The Sacred Ordinary: Sola Gratia (By Grace Alone)
Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash
The Sacred Ordinary is a blog series originating from a writing course led by Ellie Roscher for the Collegeville Institute, centering on the sacred ordinary. The authors read and wrote essays designed to make ordinary moments shine, and we are grateful for the opportunity to share these essays with the Church Anew audience.
I Can’t Understand
Cancer is a big word for only having two syllables. My diagnosis of lung cancer was delivered by those who knew– the technical details, the causes and the consequences.
It was uncovered by a fluke visit to the ER with what turned out to be the flu. An x-ray to rule out pneumonia had shown a glimpse of “Lucky” as my Stage 1 nodule came to be named. Cancer in me– a vegetarian non-smoker, a church-worker whose main vices include chocolate and caffeine– where’s the rhyme or reason in that? I’m happy to accept consequences, but for breathing?
My family and friends rallied into “Team Julie” quickly. Surgery was scheduled– no waiting around. Medical appointments filled my days so fully that I barely had time to realize what was happening. I made space for time away from work. I wrapped up loose ends. I finalized a new will.
I peered into the deep abyss of mortality and recognized myself as points of Light and Love– wrapped in pure Peace. So simple, yet so profound.
And then it was over– the tests, the surgery and the hospitalization. “Your lung has healed perfectly” said the surgeon, admiring his work. My friend Linda told me that it was a prayer come true and I corrected her; “You mean a dream come true”. “No Julie, prayer, definitely a prayer” she said.
My recovery was a time of complete letting go and allowing others to care for me. My family was there at every turn. Friends arrived with food. Flowers and more flowers arrived, filling my home with fragrance, color and hope for spring. My goal was to be able to go to church for Easter, just two weeks post-surgery, and I was blessed to make it (even though I slept the whole afternoon). Others “walked” me back to health with “you can do it” and “just a little bit more”.
I dipped my toes into the River of Receiving which felt fabulous. I had been lucky enough to be invited to the dance with mortality, but now I was ready to get off the stage. I was healed, but life was never going to feel normal again.
I Don’t Understand
Cancer slapped my heart the hardest as I worked to excavate the unsaid and unexplainable. Cancer had provided the landscape for my journey, but not the destination. The infrastructure of Julie was dissolving as I tried to come up with answers for why this had happened to me. How did I get so lucky as to find an asymptomatic cancer at Stage 1? It felt like the flip side of the Book of Job. Like Job, I wanted to ask God to explain it to me, but know where that logic takes us. I was also reminded of Paul’s New Testament words– “Who can know the mind of God?”
I was needing to get something off my chest– more than just the lung cancer. I was convinced that I should be able to understand why this had happened. Some started to suggest that I become an advocate for clean air and environmental change. My attorney suggested that I seek class action lawsuit representation. I was getting nowhere– the former Julie was not the post-cancer Julie. Where were the answers? What are the questions? I felt that I was drifting– living, but not grounded.
I return to the cancer center these days with my regularly-scheduled lung scans and visit with my oncologist who informs me that she will remain the point person for my health moving forward, perhaps for the rest of my life.
What I cling to now are phrases that appeared over the months and stick with me as I ponder:
Be mindful, but not afraid. Don’t thrum the strings of anxiety. Be fierce, but with gentleness.
Use all of your courage today – you’ll get more tomorrow.
I Will Never Understand
I’ve been working to find my voice- connections to it wax and wane as I travel the maze of a new chapter in life. My voice is strong; my voice is choked.
Perhaps there’s a sound that will come shrieking out– anger and sadness fused as one.
Perhaps there’s a song– a sweet lyric piece that floats above the confusion and delivers the harmony of peace and truth.
Perhaps there’s an out-pouring of love and gratitude– valentines formed by the tongue.
Whatever comes, I am resolved to the knowledge that good or bad cancer outcome, my lesson learned is the same-
Grace is the opposite of karma, which is all about getting what you deserve. Grace is getting what you don’t deserve.
It turns out that Grace is a bigger word than cancer (and at only one syllable). And in response, only one prayer is necessary.
Thank you, God.
