What Doesn't Kill Me...

 

Even folks who care little about philosophy are probably familiar with the quote, “What does not kill us, makes us stronger.”  So wrote Fredrich Nietzsche at the close of the 19^th Century.  He must have hit on something with that phrase because it has turned up in more than one pop song and is even quoted by the title character in the movie Conan the Barbarian.  Smarter folks than I have surmised that what Nietzsche meant was that suffering is an opportunity to gain strength.  I will leave it to the philosophers who understand Nietzsche’s book Twilight of the Idols to determine if that is an accurate understanding. 

 

Recently while listening to the audio book version of Ross Douthat’s book The Deep Places, I encountered a different take on Nietzsche’s phrase.  The subtitle of Douthat’s book is “A Memoir of Illness and Discovery.”  The book chronicles his ongoing battle with Lyme disease.  He tells of the physical, emotional, and financial toll this sickness has taken, and is taking, on him and his family.  As the book closes, he writes, “What doesn’t kill you, doesn’t necessarily make you stronger.  But what doesn’t kill you, doesn’t kill you. And sometimes that alone supplies the thin reed of hope, the solid thing to cling to, when every other help and possibility goes thru your fingers like sand.”  To be candid, Douthat’s insight was just what I needed to hear. 

 

 In 2015 I was diagnosed with corticobasal degeneration (CBD).  Since then I have explored the internet, chasing down any lead on some treatment for neurodegenerative diseases.  As you might have guessed, I found no miracle cures for CBD.  I have lost count of the number of times over the past 7 years when I discovered some promising-sounding title, but then once I’ve deciphered the scientific terminology, there is a statement that this “looks promising.” Promising?  If a prediction is made about when any sort of treatment might flow from this research, the guess is it will be 10 years out.  I even came across one article that ended with the prediction that the next generation will think about neurodegeneration the same way this generation thinks about polio!  

 

Now, don’t get me wrong, I do pray the day will come when neurodegeneration will be a footnote in medical textbooks, but what are the currently afflicted to do?  Denial, anger, self-pity, or seeking to make a deal with God are all possible responses.  I am honest enough to say that I have tried all of them and found no abiding relief.  That is where Douthat’s book comes in.  I doubt that the suffering that CBD has brought into my life has made me stronger, and the strong likelihood is that it will eventually kill me, but it hasn’t killed me yet!  One of the first things I did when I had a name for my illness was to explore the treatment options.  There are none.  That led to another search to see what the life expectancy was. The average is six years from diagnosis to death.  I read that in 2015.  I might be math impaired, but even I know that if you add 6 to 2015 you get 2021.  I just checked my calendar, and it says 2022.  Quite honestly, I didn’t think I would still be alive, but here I am.  Sure, I hurt more than I used to, and I move even slower, but I am still moving!  I have come to see the wisdom of Douthat’s assertion, What doesn’t kill me may not make me stronger, but neither has it killed me!  Someone said, “As long as there is life there is hope.”  And hope is as Douthat puts it, “the solid thing to cling to, when every other help and possibility goes thru your fingers like sand.”  I am hanging on, but hanging on to what?  I am a Christian, in fact, I made my living as a pastor.  As you might think, that means I have prayed quite a lot both publicly and privately.  I am not sure exactly when I started doing this, but I typically conclude my prayers with, “I ask this trusting in Your love for us and in Jesus’ name, amen.”  My trust, my hope, is ultimately in God.  

The Sum of My Fears

What do you fear most?  I would think some people would answer with one of those polysyllabic words that all end with the letters “phobia.”  There are quite a few of them between agoraphobia and xenophobia.  More of us would say something like, “I’m afraid of public speaking,” or “I fear snakes, or spiders, or loud noises.”  As children quite a few of us would say we were afraid of the dark.  

Is fear ever appropriate?  Certainly!  Recently I heard someone say, “Fear is wisdom’s response to danger.”  I agree with that.  I recall my dad, who worked with elevator repair and maintenance, telling me that it was old electricians who got electrocuted.  He could tell I didn’t get what he was driving at, so he explained, “Young electricians have a healthy fear of electricity.  The longer you work around it with no incidents, the less you fear it.  That is when accidents happen.”  I can still hear him say those words “healthy fear.”  Earlier, when we mentioned the word “phobia,” we were speaking of what might be called unhealthy fear.  That begs the question, how do you tell the difference?

