Keeping the connection

In room 1514, Father John recites the Lord's Prayer and administers the sacrament of the sick to an 83-year-old Catholic woman who is about to undergo surgery to place pins in her recently broken hip.

A little while later, Sister Jane holds hands and chats with a 79-year-old Baptist who has just suffered her second stroke.

The Rev. John Cantore and Sister Jane Kiefer are doing what they do daily -- offering spiritual comfort to the sick and suffering at St. Francis Medical Center.

"It's serving the Lord," Kiefer said. "And that's what I gave my life to do."

Some Catholic hospital patients aren't so lucky.

Outside the statue-laden halls of the Cape Girardeau medical facility that was started by three Franciscan nuns in 1875, the number of priests and nuns have been on the decline for years.

Some say it is required celibacy. Others say Catholic families now steer their children away from the cloth. Still others say that young Catholics are no longer drawn to the vocation because of the servant-like lifestyle.

Whatever the reason, the downturn means it is becoming increasingly difficult for seriously ill Catholic patients to receive sacraments. It is a concern for those in charge of seeing to the needs of the sick and dying.

"The shortage of priests and nuns is great everywhere," said Bonnie McCulley, manager of pastoral care at St. Francis. "The bishop worries about the shortage of nuns and priests in this area as well, but at St. Francis, we have adjusted."

McCulley said the effects at St. Francis have been minimal, thanks to a variety of factors:

The vast majority of patients at St. Francis are not Catholic and can be visited by Protestant ministers -- either their own or by the chaplains that the hospital has on staff full time.

Cantore has served at the hospital for 10 years, and he isn't likely to retire for eight more.

While nuns used to fill the hospital, they have been replaced by local clergy and lay people who want to serve God by visiting the sick.

"We miss the visibility of sisters in the hospital," McCulley said. "But Catholic laywomen and men have stepped up to take their place."

There are considerations, however. McCulley admits, if for some reason the hospital were to lose Cantore, the deficiency of priests would make it difficult to replace him.

"But right now, we're just blessed to have him and all of our chaplains," she said. "We try to see every patient that we can, and I know we see most of them."

Reinforced values, mission

Steve Bjelich, president and CEO of St. Francis Medical Center, said not having as many priests or nuns at the hospital has only reinforced leaders' realization of what their mission and values are all about.

"Because there is not as strong of a formal religious presence, it's that much more of a commitment we have as a Catholic facility to demonstrate those values," said Bjelich, himself a Catholic, though that is not a requirement of the job. "We live out our values every day here. We are building on the rich heritage that was started by the Franciscan sisters."

Like Catholic churches and schools, the Catholic hospital here has thrived in spite of the clergy decrease. The hospital that began in a rented two-story frame house which accommodated 12 patients has become a 264-bed regional medical center that serves more than 250,000 people in Southeast Missouri, Southern Illinois and Western Kentucky.

From those three nuns, the medical staff has grown to about 150 physicians and 1,200 employees and nearly 500 volunteers.

The hospital continues to grow. In the past year alone, St. Francis Medical Center opened a new state-of-the-art obstetrics unit in September, and the 100th baby was born there Friday. A new intensive care unit and a new wound healing center also opened in the last year.

Catholic connection

The Catholic presence is clear when entering the hospital. A statue of St. Francis presides over the hospital's courtyard. Inside, there are six religious statues and pictures of the bishop. Other Catholic pictures and mementos are placed sporadically.

There is also the perpetual adoration chapel, a 16-seat room adjacent to the main chapel where patients and family are allowed to go in and sit quietly and pray. Just outside the room is a small wicker basket full of scribbled notes bearing prayer requests.

The church is owned -- called sponsorship in Catholic health care -- by the Springfield-Cape Girardeau Diocese. All decisions, however, are made by the 14-member board, which includes local businessmen, a county commissioner, community leaders and this newspaper's publisher.

The hospital is not-for-profit and any revenues are reinvested in the hospital, said Barbara Thompson, the hospital's vice president of marketing. There are no stockholders and money is not directed to the church in any way, she said.

The hospital is not without outside influences, though. Catholic hospitals nationally are bound by the Ethical and Religious Directives for Catholic Health Care Services, a group of guidelines set up and approved by the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops.

That means abortion is never permitted. Euthanasia is not a morally acceptable option. The direct sterilization of either men or women, including tubal ligation, whether permanent or temporary, is not allowed when its only goal is to prevent conception.

Thompson said that those are high-profile social issues that everyone thinks of when it comes to Catholic hospitals.

"There are 86 directives and they range from everything from the care of a patient to their dignity," she said. "It does deal with abortion and euthanasia and people always jump to those. But that's only a small part of the directives."

Other directives call for tending to the poor, mutual respect, compassion as well as promoting medical research. Those items supersede any board power, Thompson said.

"The board could not and would not do anything that would violate the ethical and religious directives," she said. "That has never changed: St. Francis is a Catholic hospital."

Few Catholics

In spite of the strong Catholic ties, the majority of patients at St. Francis belong to faiths other than the one led by the pope.

On any given day, there are only 25 Catholic patients being treated at St. Francis.

"It's important to realize that the majority of our patients are not Catholic," Bjelich said. "But they are reassured by coming to a faith-based hospital. Care is not just the bricks and mortar."

McCulley, who is also a certified chaplain, oversees a staff of five which -- including a part-time Catholic lay minister and Father John Cantore -- also consists of two full-time Protestant chaplains -- one from the Assembly of God and the other from the United Church of Christ.

There is also an on-call minister from the Church of God who is available at any time. They also have 16 Stephen's Ministers, volunteers from the community of all faiths who undergo training and visit with some patients for comfort and spiritual needs.

"If they need a Bible, we get it," McCulley said. "If they want a Buddhist statue to make them more comfortable, we get that. If they want an Episcopal priest, we'll get that, or prayers from Jewish tradition.

"We definitely have a Catholic identity here, but we do not push Catholicism."

If Cantore's main job is to administer sacraments to Catholics, the other chaplains have a somewhat different role. Chaplains offer support and a willing ear, whether the patient wants to talk about grief, God or family.

"We ask them if they need anything or if they want to talk about anything," McCulley said. "We cry together and do what we can. We are here to help them in any way we can spiritually to get through the healing process."

Across the hospital, Cantore is doing just that as he touches the forehead and wrist of Mildred E. Allison, an 83-year-old Cape Girardeau resident, with oil consecrated by the bishop.

"I needed that blessing," said Allison, a Catholic for 60 years. "It made me feel good. I'll take any blessing I can get. God bless you, Father."

After, Cantore says this is a job that leaves him with few regrets.

"Sometimes I am asked if I enjoy this," he said. "I do. It's touching people's lives. It's gratifying."

smoyers@semissourian.com

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