I learned this morning, mere minutes after posting my last post, that my cousin Nathan passed away quietly early this morning. He was diagnosed with liver cancer only a couple months ago. He fought as hard as he could, but the cancer was too aggressive. He died shortly after going on hospice. He was 33.
If that isn't sobering, I don't know what is. How easy it is for me to say, "God loves me! God is with me!" with my positive prognosis and oh, woe is me, the fear of upcoming treatments. And then I get this disheartening news. He was engaged. He was just about begin a promising teaching career. How can this make any sense at all?
And yet, we proceed in faith, clinging to that mystery that is God's love for us. Sometimes it is more mysterious than others.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Clinging to mystery
Thanks be to God for wonderful, attentive, thoughtful parents. Here's another post, inspired by my dad this time. In response to my post about baptism, my dad sent me the sermon he preached Trinity Sunday of 1999 - just a week or two after I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's. It's so interesting to read what was going on in everyone's minds during that time, and compare it to what's happening now.
But back to the sermon. Two things stuck out at me. One is, looking at the Greek of the passage in which Jesus says to "go and baptize in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit," that would be more accurately translated, "into the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit." Placed, even thrust, into the care and protection of God. There's no getting out! You're stuck! Mwahaha!
But fake-evil laughter aside, that is a comfort, isn't it? And that brings me to the other thing that stuck out to me about my dad's sermon. It is from a line in the Athanasian Creed, the lesser known but sticks-a-punch third ecumenical creed. Its opening statement says we should, "above all, cling to the catholic faith." (<-- note: "little c" catholic means "universal.") Not "understand" it. Just cling to it. Understanding fails - there is always a point at which that happens. So when it does, cling to what you know is true... which my faith tells me is, "God claimed me, God loves me, God is with me."
There's something sort of liberating about that, no? I don't have to understand why I had to be in the 30% of Hodgkin's Disease survivors who are stricken with breast cancer. I don't have to understand what is just or fair about this. I don't even have to understand why I am lucky enough to have caught this early and have a bright prognosis, unlike so many other women and men who are diagnosed with cancer every day. All I have to do is cling to what I can trust regardless of what mutated cells are growing in my body.
God claimed me. God loves me. God is with me.
Thank Goodness!
(I should also add to the "what I know" list: that I have hundreds of people loving me and praying for me, from near and far, and that this is a huge source of strength. Thanks for being a part of that!)
But back to the sermon. Two things stuck out at me. One is, looking at the Greek of the passage in which Jesus says to "go and baptize in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit," that would be more accurately translated, "into the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit." Placed, even thrust, into the care and protection of God. There's no getting out! You're stuck! Mwahaha!
But fake-evil laughter aside, that is a comfort, isn't it? And that brings me to the other thing that stuck out to me about my dad's sermon. It is from a line in the Athanasian Creed, the lesser known but sticks-a-punch third ecumenical creed. Its opening statement says we should, "above all, cling to the catholic faith." (<-- note: "little c" catholic means "universal.") Not "understand" it. Just cling to it. Understanding fails - there is always a point at which that happens. So when it does, cling to what you know is true... which my faith tells me is, "God claimed me, God loves me, God is with me."
There's something sort of liberating about that, no? I don't have to understand why I had to be in the 30% of Hodgkin's Disease survivors who are stricken with breast cancer. I don't have to understand what is just or fair about this. I don't even have to understand why I am lucky enough to have caught this early and have a bright prognosis, unlike so many other women and men who are diagnosed with cancer every day. All I have to do is cling to what I can trust regardless of what mutated cells are growing in my body.
God claimed me. God loves me. God is with me.
Thank Goodness!
(I should also add to the "what I know" list: that I have hundreds of people loving me and praying for me, from near and far, and that this is a huge source of strength. Thanks for being a part of that!)
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Remember that you are baptized
My mom sent me this text yesterday:
"Sending you love on this, your baptism day, and the first anniversary of your ordination. What God ordains is always good!"
