I think a few friends, surprised by how little I’ve been talking about God in this blog, think I must be pissed off at Him/Her. I am a religious person, a left-wing Christian, and active in my Methodist church. Because of the lack of God talk here, a couple of people have asked if I am mad at the Divine Mystery. Some of my friends who have had breast cancer have told me that it’s only a matter of time before I get really, really pissed off at somebody, probably at God.
But I’m not there now. I don’t think I’m immune to that sort of reaction, but frankly most of the news I’ve gotten since my initial diagnosis has been good news. It would seem sort of inappropriate to me to be mad because chemo hasn’t made me real sick, or because my tumors are shrinking, or my husband is a saint. If I were to suddenly have to cope with some bad news, I imagine I could be as pissed off as the next person. But so far, no.
So why haven’t I been talking about God very much here? One reason is that it is a really complicated set of questions for me, and I have been working hard, turning them over in my mind. Another is that I don’t want to offend lots of folks—and the people who are reading this blog are very, very varied in their religious experience. In the end, though, it’s my blog, so I’m going to have to hash out the religious part my own way, along with the medical and everything else.
From the beginning, the day I found the lump in my breast, I approached this problem from a religious perspective and with prayer. I found my lump on a Saturday. On the Sunday, I took myself to a woman I’ve known for years, a person with a gift for healing who has studied Christianity and healing for many years. I asked her to lay hands on me and pray for me. She was very willing to help me. She basically ordered the cancer to dissolve itself. I felt like I’d let her down. When I went to the doctor on the Monday, my lump was still there. It still hurt. A mammogram on the Wednesday would confirm a fairly well-advanced case of breast cancer. Where was my faith? If I had had a faith the size of a mustard seed, I could tell the sycamore tree to plant itself in the ocean, and it would obey. But the lump was still there, it still hurt, it lit up the x-ray with its evil glow.
What a lot of nonsense I put myself through for a day or two, there. Of course, it turned out like that old joke where the old Christian is about to be flooded out by the rising river, and he stands his ground and says, “The Lord will provide.” So the river rises, and a guy with a bullhorn calls for evacuations, but he says, “The Lord will provide.” And the river rises, and a guy with a boat comes to help him, but he says, “The Lord will provide.” And a guy with a helicopter comes to rescue him from his rooftop but he says, “The Lord will provide.” And then he drowns, and in Heaven, he tells the Lord, “Lord, the only thing I don’t understand…I really thought you’d provide.” And the Lord says, “You are a stubborn man, you know, I provided a guy with a bullhorn, a guy with a boat, and a guy with a helicopter.”
So that’s how may it be with my “faith” healing. I had enough faith to ask for the prayer, but then I went down and got in the boat. So what if, rather than going and dipping myself in the Jordan River seven times for my healing, I instead have to go to Dr. Smith’s House of Chemo and get absolutely wrecked six times instead. It’s still an act of faith and healing, and God is still providing.
Interestingly, I’ve gotten little answers encouragement back from the Cosmos. I haven’t known quite what to make of them all, but I am reporting them here because I treasure them and the people they have come from.
First, I had an email from a friend from our school. I think she’s Jewish. She wrote to me early on in my cancer adventure, to tell me this:
“I have had many friends, many family members fight this battle. I don't really believe in ESP (although I'd like to), but I do believe in my own gut feelings about people, about situations, about what lies ahead. I have a good gut feeling about you, Katie. Our Quaker friends might say it's "that of God inside" of me giving this feeling. I don't know if it's God or not, but I do know it's there. I just hope that the lows don't get too low before the highs become really high again for you. I know the future is bright for you, Katie.”
Then, I had my mom, who normally worries about me, very calmly approaching the whole cancer thing as if it’s going to be fine. She says she has a “good feeling” about it. She is totally not freaking out, which is odd and very calming.
Third, I had another one of the moms at our school, a Christian woman who has been earnestly praying for me, tell me that, “It’s been done. It’s a done deal. Healing is there.”
I told her I felt bad, because I didn’t feel like I had enough faith to claim the gift she was bringing me. And she basically said, “It doesn’t matter. It’s happened already.”
I did not know what to make of this, so at the moment, I just burst into tears. But I did take the story back to my friend, the Methodist healer who I visited at the very beginning. She listened to my story, and she burst into tears, too.
I puzzled over this for a couple of weeks. I have decided to take any such messages of encouragement with as much open-mindedness as I can. Right now, it does seem to me possible that even a situation like this cancer, which on the face of it just sucks, can nevertheless be used to bring insight and, even, blessing in an unsuspected way. So now, I am looking for those blessings. How long it may take to find them, I don't know. But I'm not crazy. And that’s not just the chemo talking.
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