GOOD NEWS FOR THE REALLY, REALLY LUCKY

We met with the surgeon this week. He was quite encouraged and so quite encouraging. On the basis of the good results of Thing #1 (the Summer Radiation) and Thing #2 (my September Surgery), he calls me "an excellent candidate" for a Liver Resection (which will be Thing #4, in March 2014, with the likelihood of a second Liver Surgery, which would be Thing #5, later that year). Thing #4 is set for four weeks or so after Thing #3, which will be six biweekly courses of Intensive Chemotherapy beginning on November 15th. On a related note, this very skilful surgeon, who Deb and I admire and appreciate very much, raised my odds of survival to 30%, explaining that, of course, it all depends upon me being "very very lucky."

So here I sit, three weeks prior to the beginning of Thing #3, with an estimated one-in-three chance of making it alive through this whole experience. One in three. I am now only twice as likely to die of this cancer than to survive it. (Well, ALMOST one in three. I now dream of being declared "33 1/3," which would both be a further improvement of my chances AND would make me feel like an old, long-playing record.)

And what do I do with these new odds? There are two things I DON'T do. I don't trust in them, which I have explained already. And I also don't ignore them. What I DO is attempt to grasp them, in order to avoid moving into the Land of Denial.

I have two principal reasons for this. Firstly, I am striving to grasp this estimation of my odds so that if, at any time in the months ahead, things begin to go bad for me -- and continue to do so -- and I really do begin to die of cancer, I won't be at all surprised.

Secondly, if Things #3 and 4 (and possibly #5) also all go well, and I emerge from all of this as a Cancer Survivor, I would like to be clear about what a great thing God has done for me. And if it happens, it will come as the answer to many hundreds and maybe even thousands of prayers from many wonderfully caring people located all over the world, and I do intend to be appropriately appreciative to them as well.

Meanwhile, the excellent and caring surgeon waits to have another surgical go at me next March, and hopes that I do turn out to be "really, really lucky." In his professional skills and his devotion to his patients, this man really is a prince among men, which brings me to the psalm I read this morning.

Psalm 146:3-5 ESV
Put not your trust in princes, in a son of man, in whom there is no salvation… Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord his God...

HARD PRESSED

Some good news this week. Yesterday we learned that the Pathology People have concluded that my gut-wrenching surgery (now four weeks ago) did manage to remove all the cancer from my nether parts. Meanwhile, the next set of chemotherapy treatments (declaring war on the cancer in my liver) begins in four weeks. So here, at the half-way point between my Previous Big Thing (Thing #2) and my Next Big Thing (Thing #3), I am mulling over something that the Apostle Paul wrote about himself.

Put me down as a big fan of the Apostle Paul. In my personal "Parade of the Giants" (The procession through history of my favourite great examples of faith in Christ), Paul is the man walking at the front of the parade. It's right that I should admire him, for deliberately imitating Paul is a repeated New Testament instruction (e.g. 1 Corinthians 4:16 and 11:1; Philippians 3:17 and 4:9; 2 Thessalonians 3:9.) These days, I have been thinking a lot about the exemplary statements he wrote to the church at Philippi. He wrote these words from a prison cell, probably in Rome, as he waited to learn if the Next Big Thing he was about to receive was going to be a Roman execution or a "Get Out of Jail" card. While he waited, he wrote on the topic of maybe and maybe not dying very soon. Remarkably, he described himself as "hard-pressed between the two."

Philippians 1:20-26 ESV
... it is my eager expectation and hope that I will not be at all ashamed, but that with full courage now as always Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. Yet which I shall choose I cannot tell. I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account. Convinced of this, I know that I will remain and continue with you all, for your progress and joy in the faith, so that in me you may have ample cause to glory in Christ Jesus, because of my coming to you again.

So there was this remarkable man, thinking through the two likely outcomes of his imprisonment and declaring himself to be "hard pressed between the two." From Paul's point of view, "to depart and be with Christ" was the "far better" option, but "to remain in the flesh" was "more necessary" -- for the Philippians and for many similar groups of first-century Christians dependent upon him.