Yes, I was ordained on my baptism anniversary, which I think is about one of my favorite things about my life. And what a reminder this was to me this year:
1) What God ordains is indeed always good, even if you don't see that right off the bat. As I mentioned, I experienced so many blessings my first time around cancer, and owe a lot of who I am today to that experience. And a lot of the good things at that! The thing itself might not be so good as the thing that becomes.
2) 29 years ago, God claimed be in baptism. That's pretty powerful stuff. And because I know I belong to God, I also know that God will not leave my side in this. I have never felt abandoned, but honestly feel a closeness to God that I didn't feel even two months ago. This is purposeful, not in the way that "God did this to me on purpose!" (<-- read in childish tantrum voice), but in that there is purpose in this, too. We'll just see what that is.
Thanks for the reminder, mom.
"Sending you love on this, your baptism day, and the first anniversary of your ordination. What God ordains is always good!"
Yes, I was ordained on my baptism anniversary, which I think is about one of my favorite things about my life. And what a reminder this was to me this year:
1) What God ordains is indeed always good, even if you don't see that right off the bat. As I mentioned, I experienced so many blessings my first time around cancer, and owe a lot of who I am today to that experience. And a lot of the good things at that! The thing itself might not be so good as the thing that becomes.
2) 29 years ago, God claimed be in baptism. That's pretty powerful stuff. And because I know I belong to God, I also know that God will not leave my side in this. I have never felt abandoned, but honestly feel a closeness to God that I didn't feel even two months ago. This is purposeful, not in the way that "God did this to me on purpose!" (<-- read in childish tantrum voice), but in that there is purpose in this, too. We'll just see what that is.
Thanks for the reminder, mom.
Where I started
Yesterday I celebrated my one year anniversary of ordination and ministry in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.
Four days before that I heard the dreaded C-word: Cancer.
Again.
Let me back up. I first heard that C word 13 years ago, when I was an invincible and naive 15-year-old. "It's Hodgkin's Disease, which is a kind of cancer." Not what a teenager wants to hear on the brink of summer vacation! With much love and support from friends and family, and more prayers than I can comprehend, I walked the path of Fighting Cancer - first surgery, then chemotherapy, then radiation. A little taste of everything, lucky me. A couple weeks from now, on Sept. 17, I would have celebrated 13 years of being cancer free. Grateful as I am for cancer-free-ness, I stand by that cancer was one of the most important and formative experiences of my life. Even beyond providing me with some killer college essay material, the blessings I received from that experience continue to bring tears to my eyes. I would not be the person today if it weren't for having cancer.
(Read this for one amazing blessing that came out of cancer.)
Unfortunately, this is true in several ways, some not as good as others. I knew that as I distanced myself from Hodgkin's, I grew closer to the dreaded "long term side effects" of my treatments. Hence, when I went in for my annual mammogram in July, something I've had to do since I was 25, they said, "There's something we need to check into." Calcifications. Irregular tissue. More suspicious tissue. Have a needle biopsy. Have another, different kind of needle biopsy. Diagnosis: atypical hyperplasia. Have an MRI. Have another ultrasound, and while you're at it, another biopsy. And then finally, "We found some mammary carcinoma in situ cells in there. It needs to come out."
Did I mention I'm the pastor of two churches? Two wonderful churches, but two very different churches, a call that is extremely demanding of my time, yes, but also all of my ministerial abilities. What works at one place doesn't work at the other; what one church loves the other doesn't; what I remember to do at one, I forget at the other. I'd like to think my coping abilities are above average for someone my age (29), but this call certainly stretches them to the max. Add a cancer diagnosis on top of that, and, well, it's a lot harder to get out of bed than it ever has been before.
