August, 2005

I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth.
My soul makes its boast in the Lord; let the afflicted hear and be glad.

Psalm 34:1,2

I had a bone scan at Mayo Clinic on June 7th . The night before the appointment, I spent a few hours in prayer, preparing myself for the outcome of the scan. Among the prayers I read was the Akathist to the Mother of God, “Healer of Cancer,” Included in the booklet containing the Akathist was a short sermon on healing by Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh, which I read around 2:00 a.m. The sermon was profound and I knew it, but my brain was rather fuzzy at that hour and nothing would stick in my head, so I said to myself, “I had better read this again tomorrow when I'm more alert.”

I did not have a chance to read the sermon again the next morning before my bone scan because the procedure was scheduled for an early hour. By 10:30 a.m. the scan had been completed, and with typical Mayo Clinic efficiency, I had my results by noon. The picture was discouraging. The cancer had spread to my ribs and pelvis. This shouldn't have come as a great surprise because I had been experiencing a lot of pain in both areas for several weeks. Nonetheless, my disappointment was great. I was grieved that my great nutritional plan, in which I had placed so much hope, had failed me, and I was humbled and chagrined by the fact that I had looked to it almost exclusively for healing rather than seeing it as merely a helpful tool. I had forgotten that it is God alone who heals, and he can use many different means, whether conventional, natural, or supernatural.

At such times as these, I do not tend to express my emotions very openly, even with my husband. I like to process things privately and talk afterwards. Hence, on the ride home from the clinic I was very quiet. It was a hot day and all I could think of was bathing my disappointment in a tub of scented water. Unfortunately, my efforts to soothe myself that way were a colossal failure. First of all, I could not get the tub stopper to hold the water, so all my fragrant water drained away. After I gave up on that, I grabbed the sprayer with the thought of showering away my discouragement, but for some reason, the showerhead became detached, leaving the hose writhing about like a snake and shooting water all around the bathroom. I started laughing and crying simultaneously, then grabbed the hose and shut off the water. After a few minutes, I collected myself, mopped the floor, and went and crawled in bed for a nap. I knew that prayer was the best means of coping with such disappointment, and I ought to have poured out my heart to God first.

I went through the usual fears at that point. What had I done wrong? Hadn't I prayed the right prayers or been fervent enough? Why hadn't my nutritional program worked? It had done wonders for others.

I did not dwell on these questions for long, though, because I realized that I was approaching things very immaturely. God was not out there waiting for me to get just the right combination of words and sincerity. He was merciful and compassionate and infinitely above any sort of pettiness. He also was good, and everything he ordered on my behalf was for my good.

I read Metropolitan Anthony's sermon on healing again and spent many hours thinking about it. Here are some excerpts from the text:

“Time after time we hear accounts in the Gospels about people who were healed from illnesses and in the Gospels this appears so simple and clear: there is a need, and God responds to it. So the question arises: Why then does this not happen with all of us? Each of us needs physical healing, or healing of the soul; but only a few are healed. Why is this?

When we read the Gospels, we lose sight of the fact that Christ did not heal each and every person. One person in a crowd would be healed; but many others, also ailing in body or soul, were not healed. And this happens because—in order to receive the action of the grace of God unto healing of body or soul, or of both—we must open ourselves to God. Not to healing, but to God…

What then do we do? We must ask ourselves some serious questions; and when we come to God, asking Him to heal us, we must prepare ourselves beforehand for healing. To be healed does not mean to become whole only in order to go back to the same kind of life that we lived before; it means to be whole in order to begin a new life, as if we realized that we died in the healing action of God; that the illness was of the old man in us…This old man must die in order for the new man to live. We must be ready to become this new man through the death of the old in order to begin to live a new…

Are we capable of receiving healing? Do we agree to take upon ourselves the responsibility of a new wholeness, in order to enter again, and yet again, into the world in which we live, with knowledge of our renewal; to be light, to be salt, to be joy, to be hope, to be love, to be giving back to God and man?”

I understood that I had not been ready to be healed. Had my nutritional program succeeded, I would have given credit for my healing either to my program or to myself, and I would have been insufferably proud of it. As Nathan commented to me later, “You would have preached the virtues of nutrition with a missionary zeal.”

Until my bone scan, I hadn't been able to see how willful, arrogant, selfish and independent I had become since starting on the nutritional route, but as soon as I recognized these spiritual diseases in myself, I immediately repented of them as well as of all the pain I had caused Nathan, who had felt shut out for months. I was completely humbled and silenced by this experience and knew that my worsening condition had been a necessary step in my journey. I thanked God then for the disappointing results, which had brought my proud head so low.

I do not believe that preparing to be healed implies that if I make “enough spiritual progress” God will find me worthy of being healed. God acts according to what he deems best for me, and that may mean not healing me. Preparing for healing means that I pray for and seek healing of soul so that should God heal my body, I can rise from my bed of illness ready to live a transformed life, becoming light and salt and joy and hope and love in the world.

Nathan and I had just one day together between my bone scan and his scheduled departure for Albania . (He was planning to be gone for three weeks.) It was a precious day for us as Nathan and I sought each other's forgiveness and faced together the reality of my failing health. As we took our evening walk through a nearby cemetery, I raised the question that had been on my mind many times before my bone scan, Where should I be buried? The place where we were walking at that moment was beautiful and close to my parents' home. I had thought many times about how I wanted to be buried near family, who would bring flowers to my grave now and then and remember me. If it were near my parents, Nathan could bring the children to see their grandparents and to visit their mother's graveside. Nathan's response was so beautiful. He said, “You are my love and we will choose a place for us to be buried together.” I was so moved by his precious response and knew then that though we had enjoyed a very good marriage, we were being blessed with the opportunity to have an extraordinary marriage. This has proven true as we have grown more deeply in our love and commitment to each other in the weeks since my bone scan.

We have not yet answered the question of where to be buried, but we are pursuing this and all the other practical questions that accompany the closing of life. We are not assuming that death is inevitable by any means, but we are preparing for it. My faith in the power of God to heal has grown considerably since hearing the results of my scan. I have spent hours pouring over the amazing story of Jesus' raising Lazarus from the dead, and have been thrilled at Jesus' words to Martha, “I am the Resurrection and the Life. He who believes in me, though he dies, yet shall he live.” The Lord of Life is not dismayed by my worsening condition, even as he was not disheartened by Lazarus' death. This makes his compassion and grief over the suffering of Mary and Martha all the more poignant. He knew that Lazarus would live, yet he wept at the depth of human suffering that was poured out before him. Though I may now be beyond hope of healing by medicine or nutrition, I cannot get beyond the power of God to heal or raise me, if He chooses to restore me to health.