For me, the art of using the apostle Paul as an example requires never losing sight of the important fact that he was a 1st century apostle and I am something very much else. This being the case, there is an important contrast between his expectation of his immediate future and my expectation of mine. I believe that it is exactly THIS difference that brought Paul to a certainty about not dying any time soon, a certainty that I am very sure I have no corresponding right to assume. Paul's conviction that he would "remain and continue" with the Philippians for the sake of their "progress and joy in the faith" does NOT entitle me to any sort of similar certainty about what happens to me next, for Paul was almost unique, one of a small number of foundational 1st century church leaders: chosen servants of Christ with a very specific, historic calling.

Still, Paul's "teaching" and "conduct" and "aim in life" and "faith" and "patience" and "love" and "steadfastness" and "persecutions" and "sufferings" are set out in the New Testament as examples for us to imitate (2 Timothy 3:10,11). And he considered that the "gain" that comes from dying was "far better" than the "fruitful labor" that would come from living on. So here's what is occurring to me. As I keep busy doing "two things at the same time" (From the post of May 31: "wholeheartedly fighting for my life and trusting God and praying with all my heart for strength and health and healing and a long life, while at the same time, quietly and peacefully accepting the reality that this might in fact be the beginning of the end of my life..."), I am being called BOTH to prepare myself for the upcoming chemotherapy-based battle for continued life on earth AND sincerely to prefer "to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better."

Although Paul's personal certainty does not entitle me to assume that I am NOT going to die any time soon, even for the sake of additional "fruitful labor," his example directs me to try on both dying and not dying very soon AND to live in a genuine state of being "hard-pressed between the two" -- and it is Paul's example that shows me how.

Paul's "hard-pressedness" was pretty plainly the result of believing that, as he puts it, "to live is Christ." Plainly, he was a man so thoroughly dazzled by Jesus Christ that there was nothing in this world as attractive to him and as appealing to him as Christ himself. Paul was "hard-pressed between the two" because he loved Jesus so much that there was nothing in this world that appealed to him more than seeing, and being with, Christ. Not even serving Christ. As such, he accepted the fact of his own death with composure and peace. But he didn't just accept it. He embraced it as his personal preference. Such was his love for his glorious Lord Jesus.

And so should I. With no real certainty on the question of "maybe and maybe not dying very soon," I am being called to cultivate such a love for Christ that my personal preference really is "to depart and be with Christ," believing that "that is FAR better." And so I'm working on it. In my Bible reading and my praying, in my Bible study and my meditation, I'm seeking to see Christ so clearly and to love him so intensely that I really am "hard pressed between the two," as the Apostle Paul is my example.

REAL HAPPY. FOR NOW

I've been home from the hospital for ten days, my gut-wrenching surgery now almost three weeks old. And how am I feeling? I'm happy to report that I am actually very happy. Really. I am really very happy, which surprises some people, I think, considering my circumstances, I mean my ongoing nasty case of terminal cancer.

Now the thing is, I am not by any means a naturally gloomy fellow. I am happy to admit that I have inherited a good genetic dose of what C.S. Lewis refers to (on page 1 of "Surprised by Joy") as the "talent for happiness." But nevertheless I am quite prepared to defend the Institution of Happiness from all nay-sayers, especially those well-meaning detractors who fear that by succumbing to the charms of the thoroughly flighty and unreliable Blue Bird of Happiness, people like me are setting ourselves up for disappointment. Here is my defense.

Without a doubt, my current state of happiness is circumstantial. I freely admit that I am happy these days because the immediate effect of my surgery has been the definite taming of my nine-month long state of Gastrointestinal Chaos. Because of the surgery, I am no longer the slave of a really lousy bowel system and no longer frequently and pathetically held prisoner in any one of the Small Rooms in the house. Along with all of that, I am no longer bound to a restricted diet and so have recently rejoined the World-Wide League of Enthusiastically Committed Coffee Consumers. In all of that, the fact that my current happiness is circumstantial dampens my mood not a bit.

By definition, "happiness" is always circumstantial. The word is derived from the Old English word "hap," which means "chance" or "fortune." In fact, all "happiness" is a positively emotional response to the way things have "happened," that is, to what is sometimes referred to as being "lucky" or "fortunate." And here my defence makes a humble admission.

The word "happiness" is, in its origin, not so happy a term for the happy state of heart in question. Being people who believe in "God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy" (1 Timothy 6:17 ESV), it is more accurate for us to describe ourselves as "blessed." It's just that doing so fails to explain to people how happy we sometimes are So, back to my defense.

I take in stride the temporal nature of my happiness, knowing that no earthly circumstances are permanent. But still, "everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, for it is made holy by the word of God and prayer. (1 Timothy 4:4,5 ESV).

