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Covington typically wears a police uniform when he travels with another officer but if there would be a death and he has to console the family of the deceased he takes his gun belt off, "switches hats" and assumes his role as a minister.
His law enforcement training began eight years ago when Covington spoke with Sheriff Gary Toelke about serving as the department's chaplain, something he'd previously done with police and sheriff's departments in Polk County, Humansville and Jackson, all in Missouri.
"Sheriff Toelke said I could only do it if I became a commissioned officer," Covington said. "He said having an untrained civilian with an officer could result in either the minister or the deputy getting killed."
Covington's Routine
Covington, now 65, keeps trying to retire but somehow it just never sticks. So, for now, his schedule looks something like this:
Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday - hospice chaplain with St. John's Hospice; Thursday and Friday - on-call chaplain at St. John's Mercy Hospital; chaplain of Franklin County Sheriff's Department, counseling police officers who need spiritual support, also speaking to detainees when he's asked to.
Most of the detainees, he said, are there temporarily and are local residents. As such they have visits from local pastors and have regularly scheduled worship services.
The officers on the other hand have nowhere to turn with their personal struggles and, most often, don't want to even admit that they need some counseling.
"Law enforcement people have the second highest suicide rate (in our country)," Covington said. "They feel that they're always supposed to be in control and not let things bother them."
They can't talk to their fellow officers, he went on to explain, because the other officers might consider them "wimps." They can't talk to their wives or families because the officers try to shield them from what they see and do, plus the information is often confidential. They can't talk to their supervisors because it could affect their ratings and they can't talk to their own pastors, because they likely wouldn't understand what the officer is going through.
"Dealing with suicides is especially difficult," Covington said. "One of the deputies was the first responder to a suicide his first week on duty. The man, who was about the age of the officer, had discharged a gun in his mouth."
Turns out Covington had just gone through training with the officer and knew him well. So they were able to talk about the incident and the officer was able to share his feelings honestly and openly.
Covington feels good about the fact that he can be there for other people and allow God to speak through him. "I'm just the instrument through which God works," he said.
Many times Covington has comforted a family that has lost a loved one, has even been the one to deliver the devastating news. He acknowledged that the family will likely never remember what he said, "but they'll remember that I was there . . . and listened . . . and cared," he said.
He even stayed with a 9-year-old girl during her autopsy to determine the cause of death. He knew the little girl, who had been accidentally electrocuted.
"The family said it brought them comfort to know that she was not 'alone' during the procedure," he said.
Sometimes Covington travels with Major Mike Copeland, one of Franklin County's deputy medical examiners. If a family must be notified about someone's death, Copeland can talk to the family about what happened physically, while Covington provides spiritual support.
Getting Started
Covington earned a bachelor's degree from Southern Illinois University-Edwardsville; master's from the University of Guam; and doctorate from the University of Arizona. All were in education and administration.
He served as an educator for 25 years, following a stint in the Army in the early '60s in Nuremberg, Germany.
He taught independent studies students in the Riverview Gardens School District, then taught in Guam and Tucson, Ariz. He was an administrator at Hopi and Papago reservations in Arizona and headmaster of a missions school in Kabul, Afghanistan.
Covington spent a year at Perkins School of Theology in Dallas, then began pastoring Methodist churches.
During many years as a pastor he also served as chaplain in sheriffs and police departments, although none of them had the requirements that Toelke set forth.
His Franklin County training involved classes four days a week for a year. It cost him $15,000, plus another $10,000 to $12,000 for equipment (weapons, uniform and body armor).
He also worked, and continues to work, with other outreach ministries, helping with alcohol recovery, transporting women and children to shelters in domestic abuse cases and attending ministerial alliance meetings.
Covington pastored Methodist churches in St. Clair and Union before retiring several years back.
But he quickly realized that wasn't a good decision since he had no health insurance and wasn't yet eligible for Medicare.
So now he pastors a church in Grubville and his positions at hospice and the hospital also are paid positions.
Covington also volunteers as co-coordinator of the sexual assault response team (SART) at St. John's.
"Years ago, I would never have imagined this is what I'd be doing," he said. "I just figured I'd be a teacher all my life."
But he feels his life has been full and rewarding.
"Our time on earth is short and we should support each other in any way we can," he said. "And maybe some day a reporter will be interviewing someone who will say, 'There was this man who really helped me when I was going through a difficult time in my life.' "
