Ho‘oponopono and the Ministry of Presence

In the chaos of an emergency room, life and death collide in real time. I’ve spent hours in such places—not as a doctor, not as a nurse, but as a chaplain. In those sacred, heartbreaking moments, my role was to sit with families facing immense tragedy and loss, to call loved ones, to offer prayers, and simply to be present. I’ve been watching The Pitt lately, and it’s the closest I’ve seen to the real-life emergency rooms I’ve encountered, especially the Level 1 Trauma Center in Dallas where I spent so much time. But one thing is missing from the show—the chaplain.

Yet, one scene in The Pitt struck me deeply. As a family prepared to say goodbye to their father, the lead doctor offered them a Hawaiian prayer. I couldn’t believe it—the very prayer I had used so many times in real-life hospital rooms, the prayer that had carried countless families through unbearable moments, was now being spoken on-screen. It was a rare and powerful acknowledgment that healing isn’t just about medicine but also about the spirit. That moment reminded me of the times I stood beside families in their final goodbyes. No matter how many times I witnessed it, the weight of those moments never lessened.

I remember going to the ER, where death was as prevalent as healing. I remember one night being punched after a rather blunt doctor left the room—because I represented faith, a faith that was being challenged in the tragic death of a loved one. I remember checking out many from the morgue in the depths of the hospital, releasing them to funeral homes. I remember bringing a baby who was born too early to a mother grieving, yet still wanting to do a naming ceremony—because that baby was her baby, no matter how short the life. I remember the sacred moment of holding a woman’s hand as she transitioned from this world to the next. Those memories, though from so long ago, will never leave me.

Words often felt inadequate, but presence—simply being there—mattered. And when words did come, they were often simple, like those found in Ho‘oponopono, a Hawaiian practice of healing and reconciliation. At its core, this spiritual discipline centers on four profound phrases:

These words are a gift—not just to others, but to ourselves. They remind us that healing is not only about fixing what is broken but about restoring relationships, releasing burdens, and making peace with what is.

In the ER, I often had no answers—only presence. I couldn’t undo the car crash, reverse the stroke, or stop the bleeding. But I could sit beside a grieving mother, hold a trembling hand, and speak words of comfort. Sometimes, that comfort sounded like:

In those sacred moments, healing looks different. It’s not about curing but about connection. It’s about making peace with the past, holding space for grief, and affirming the love that never dies.

But Ho‘oponopono is not just for hospitals. It’s for everyday life. It’s for families with old wounds, friendships strained by time and misunderstanding, and churches that have forgotten how to extend grace to one another. It is a way of living in God’s mercy, trusting that healing comes not always in the way we expect, but in the way we most need.

So this week, I invite you to practice these four phrases. Speak them aloud. Whisper them in prayer. Offer them to others. And may we all find healing in the sacred act of reconciliation, in the ministry of presence, and in the love that never lets us go.  See you Sunday!

Peace, Tracy