Meanwhile, as I consider where my cancer is leading me: to several months of intense chemotherapy (beginning late in November, I think) and at least one more big surgery (this time to "resect" a substantial chunk of my cancerous liver), I accept the coming days of difficulty in the same spirit as I am just now accepting these happy days of strong black coffee. And, all the while, as it is set out in Psalm 16, "… my heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices … You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore." (Vss. 9-11 ESV)

Please don't worry about me and my current state of temporary, circumstantial happiness. I am very clear on the fact that FULLNESS of joy and PERMANENT pleasures are only found in the presence of God and at his right hand.

THE TEARS IN MY EYES

I am now home from the hospital (very happily), having had the surgery and having received the good news that the entire tumour was in fact successfully "resected." (I've learned from the surgeons never to say "removed" when you can say "resected.") We are now awaiting the report of the Pathology Department to learn if the surgeons WERE succesful in avoiding leaving some cancer cells behind.

While we are waiting for the Report and, of course, waiting for the promised next round of Chemotherapy and the next surgery (Planned for late this November and some time in the new year, respectively), Deb and I are thinking over, and feasting on, the many small and not-so-small acts of love and the many kind spoken and written words from friends and loved ones in our families, our church family and our neighbourhood. One such act makes me cry every time I return to it. It's a song that a church friend emailed me. Mark Lambley is the man who introduced me years ago to the music of singer/songwriter Sarah Groves, for which I continue to be thankful. This song is not one of hers! Rather it's from someone I also have never heard of named Christa Wells. (If you are interested, you can listen to it here.)

The tears in my eyes are for two reasons. Firstly, the song reminds me again and again, most encouragingly, that with God's strength and by God's grace I will NOT be broken by "the elephant in the room" which is my cancer. This song reminds me that the story that my life is telling will always have lots of room for hope.

The second reason for these joyful, grateful tears is the singer's mention of the troubled person "showing us how." She sings that the troubled person is showing onlookers how to be NOT "broken" while being "bent" and "shaped" by difficult circumstances. What exactly is making me cry is the implication that I am apparently, to some degree, managing to serve as a good example of how to get through bad times. It really does deeply move me to think that this is the case. I am very aware that as the pastor of a church, my first duty, "Job One," is to be a good example of how to live the life that God calls all of us to live. But here's the thing. For a lot of years, I've been living with the awkward awareness that I am quite capable of being a good example of how NOT to go about addressing life's challenges. "Everyone is a good example of something!" So it's a genuine heartfelt, tear-launching relief for me to think that I am setting the preferable sort of "good example" to the people I care about.

I believe all of this to be worth blogging about, despite the built-in risk of it sounding like bragging, because I am NOT the only person in the church called to exemplary living, just as I am NOT the only person in the church presently facing a major challenge. Everyone of us is called to set a good example to the rest of us. It's WHAT God is protecting us and strengthening us FOR. It's WHY God leads us through dark valleys. Here again, Paul's explanation is the best. The Apostle was plainly very clear on the personal value potentially provided by his own painful experiences and by his own example of how to go about being protected and strengthened by God.

2 Corinthians 1:3,4 ESV
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all OUR affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in ANY affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.

So this week, I give thanks to God for his comfort. Truly, God's gift of peace "surpasses understanding" in its capacity to guard our hearts and minds, and Deb and I do feel very well guarded.

And this week I thank God for the very real comfort of being practically strengthened and encouraged by friends and loved ones -- AND for their many acts and words of kindness.

And I encourage all of you who are these days also facing life-breaking troubles to just go ahead and trust God, and then to accept from God his unique comfort. With his help, we will serve each other as that better sort of good example.

Let's believe, and let's live to demonstrate, that God being our help, these things are "not going to break us."

"NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP"

Once again, it's the week before surgery. This Friday morning, once again, I'll be wheeled down the surprisingly chilly hallways of the surgical wing of University Hospital and through the metal doors of one of the Operating Rooms, and once again will be the only one in the room not working that day, the only one not standing up, the only one not wearing a mask and then the only one being put to sleep.