I have been contemplating that question lately.  I have cortico-basal degeneration or CBD.  One of the first things I learned about it was there is no treatment.  You don’t recover from this. Though I have looked at enough information on the internet to fill a small library, I have found no stories of spontaneous remission, no obscure treatment which has snatched the afflicted out the grip of this terrible disease.  You might say I am on a one-way street that will end at the cemetery. Should I fear death?  Well, yes and no.  The no part of that answer has to do with my faith.  As an evangelical I believe that Jesus was and is the Son of God who died for the sins of the whole world, even mine. He bodily rose from the dead, declaring victory over death, hell and the grave. All I have to do is admit I’m a sinner in need of a Savior and ask Him to be mine. That means I can say with the Apostle Paul, “O death, where is your victory?  O death, where is your sting?...Thank God!  He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 15:55, 57).  Some reading this will be saying, “He’s getting a bit preachy here.”  Well, I can’t help it.  I was a pastor all of my adult life.  Beyond that, this is the bottom line when it comes to life, death, and eternity.  That is why I can say I don’t fear death.  But if you glance back a few sentences you will see my answer to whether I should fear death had a yes before the no.  

Everybody wants to go to heaven; we all just want to put off the trip as long as possible!  My reason for fearing death is not so much about the destination as the trip.  I am a member of a Facebook group that is centered around CBD.  Most of the posts, it seems to me, are written by the caregivers of people with the disease.  They are looking for advice about dealing with problems they have encountered and for a sense of community with others going through the same ordeal. Routinely there are descriptions of truly heart-breaking scenes of suffering.  Often there will be what you might call “before and after” pictures of the patient prior to their illness and what they look like after the ravages of CBD. Anyone with a drop of compassion would be touched by these pictures.  It takes on a whole different meaning when you are looking at your future.  Between now and heaven there will be an awfully rough road.  One of my neurologists, perhaps in a moment of candor, said, “CBD is a really hard way to die.”

One of my traveling companions down CBD avenue recently commented on Facebook, “Every night I pray for it to be my last.”  Before CBD I could not have understood that perspective.  Now I can.  Don’t worry, just because I am praying for this to end, it doesn’t mean I’m suicidal.  It’s just that if death is inevitable, and the average CBD patient will become immobile, totally dependent, and dealing with relentless pain, why not check out?  I’ll be honest with you, I fear what CBD will do to me before God loosens its grip through death.  The thought that keeps haunting me is, would I rather have a slow but steady decline over a couple of years or a swift end to things in a couple of months?  If God were to give me those two options, I would take the swift end.  

Of course, God has not given me a choice.  In all likelihood I will slowly decline and go through the pain those portrayed in those “after” pictures I wrote about earlier.  If that is the case what good could possibly come of it?  I was thinking about that the other morning when I opened a favorite devotional book, Morning and Evening by Charles Spurgeon.  I have read a few biographies of this 19^th century English Baptist and knew that he had both physical and emotional pain to deal with, especially the last decade of his life.  That gave his words a ring of personal authenticity.  On the entry for April 8^th he wrote, “Are you conscious of a growing failure of your bodily powers?  Do you expect to suffer long nights of languishing and days of pain?  O be not sad!  That bed may become a throne to you.  You little know how every pang that shoots through your body may be a refining fire to consume your dross … a beam of glory to light up the secret parts of your soul.”  On reflection, I would have to agree with Spurgeon.  CBD, while destroying me physically, has strengthened me spiritually.  I don’t believe that is all God was up to in this ordeal, but I do recognize that all of this has driven me closer to my Lord.

Beyond the impact of CBD on me, I feel it has impacted those around me.  Just how will Pastor Corn handle all of this?  Will he become bitter through this, or will he endure it with a measure of grace?  I want to die well, but the sum of my fears is that I won’t.  I have been a preacher all of my adult life.  In a sense, how I handle CBD will be my last sermon.  I pray it will be a good one, one which glorifies my Savior and leaves those who heard the message saying, “If God can do that with Pastor Corn, He can do it with anybody, even me.”

