The Rev. Leah Klug isn’t a stickler on religious rituals. As a hospital chaplain for Swedish Medical Group in the Seattle area, she makes do with the supplies she can find. Recently, she performed an anointing of the sick with mouthwash, because she didn’t have any oil on hand. She is accustomed to seeking the sacred in sterile rooms, reading psalms above the steady beep of a heart monitor.

She described a visit last month to the room of a Covid-19 patient where she performed commendation of the dying. A nurse stood just outside, holding a phone on speaker so the woman’s family could say goodbye. Ms. Klug touched her mask for protection, then lowered a container of oil toward the patient’s head. She read out a verse from the Gospel of John. She suddenly felt a grief so profound that it seemed to swallow up her words. “It’s not supposed to be like this,” Ms. Klug said she thought to herself. “Her family is supposed to be here.”

She was frozen, then, in another wave of sorrow as she remembered: There would be many more solitary deaths in the months to come.

As emergency rooms are flooded by coronavirus patients and I.C.U.s exceed their capacities, hospital chaplains are finding their jobs changing. Certified in clinical pastoral work and tending to people of all faiths, chaplains are no strangers to daily tragedies. They serve as vessels for the grief and fear of patients and their families. They grasp the hands of the dying. They recite poetry to parents in mourning. When called upon, they deliver blessings to hospital staff.