SOUTH BEND--Ask police chaplains what they do, and they'll answer in a single sentence: They're here to save those who save others.
That's a deceptively simple answer for an often complex ministry.
How do you tell an officer's child that she won't be coming home? How do you walk into a McDonald's restaurant at noon and tell a 22-year-old employee that her baby has died?
"We've all pulled up to places and said to God, 'I don't want to do this,' " said the Rev. Don Voll, a chaplain from Burnsville, Minn., one of 500 chaplains attending this week's International Conference of Police Chaplains at South Bend's Century Center.
Chaplains assist entire communities when tragedy and loss have left no one untouched. Some, such as the Rev. Dennis Simons of Sandy, Ore., even run outreach ministries, offering emergency food and housing vouchers through the police department.
But mostly, they help officers to absorb the sadness of each day -- a cumulative sorrow that can result in fractured marriages, substance abuse and suicide, or careers marred by cynicism, corruption and excess.
"It's not every pastor that can do this kind of work," said the Rev. Steven McKeown.
That's because most police chaplains live in two different worlds.
Inside the tight-knit and tight-lipped circles of law enforcement, chaplains are an integral part of their departments.
The vast majority are volunteers who serve their own congregations full time. Others, such as Constable Kevin McInnes of the Calgary Police Service, are law enforcement officers trained to serve as chaplains.
"It helps, absolutely," McInnes said. "I've worked the streets, and I know what it feels like to be on both sides of the barrel, literally. I've earned the trust of the police officers, and I understand their mind-set, their pride and their need for secrecy about their private lives."
But most chaplains are partly outside of the law enforcement circle, bridging the distance between badges and blessings, patrol cars and prayer, trauma and tears.
McKeown is chaplain for police and fire departments in Aliquippa, Pa. He also serves the Pittsburgh field office of the FBI.
"Much of what they do is confidential," said McKeown, pastor of an Episcopalian congregation.
"They really can't talk about it with anybody else. The typical married agent, well, his wife can ask him if he's had a good day and about all he can say is 'yeah.' "
But that day may have been especially difficult. And as those days add up, officers may find themselves stressed, burned out and spiritually empty -- with a sense that there's no way out, no way to escape a world of drugs and stabbings and child abuse.
In other words, a world gone awry.
"They're not called to lovely little occasions," said Sister Ann Stamm, a 25-year chaplain from Livonia, Mich.
"I have to help them with their sorrow," said Stamm, who teaches at Madonna University and specializes in the spirituality of grief.
"They don't want to whine. But you have to teach them that their humanness is encased in a jar."
Stamm helped create "Behind the Badge," a book of poetry and prayer written by and for police officers. But what she usually does is death notifications, she said.
It's the responsibility of police chaplains all over the world. They're there when an officer dies, but they're also there to deliver sad news to the community's families.
It's a job that requires sensitivity to the cultures and faith traditions of people who may not share a pastor's or rabbi's background.
For instance, Henry Ponsonby is a black chaplain in Johannesburg, South Africa. He remembers a time when he could not counsel white officers or notify white families that a death or accident had occurred.
"Thank God we're over that," Ponsonby said. But there are still cultural differences.
"With the black people, it's unacceptable to them to talk about death without a jacket and tie," he said. "That's showing respect to them."
In America, chaplains have found situations where a Spanish-language barrier made notification difficult or where one woman would wail -- in the tradition of professional mourners -- for the rest of the family.
At the conference, South Bend Police Department Chaplain Don Neely taught an entire "Without Compromise" segment on how chaplains can minister to diverse spiritual needs, walking the line without violating or imposing their own personal beliefs.
It was a topic Voll touched on, too, during his presentation about death notification.
"I've had people say, 'Wow, this is really great that you do this -- you can bring the person to salvation,' " said Voll, a Christian. "But that's not what I've done for 20 years."
Talk little and listen much, he said. Be sensitive to cues. Let people tell you -- verbally or not -- what spiritual support they want, he said.
"Do we pray? Yes. Do we read Scripture? Yes. But I'm not there to do my thing," he said.
Like Voll, Stamm stressed that long-term spiritual relationship really happens with the police officers she serves, not the public.
Their stress is compounded by the lack of respect that society affords to anyone in authority, she added.
"Police officers are human beings, and human beings come from the hand of God," she said. "I call them blue angels, and even angels need a little support."
Staff writer Laureen Fagan: lfagan@sbtinfo.com (219) 235-6054