I am a volunteer for the Search and Rescue Team at a local state park. A couple weeks ago, we held a training session to review procedures for emergencies that require a med-evac helicopter to air lift an injured person to a hospital.
             A helicopter and crew flew in from a nearby city. We set up the landing pad. Arranged a simulated accident scene. Learned when it was safe to approach the helicopter once it had landed.
            The most memorable part of the training session was the spirit and dedication of the med-evac crew. I recall a young African-American nurse on the crew stating —with firm conviction—that she could not imagine a more rewarding and fulfilling job.
            I was even more impressed when I saw the conditions in which she and the crew worked: the space inside the helicopter was very limited, with barely enough room to kneel next to the gurney while attending to the accident victim on the flight back to the hospital.
            Looking inside that small compartment, I remarked to that same nurse who happened to be standing next to me: “No room in there to take a priest along!”
            Her face flashed a big smile: “No need to worry about that!” she said. “The Lord Jesus squeezes right on in! He’s right next to our hearts! We need him as much as he needs us! We never lift off without offering a prayer.”
            As a priest, I know exactly what she’s talking about. Time and again I’ve been called to hospital rooms, not to attend to a body, but to commend a soul into the hands of God. Time and again, I  have experienced a mysterious Presence squeeze into that place of fear and anguish and fill it with solace and the assurance of faith.
             Beneath the whirl of a helicopter blade and in between the words of the Last Rites, the Spirit of the Lord squeezes in. He squeezes in.