The Wolf and the Chaplain: Reflections on Pack, Presence, and the Unseen Work of Spiritual Care
The wolf is a creature often misunderstood—feared by some, revered by others. But when we look closer, beyond the myths and stories, we find a being deeply committed to community, loyalty, and survival. Wolves do not roam the wilderness aimlessly; they travel in packs, bound together by invisible threads of trust, instinct, and shared purpose. In many ways, chaplains share this quiet kinship with the wolf—navigating the unseen wilderness of spiritual care, always aware of the pack, the unseen dynamics at play, and the sacred responsibility to those we accompany.
Wolves thrive in relationship. A pack is not merely a collection of individuals but a living, breathing system—each wolf holding a role, whether leader, scout, caregiver, or protector. In a similar way, chaplains rarely work in isolation. Whether in a hospital, prison, military unit, or classroom, chaplains are part of a larger system—a pack of caregivers, providers, families, and patients—where dynamics shift, unspoken loyalties emerge, and every action ripples through the whole.
And just as wolves are attuned to the emotional undercurrents of the pack—sensing weakness, grief, or distress—chaplains, too, are called to sense what isn’t said out loud. In every room we enter, there are emotional and spiritual “wolves” present: grief, fear, anger, or unresolved family wounds. Sometimes those wolves snarl quietly in the corner, sometimes they howl so loudly it’s hard to hear anything else. At times, chaplains or CPE students might choose—consciously or unconsciously—to ignore them, hoping they’ll fade. But they rarely do.
In Chaplain Professional Education (CPE) or at the bedside, there’s always the “wolf in the room”—the dying parent no one wants to say goodbye to, the childhood trauma that reawakens in illness, the theological struggle over suffering and meaning. Like a wolf tracking prey, chaplains are called to trace these hidden paths gently, patiently, courageously. Not to attack, but to understand—to help others name what has remained unseen or unspoken.
Wolves also know when to travel together and when to sit in the shadows. They understand the power of silence, the sacredness of presence. Chaplaincy demands the same skill—knowing when words are needed and when simply sitting, breathing, and holding space is the most faithful act.
And like the lone wolf myth—often misunderstood—chaplains, too, can sometimes feel isolated in their role. Bearing witness to suffering, carrying the spiritual weight of others, walking paths few are willing to tread. But even the lone wolf longs for connection, for the pack, for home. Chaplains must remember their own pack—their colleagues, mentors, and spiritual grounding—lest they wander too long alone.
The wolf teaches us loyalty, deep listening, courage, and respect for what is wild and untamed in the human spirit. The chaplain, like the wolf, is called to track what is hidden, to protect what is sacred, and to remind those they serve that even in the wilderness, we do not travel alone.