The Journey

A few years back I was a real fan of the TV show The Biggest Loser.  For those unfamiliar with this program, it was about weight loss.  They would get a group of morbidly obese people (and that description is being kind) and exercise them like crazy.  Each week whoever had lost the least amount of weight would be eliminated.  At the end of the season there would be a final weigh-in, and The Biggest Loser  would be revealed on live TV.  Of course, like any reality TV show, there were a lot of twists and turns.  I found myself rooting for some and hoping others would be that week’s contestant to get the boot!  I don’t know how many episodes Joy and I had watched before we began to notice something.  Sometime in every show, and often more than once, a contestant or one of the trainers would refer to this whole weight loss process as a journey.  Now, I don’t object to their use of the word; in fact, the term seems appropriate for an endeavor that takes you someplace, especially if that place is somewhere you want to go.  I just was struck by the fact that everyone used it, often repeatedly.  I suppose that was about the time that I began to notice how ubiquitous that word journey  is these days.  I have heard it used for both a process and a place.  Besides weight loss, I have heard the term journey  applied to a year in college, a romance, drug addiction, and thankfully recovery.  When it comes to nouns, I have read of a nightclub and a church that go by the one-word name “Journey.”  Somewhere between those two extremes I came across a Journey  that is an “escape room,” where you and some friends are locked into a room and have to follow clues to escape.  

It might be overused, but the word journey  is a good one to describe a process, and as I said, especially if that is to someplace you want to go.  That is why I was struck by a use of the word that didn’t sit well with me.  I am part of a Facebook group that is made up of people touched by Corticobasal Degeneration, which is often abbreviated CBD.  I had posted something about my continuing decline, and another member of the group responded, “The journey to brokenness and humility is difficult.”  That is the journey I am on, and it certainly isn’t someplace I want to go.  I realize the word journey  is value neutral.  It doesn’t have to describe the trip to a positive place; I just thought that in an overwhelming majority of times it would be positive.  How can “brokenness and humility” be positive?  I can see that humility, properly understood, is a virtue, but when it means the destruction of one’s sense of self-worth it isn’t.  “The journey to brokenness and humility” is just a phrase which I am confident was written with compassion for my situation, but I took it wrong.  I don’t want to be either broken or humbled.  After some late-night reflection, I realized that those two words are a fair description of my situation.  I am broken, and I am trying to learn the virtue of humility.

For those not familiar with CBD, the genesis of the problem is the death of cells in the brain.  Because of where those brain cells are, I am currently being systematically robbed of the ability to walk, to talk, and to control my emotions.  The disease will eventually affect my arms and can result in dementia.  They say you don’t die from CBD, you die with it.  Because of increasing difficulty with swallowing, aspirational pneumonia is a frequent cause of death as well as sepsis.  Personally, I fear ending up in a nursing home totally dependent and not having the reasoning power to know why any of this is happening.  The “D” in CBD stands for degeneration, and that means this is a progressive disease; it will get worse and worse until I die.  The neurologists say the average life expectancy is 6 to 8 years from diagnosis to death.  I was diagnosed in 2015.  Do the math. 

Yes, whether I deny it or not, I am broken, but am I humble?  As I have already said, I don’t want to be humbled.  To my way of thinking there is a great difference between humbling yourself and being humbled by some outside force.  The Hebrew word in the Old Testament that is rendered humbled is used in both ways.  More than once God calls upon His people to humble themselves.  I am not fighting that meaning of humility.  A couple of times the Hebrew word is used as a euphemism for rape.  I am fighting that meaning of humility.  I don’t want CBD to break my will.  I don’t want it to fill my days with fear and regret, be the continuing preoccupation of my life, and suck all of the joy out of living.  

What, then, is this virtue called humility, especially as it applies to my situation?  I have thought a lot about that, probably because I come by pride, humility’s opposite, very naturally.  You may be thinking that is true of all of us, and you would be right, but I have observed that I have it to a greater degree than most.  I once heard a prideful person described as one who wants to be the bride at every wedding and the corpse at every funeral!  I am not there, but I do have what seems to me to be an exaggerated sense of self-importance.  That runs contrary to one of the core ideas the New Testament speaks of, being like Jesus. Now, let’s be clear, we are not brought into a right relationship to God by our imitation of Christ.  That would be putting the cart before the horse, but once we are “born again” we are to act like we are part of the family.  That means following in Christ’s footsteps is the path we take.  Well, what does that mean when it comes to humility?  According to the letter the Apostle Paul wrote to the church at Philippi, a Christian is to have the mind of Christ (Philippians 2:5), and lest there be any question about what that means, he goes on to give a specific example.  In the eighth verse of that same chapter Paul writes, “He humbled Himself and became obedient to the point of death, even the death of the cross.” Jesus humbled Himself.  He consciously submitted to the will of His Father, even though that meant death.  Humility, in the Christian sense of that word, means submitting to God’s will.  It means more than that, but I know it means at least that.  