"Being put to sleep" is sort of a daunting phrase for me, but that's because of my boyhood interest in becoming a veterinarian. Ever since I was a boy, I have known that "being put to sleep" is what can happen to you if you are an old dog or a horse with a broken leg. Being neither, I am only daunted a little. At the same time, the phrase intrigues me and that's because of the number of times in the New Testament that followers of Christ who have died are described as being "asleep," specifically "asleep in Jesus." [e.g. Acts 7:60]

This brings me back to an idea that I referred to in a previous post. On August 7, I wrote about death losing its sting and that "even the sting of separation from my loved ones is gone." And then I wrote, "Well, sort of. But that's a topic for another day." Today, two days before I am once again being put to sleep, "another day" has arrived and I return to the delicate topic of "separation from my loved ones."

What I am posting here, I owe entirely to the man who taught me to take the Bible seriously. His name was Arthur C. Custance, and in 1970, when I was fifteen years old, he retired, moved to Brockville and began attending the church that my family belonged to. And he wrote. As a recently-retired scientist and as a life-long student of the Bible, he had lots to write about. And what he wrote is yours to read online. At www.custance.org, many of his titles have been reprinted and are available for purchase as books or as PDF files -- and almost all of them are printed online, free for the reading.

In his book Journey Out of Time, Dr. Custance writes, as a scientist, of the mysterious relationship between space and time, leaning heavily on Einstein's theory of relativity. In the same book he writes, as a Bible student, about being "asleep in Jesus" and about being "raised on the last day," as Jesus repeatedly mentions in John 6:39,40,44,54. I strongly recommend that you treat yourself to this book, or at least to reading it for yourself online, but in a nutshell, what Dr. Custance explains is that, when in physical death we exit the three dimensions of space: length, width and depth, we also exit the fourth dimension: time -- and by God's own power, we are transported out of space and out of time to the world's "last day." Then and there, the apostle Paul explains, "the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality." (1 Corinthians 15:52,53 ESV). This explains why those Christians who have died are described as being (from our perspective) "asleep in Jesus." And why the thief on the cross heard Jesus say, "This day you will be with me in Paradise." He heard those words just before he experienced a journey out of time.

According to this view of things, this is what Paul was writing about to the Thessalonians. "But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep. For this we declare to you by a word from the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord. Therefore encourage one another with these words." (1 Thessalonians 4:13-18 ESV)

If Dr. Custance is pointing us in the right direction here, and I for one believe that he is, then the upshot is that, while the loved ones of a person who has "fallen asleep in Jesus" DO experience a separation from the "dearly departed," that separation is NOT experienced by the "dearly departed" himself, for he (or she) has journeyed out of this TIME as well as this PLACE in order to be, physically, "with the Lord." To the people he leaves behind, he is, for the time being, "asleep." But in his own experience, he finds himself, "in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye," being raised from the dead. But that great event will happen, as Jesus explained, at "the Last Day": that great, great day when all those who have truly entrusted themselves to Jesus Christ are transformed into Christ's `imperishable, glorious, powerful and spiritual' likeness. (1 Corinthians 15:42-44 ESV)

When Paul the apostle calls the Thessalonians to "encourage one another with these words," he has several encouraging truths in mind: that all who believe in Jesus will eventually "always be with the Lord;" that all of us who believe in Christ will, on that day, be reunited with one another; AND that when a follower of Christ dies, although those he leaves behind WILL experience the grief of being separated from him, he himself will not. For all three of these reasons, those who ARE left to grieve ought not to do so in the way that "others do who have no hope."

Lots of reason for hope here! And lots to think (and read) about, but I've been thinking about someday being "asleep in Jesus" and about this "journey out of time" since I was 16 years old. And I will be thinking about it again this Friday morning as I am (just for four or five hours, they say) being put to sleep.

LOUSY ODDS AND AN EVEN HEARTBEAT

That charming stereotype we call "the Optimist" has sometimes been differentiated from his gloomy counterpart "the Pessimist" by his (or her) description of a glass of water that is, in fact, both half-full and half-empty. At last week's meeting with my oncologist, the good doctor told me that whereas, back in May, my chances of surviving this cancer were in his opinion very bleak, he now upgrades my odds of survival to a solid 20%. Committed as I am to the Optimist's cheerful outlook, I can now say that my particular glass of water is apparently one-fifth full.