So here I am faced with the question: what is a pastor to do when life so passionately confront ministry in unavoidable ways? How much do I share? With whom? When people in my congregation say they will do anything to help me, do they really mean anything? My bathroom really needs cleaning. I could use some prepared food, but could you make sure it is really healthy food? I hate processed food, and I prefer whole wheat to white. And while you're at it, a bottle of wine would be great.
One healthy (I think) result of this undesired collision is that my sermons, more than ever before, are very contextual for my own life. They say the best sermons are the ones a preacher preaches to herself, and if that's the case, then I'm on fire lately. Hence, I'll be posting my sermons on this blog. As for other posts, I hope that this blog will help me to sort out how to gracefully walk this path of ministry and unexpected life turns all at once. Meanwhile, maybe someone will stumble upon it and find it helpful.
Especially if you are a young woman who has been diagnosed with breast cancer, I want to hear from you. If you are a pastor who has walked the path of cancer during your ministry, I want to hear from you. If you're just really awesome and want to be friends, I want to hear from you.
For now, I have a sermon on anger I'm trying to work through...
Four days before that I heard the dreaded C-word: Cancer.
Again.
Let me back up. I first heard that C word 13 years ago, when I was an invincible and naive 15-year-old. "It's Hodgkin's Disease, which is a kind of cancer." Not what a teenager wants to hear on the brink of summer vacation! With much love and support from friends and family, and more prayers than I can comprehend, I walked the path of Fighting Cancer - first surgery, then chemotherapy, then radiation. A little taste of everything, lucky me. A couple weeks from now, on Sept. 17, I would have celebrated 13 years of being cancer free. Grateful as I am for cancer-free-ness, I stand by that cancer was one of the most important and formative experiences of my life. Even beyond providing me with some killer college essay material, the blessings I received from that experience continue to bring tears to my eyes. I would not be the person today if it weren't for having cancer.
(Read this for one amazing blessing that came out of cancer.)
Unfortunately, this is true in several ways, some not as good as others. I knew that as I distanced myself from Hodgkin's, I grew closer to the dreaded "long term side effects" of my treatments. Hence, when I went in for my annual mammogram in July, something I've had to do since I was 25, they said, "There's something we need to check into." Calcifications. Irregular tissue. More suspicious tissue. Have a needle biopsy. Have another, different kind of needle biopsy. Diagnosis: atypical hyperplasia. Have an MRI. Have another ultrasound, and while you're at it, another biopsy. And then finally, "We found some mammary carcinoma in situ cells in there. It needs to come out."
Did I mention I'm the pastor of two churches? Two wonderful churches, but two very different churches, a call that is extremely demanding of my time, yes, but also all of my ministerial abilities. What works at one place doesn't work at the other; what one church loves the other doesn't; what I remember to do at one, I forget at the other. I'd like to think my coping abilities are above average for someone my age (29), but this call certainly stretches them to the max. Add a cancer diagnosis on top of that, and, well, it's a lot harder to get out of bed than it ever has been before.
So here I am faced with the question: what is a pastor to do when life so passionately confront ministry in unavoidable ways? How much do I share? With whom? When people in my congregation say they will do anything to help me, do they really mean anything? My bathroom really needs cleaning. I could use some prepared food, but could you make sure it is really healthy food? I hate processed food, and I prefer whole wheat to white. And while you're at it, a bottle of wine would be great.
One healthy (I think) result of this undesired collision is that my sermons, more than ever before, are very contextual for my own life. They say the best sermons are the ones a preacher preaches to herself, and if that's the case, then I'm on fire lately. Hence, I'll be posting my sermons on this blog. As for other posts, I hope that this blog will help me to sort out how to gracefully walk this path of ministry and unexpected life turns all at once. Meanwhile, maybe someone will stumble upon it and find it helpful.
Especially if you are a young woman who has been diagnosed with breast cancer, I want to hear from you. If you are a pastor who has walked the path of cancer during your ministry, I want to hear from you. If you're just really awesome and want to be friends, I want to hear from you.
For now, I have a sermon on anger I'm trying to work through...
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