Am I broken?  Yes, but not as broken as I will be short of divine intervention.  Am I humble?  Well, let’s put it this way, I am more humble now than when all of this started.  As that Facebook friend put it, “The journey to brokenness and humility is difficult.”  Yes, it is, but like John Bunyan’s character Christian, I am just a pilgrim, who with God’s help, is making progress.  That is my journey.

Hanging On

 

It was a warm Saturday morning in the spring of 1981 that found me in a crowd of about 600 people on the Mississippi River bank.  We were all there to run the “Memphis in May 10K.”  I had taken up running a few years earlier, but this would be my first race. I didn’t know what to expect, but I was excited to find out.  At the starting gun a couple of tower speakers began the theme song from Chariots of Fire, one of my favorite movies.  I took that as a good sign and began the 6.2-mile course with a sense of confidence.  

I had deliberately positioned myself at the back of the pack.  I didn’t want to block any of the serious runners, and I thought it would be fun to pass someone!  Sure enough, I did start passing folks.  In retrospect, I had made a rookie mistake--I started too fast.  I would not be able to keep this pace, but I thought to myself, this will be fun for as long as it lasts!  About the two- mile mark I caught up to a squad of Marines who had come down from the Naval station at Millington.  When I say Marines, I mean Marines!  These guys were all wearing the scarlet shorts and T shirts that boldly declared USMC. Not only that, they were running in formation, singing cadence; they even had their platoon guidon (a small flag designating which platoon they were part of) out front.  Two ideas struck me almost simultaneously.  If I hung with them, maybe the cadence would draw me along, giving me a much better time than I would have gotten otherwise.  I also thought, I know there are television cameras at the finish line.  If anything is going to make the 6:00 news it would be these Marines coming across the finish line.  I just happened to be wearing my Air Force T shirt.  Why not hang with them to the end, and just before the finish line sprint ahead, smiling at the cameras and pointing to the Air Force logo!   

I recount that story because recently it struck me, that race bears some similarities to my journey with CBD (Corticobasal Degeneration).   The first similarity is that the race then and the race now are a lot longer and harder than I thought they would be.  I had run longer distances before I signed up for this 10K, but earlier runs were not at such a punishing pace.  What’s more, here I had an audience.  I couldn’t just slow to a walk without a lot of folks knowing it.  At the very beginning of my race with CBD, before I had major disabilities to deal with, I am sure I put on a brave face.  I can handle this.  I wanted to face CBD with courage rather than fear. My standard response when people would ask me how I was would be, “I’m ok.”  I don’t know how many times I had said that before my wife registered a protest.  “You shouldn’t say you are OK--you aren’t.”  She was right, but I suppose I didn’t want to admit it.  It was the relentless nature of CBD that finally changed my answer.  I’m not OK.  Just like the 10K, CBD is wearing me down.  I have significantly more pain to deal with, a fatigue that I can’t sleep off, and a steadily deteriorating voice which becomes more frustrating almost every day.  I have sometimes given in to the downward pull of CBD and wanted to just quit. The pain, the fatigue, and the general hopelessness have led me to say in the darkness, “Lord I am not sure how much more I can take.  I am ready for it to end. This would be a good time.”  The Lord, in His wisdom and grace, hasn’t answered that prayer.

 It is when I am at my worst that something will happen to change things.  When I was running that race in Memphis at about the one and half mile mark, I came to the first water station.  There were volunteers handing out cups of water to any runner who needed it.  I had no idea that there would be these relief stations!  I have mentioned earlier that it was a warm spring day--believe me, by this point it was a hotspring day!  I needed that water and it got me back on the course with a renewed vigor.  The water stations I have benefitted from in my race with CBD have been many and varied.  Sometimes it has been through a group of friends taking me out to lunch. Other times refreshment has come from someone unexpectedly assuring me of their concern and prayers.  What I have been surprised and uplifted by the most are times that I come across a verse in my Bible that seems like it was written just for me.

