our unhoused neighbors into our family, to acknowledge, to offer dignity.

The path of service itself is a path of awakening, about getting out of our own way, releasing ancestral assumptions, religious identities, professional personas, implicit partialities, so something bigger can be realized in each encounter.


Beginning to see how similar the work of chaplaincy is to my experience of parenting.

Helen Frankenthaler, Causeway, 2001.


What if our aim is just coming alongside our growing kids with no agenda, like a chaplain? What if we listened well, held loving space, didn’t impose ourselves except to ensure they’re safe, rather than trying to mold them a certain way?

And since when all else fails, poetry, here are two pieces that are helping ease things.

First, an original piece from a local poet. Her son and mine have been friends throughout high school, on ski mountains and off. This writing leaves me in a heap, speaking of birds, nests, and twist you won’t expect. Our kid moves out tomorrow. By the time you read this, we’ll be on the road, car packed.

Two minutes and fifteen years ago.


Amy’s breathtaking poem about the hummingbird nest at her place is called “Chandelier.” If you’re a parent, grab a tissue. One after that is called “nothingeverything”—a humble offering to my son as he leaves.

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