Airport chaplains

They offer comfort and assistance to fliers worldwide


Airport chaplains Romano Nereo, left, of Juba International Airport in the South Sudan, and Lt. Norman Miller of the Atlanta Fire Department enjoy lunch. (The Associated Press)

Published: Wednesday, December 4, 2013 at 1:24 p.m.
Last Modified: Wednesday, December 4, 2013 at 1:24 p.m.

The Rev. Frank Colladay Jr. stood at the end of the gate waiting. On the arriving plane was a passenger whose husband had just died of a heart attack on another flight. Her name was Linda Gilbert. The two had never met before.

Colladay's parish happens to be the world's busiest airport. His flock consists of people passing through who might need comfort, spiritual advice, or someone to pray with.

On this day, a traumatized Gilbert needed even more. Colladay guided her through Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, drove her in his silver Ford Fusion to the medical examiner to see her husband's body and arranged for a flight home for both of them.

"He didn't say a whole lot. But just his presence being there, it just felt comforting and reassuring," Gilbert says. "I didn't know that airports have chaplains."

Most people don't.

Airports are mini-cities with their own movie theaters, fire departments and shopping malls. Many also have chapels, typically tiny non-denominational spaces, in out-of-the-way locations. They offer an escape from constant gate change and security announcements and are staffed by 350 part- and full-time chaplains worldwide — Roman Catholic, Protestant and, even, Jewish, Muslim or Sikh.

The positions are highly sought-after and considered glamorous, with chaplains saying they love the excitement and unpredictability of airports.

The job is unlike other church assignments. There isn't a permanent congregation. No baptisms, weddings or funerals. Instead, airport chaplains preach to a crowd that is transient by nature.

Trust must be earned quickly. There's little time for small talk. Everybody is rushing to catch a flight.

"You only get one chance to impress them; one chance to help them," says Bishop D.D. Hayes, a non-denominational pastor at Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport. "Many times, we touch lives we never see again."

There are daily or weekly services but most ministering occurs elsewhere.

Chaplains need outgoing personalities. They have to recognize the signs that something is wrong and know how to approach strangers.

The Rev. Wina Hordijk, a Protestant minister at Amsterdam's Schiphol Airport, recently saw a teenage girl sitting by herself, crying. The girl was supposed to travel throughout Europe with her boyfriend — but he dumped her at the start of the trip.

"I always have a lot of handkerchiefs in my bag," Hordijk says.

Then there are the more serious situations.

The Rev. Jonathan Baldwin, who is assigned by The Church of England to London's Gatwick Airport, was once asked by a couple to join them as their son and his new wife returned from their honeymoon. The groom's sister had committed suicide the day after the wedding. Baldwin obtained a quiet room for them to meet, break the news and cry privately.

Chaplains don't just support fliers; there are also thousands of airport workers. They often need to chat with somebody independent from their job.

"People are a little bit uptight already. It's a great environment for ministry," says the Rev. Hutz Hertzberg, the senior Protestant chaplain at Chicago's two airports. "In the 21st century, we need to bring the ministry to where the people are instead of waiting for them to come to our churches."

Getting them to services isn't always easy.

JFK is one of the few airports with separate chapels for each religion. Most airports share non-denominational spaces. Crosses are placed on altars prior to services and removed after. Bookshelves are stocked with texts of all religions, often in multiple languages.

Even those who know chapels exist sometimes can't find them. They are tucked away in odd corners of the airport: next to baggage claim in St. Louis, sandwiched between two tram stations in Orlando and above a Cinnabon and barbecue joint in Charlotte, N.C.

"Can you imagine the smells we're getting?," says Ben Wenning, a Roman Catholic deacon there.

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