grace and discipline

Saying yes to God's grace at the front end of an ordeal and doing so in the midst of the ordeal are two entirely different matters.

This first cycle of chemotherapy has already unleashed a whole arsenal of unexpected side effects: itching, pain and swelling in the feet and legs, inability to sleep, cracked lips, cakey flavor in the mouth, bleeding gums, puffy hands. Most of Sunday I spent in bed because nerve damage in my feet made it impossible for me to get up without feeling like I was walking on hot broken glass. I usually anticipate suffering with a fair amount of bravado, but the truth is I don't suffer well. By Monday I was fairly certain that if this was what it would mean to continue on chemotherapy, I would rather quit treatments and take my chances.

Se incurvatus in se. The self turned inward upon the self. It is one of the clearest descriptions of how we live our lives and how we turn ourselves into slaves. The temptation is to look at suffering as a free pass to become as self-focused as one chooses, permission to see nothing beyond one's own hardship. But this misses the point. Self-pity, self-absorption, envy, resentment--these are not just harmless peccadillos, they are mortal enemies. They empower death before its time and blind us to the freedom that we've been given in this very moment. To repent of the inward turn upon oneself--to turn outward with the Spirit of Christ into the world--is not a moral obligation. It is the key to survival.

I don't know whether future cycles will be harder or not. My body might be responding to the sudden shock of medications which it will accept more easily next time around, or the effects might accumulate from one cycle to the next. But I am becoming aware that at every step I will face anew the decision between two opposite directions, either to shut myself in to avoid more pain or to go out and participate in life.

I can't make that decision once for all. It's one that must be renewed daily. But I do think that a few key disciplines will help to shape my character in such a way that I will be better prepared to choose life as the choice presents itself to me:

Going out and exercising. Physical space and spiritual space are closely intertwined. If I willingly keep my body inside, my spirit will suffocate. Realizing that the pain in my feet was not a signal of any real danger but only a trick played by damaged nerve endings, I've decided to continue with my routine of going out and walking in the morning. Today, after about the first half mile, my feet adjusted, and I had a very pleasant time, even if I didn't set any records for pace. Getting out early like that gives me a chance to see the day that God has made, to join the world to whom God gave it, and to give thanks for it.

Devotional reading. The Scriptures invite us to locate ourselves in a story larger than our own. The regular discipline of reading and reflecting on God's acts in the history of Israel, Jesus and the early church continues to play a critical role in orienting me toward the day that lies ahead. I also find myself drawn again to the works of brothers and sisters who have gone before us, including Augustine, Teresa of Avila, Karl Barth, Thomas Merton. In their writings I am introduced to an ancient faith that challenges the modern idolatry of self-fulfillment and individual prosperity. To enjoy fellowship with these members of the Christian community through their written words is a gift not to be taken lightly.

Keeping up with my work. Counter to what one might expect, I am embarking on one of the most fruitful moments in my academic career. In addition to finishing my dissertation, I'm preparing to teach a course at Claremont next semester, working with Deb Flagg on a revision of Fuller's online ethics course, and presenting papers at two meetings over the next three months. The simple act of working on a syllabus, outlining a chapter, or studying for a lecture sends a message to myself that I still have something to give. It reminds me that I still belong to the community of the living. The energy expended on these tasks is an investment that reproduces itself and generates energy for further tasks.

I have no idea what the months or years ahead will look like, and it would be brash to imagine that I've unlocked some secret for handling another day's troubles. But the grace that first invited me to think of myself not as a man dying of cancer but as a man living with cancer has appeared to me again. And this leads me to hope that it will continue to appear to me in the future.