This post is a part of a series which features an assortment of adroit voices exploring how to think theologically about cancer and those who have it. Read the series introduction or view all posts in the series.
Stop Fighting Cancer
Since I married a photojournalist, Ive been subscribing to the newspaper. Someone comes to my house every morning (driving a Mercedes-Benz SUV, if you can believe it) and throws a newspaper on our doorstep. And I sit in my favorite chair with a cup of coffee and read the paper, cover-to-cover. I think Im becoming my parents.
And every day I read the obituaries. Yes, its official, I am becoming my parents.
You cant read the obituaries without noticing that a lot of people die of cancer. Whats most noticeable is how many of the obituaries for persons under the age of 60 list the cause of death as cancer.
Almost invariably, the obit reads, After a courageous battle with cancer
Now, Im not the first person to say this, but I think its a bad way to think about it. First of all, the language of war and battle is overused in our culture. Weve got wars on drugs, poverty, terrorism, and a litany of diseases, not to mention Afghanistan.
Secondly, any Christian — even just war Christians — should shy away from words of war and violence. Jesus came to bring peace, and we should be ambassadors of peace in the world. As noble a cause as it is, fighting and battling cancer is simply adding to the violent imagery in the world.
And thirdly, to fight and battle cancer implies that cancer can be beaten, when most of the time it cannot. Sometimes it can be slowed, sometimes it can be put into remission, and sometimes it can be cured/healed. And I think wed all agree that our goal as a society should be to find a cure for cancer, not waging a war.
And healing and battling are mutually exclusive.
Our friend, Jake, will live with cancer the rest of his life, whether the rest of that life be short (God forbid) or long (God willing). His cancer, we pray, will go into remission — it may even disappear — but hell always be a cancer survivor. Just like someone whos been through treatment is not cured of alcoholism, but is a recovering alcoholic.
The fact is, each of us will end up in the obituary. If life were a battle, itd be a battle were each destined to lose, and theres no sense in entering a battle that you know youll lose. As Jake learns to live with cancer and someone else learns to live as a recovering alcoholic, I learn to live with my own cancers (mine tend to be relational more than physical).
Each of us is in recovery. And its not a battle. Its a journey toward healing.
Tony is the author of The Church Is Flat: The Relational Ecclesiology of the Emerging Church Movement and is theologian-in-residence at Solomons Porch in Minneapolis and an adjunct professor at Fuller Theological Seminary and at Andover Newton Theological School. Tony is the author of many books on Christian ministry and spirituality, including The New Christians: Dispatches from the Emergent Frontier and The Sacred Way: Spiritual Practices for Everyday Life, and, coming this week, A Better Atonement: Beyond the Depraved Doctrine of Original Sin.
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