John Piper says "you will waste your cancer if you seek comfort from your odds rather than from God." He wrote this, just before his surgery for prostate cancer, in an excellent little article he entitled "Don't Waste Your Cancer" (which you can easily find by searching here) The fine print explains, "The design of God in your cancer is not to train you in the rationalistic, human calculation of odds. The world gets comfort from their odds. Not Christians … The aim of God in your cancer (among a thousand other good things) is to knock props out from under our hearts so that we rely utterly on him."

For this powerful piece of writing, I thank John Piper. And I think that his references to "the design of God" and "the aim of God" and "a thousand other good things" add up to a very important truth. As the Bible makes clear, the life of a human being is not, in fact, a thing of uncertain duration. That long-suffering, non-optimistic Old Testament man named Job was clear on this. He says to God, "Man who is born of a woman is few of days and full of trouble … his days are determined, and the number of his months is with you, and you have appointed his limits that he cannot pass…" (Job 14:1-5 ESV) And King David was on the same page. He writes "… in your book were written the days that were formed for me, every one of them, when as yet there was none of them." (Psalm 139:16 ESV [except that I rearranged the phrases for the sake of clarity] )

The point here is plain, I think. Every human life is long enough to accommodate every one of the good and pleasant things AND every one of the good but "full of trouble" things that God means THAT particular human being to experience. Life is always long enough for the purposes of God. Every human life, including mine.

So while some medically-knowledgeable people are giving me a 20% chance of being alive in a year or two, it will always remain a 100% certainty that I will live on in this world, in some state of sickness or of health, until every one of "the days that were formed for me" and my entire "number of months" have been lived, and until all of the designs and aims of God have been accomplished, and until "a thousand other good things" have been realized.

So there it is. I am a man with lousy odds, and they are against me. In fact, my odds are not even "even." But by God's great grace, against all odds, I am maintaining an even keel. And clothed with the righteousness of Christ, I am at peace, being assured by the Word of God that I will one day stand before my Judge and Maker with a 100% approval rating.

And the Word of God teaches me what to say: "Praise the Lord! Blessed is the man who fears the Lord, who greatly delights in his commandments … He is not afraid of bad news; his heart is firm, trusting in the Lord. His heart is steady; he will not be afraid until he looks in triumph on his adversaries." (Psalm 112:1,6-8 ESV)

READINESS

Two weeks from today, I will once again be the Special Guest at a meeting to be held in my honour in one of University Hospital's Operating Rooms. This will be my third surgery (Lifetime), with the great likelihood of two more surgeries to follow in the months to come.

This one being fourteen days from today, the words of England's 18th-century "Man of Letters" Samuel Johnson come to mind. "Depend upon it, Sir," he once said, "when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully." Although I've never been threatened with hanging, I AM finding that the same principle applies to gut-wrenching-surgery-deemed-necessary-because-of-a-serious-case-of-cancer. These days, I'm finding that my mind is being wonderfully concentrated, and that the advantage has everything to do with becoming ready for the inevitable.

It's just what Hamlet said, as he was trying to decide whether to be or not to be: "If it be now, ’tis not to come. If it be not to come, it will be now. If it be not now, yet it will come. The readiness is all." (Hamlet, Act V, Scene 2.) While I don't suppose that Shakespeare's Hamlet should be anyone's final authority on these matters of life and death, even if "the readiness" is NOT all, nevertheless attaining (and maintaining) such a genuine state of readiness IS a goal with a lot going for it.

The thing is, cancer patients aren't the only ones who are mortal. Dying may never be something a person looks forward to, but there is a perfectly good reason for every one of us to look ahead to it. "It is appointed for man to die once…"

These days, I'm working on staying clear on the sobering fact that if I DO manage, by the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, to beat the odds, so that, in September 2018 (that is, five years from now), I am declared "Cancer-Free," I'll still be a guy who is going to die someday. "If it be not now, yet it will come." And of course, sometime, anytime, before my cancer gets around to doing to me what it is all set up to do, I could get run over by a cement truck or struck by lightning.

The writer of the Old Testament's Book of Ecclesiastes stated it plainly. "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die… " (3:1,2 ESV). Day to day, one of the distinct advantages of this sort of readiness is the capacity to see every day, every hour, in fact every moment of every day, as a specific gift of God: one gift in a finite set of such gifts -- and so one not to be wasted. It seems to me that it really does help to be very clear about the fact that one day, one such moment will be the last one I get. And having no real clue about the exact date and time is no good excuse for putting the whole matter out of our minds.

So let us take a tip from Samuel Johnson, and concentrate. Wonderfully.