Another thing which sustained me in that 10K was the aforementioned Marines.  There was just something about them running in formation that was inspiring.  I would have said that they were earning a place in my heart until the lieutenant shouted, “Ok men, we are picking up the pace!”  That was met with the characteristic “Uh-rah!” Like I’ve said, I started too fast, I was already running faster than my normal pace.  How could I possibly run the last mile even faster?  Still, I was determined to hang on to that squad.  When I think of my run with CBD, I think of people that I’ve met along the way.  Just like those Marines, they have pulled me along, made me run further and faster than I thought possible.  It began with the medical professionals I have dealt with.  Starting with my primary care physician, who shows a genuine empathy for my situation, to all of the neurologists (up to 4 now) who have shepherded me through this process, I have been pulled along.  They kept me going.  Finally, I have been inspired by the members of the CBD Facebook group.  I have read about folks all around the world dealing with my illness.  That is a powerful thing when no one I have talked to about my disease has ever heard of Corticobasal Degeneration.  I know there are other people in this race with me.

Finally, after I had sweat through everything I had on, and was at the point of exhaustion, the finish line came into view.  Try though I might, I had no kick; I could not pass the Marines.  They were right ahead of me when we crossed the line. Sure enough, the TV cameras were rolling, and they captured the moment.  The next day at church my friend Wayne Bess said, “Hey, I saw you on TV last night!”  I had to ask, “How did I look?”  Wayne was honest enough to say with a smile, “You looked like you were about to die!”  At the moment I stopped running, I thought death was a distinct possibility.  I was getting a drink of water when the Marine lieutenant walked up, “Well, Air Force, you hung with the Marines today!”  Yes, I did, and I am proud to tell the story.  

I was able to hang on in Memphis that day.  I am determined to hang on in this endurance run with CBD.  I don’t know how far it is to the finish line, but I want to cross it giving everything I have.  I want to hang on. 

Father Corn

In my adult life I have had many titles.  To use the common expression, I’ve worn a lot of hats.  As is true of most ministers in the Baptist tradition, I have had many church members who called me Preacher.  I don’t really object to that, but I have always preferred the title of Pastor.  It is a more comprehensive term.  You can be a Preacher without being a Pastor, but you can’t be a Pastor without also being a Preacher.  A few folks have, tongue in cheek, referred to me as Reverend Corn.  Once again, I don’t object to the title, but it does have an air of formality about it that just isn’t me.

Still, those are not the only titles I have answered to.  Early on in my ministry I was Chaplain Corn, serving in the USAF.  I always liked that title, but in the plan of God I was not destined to make a career of the chaplaincy.  Of course, the most familiar term has been Brother Randy. All of the terms for clergy carry some theological meaning, and I like what Brother Randy communicates.  I am a brother in Christ.  Not their superior or subordinate, just another member of the family of God with a calling to serve God through vocational ministry.  Some change that slightly to Brother Corn, but I have noticed that those I have a significant bond with will typically call me Brother Randy.  You might say we are on a first name basis.

There are other titles that my fellow clergy have used.  One friend upon coming to a new church was asked what he would prefer to be called. He thought for a moment and said, “Well, my life verse is 2 Corinthians 5:20 which says we are ambassadors for Christ, so you can call me ‘Mr. Ambassador’!”  Safe to say, no one took him up on that!  At the other end of the seriousness spectrum I have been told of ministers who insist on being called “the man of God,” or “the prophet.” While there is some biblical precedent for these phrases, to me they picture someone coming down from the mount with a message of judgment.  Pastors have to do some of that, but they also have to come along side the sheep and, like the old hymn says, “rescue the perishing, care for the dying, snatch them in pity from sin and the grave, weep for the erring one, lift up the fallen, tell them of Jesus the mighty to save!”  It seems to me the title that fits those duties best is Pastor, and for those in my fellowship I think Brother Randy captures the relationship.

There is one more title that I have heard applied to me only twice—the term ‘Father.’  Both of those occasions were from respectful folks who were nominal Catholics and simply didn’t know how to address me.  It is understandable why people from a hierarchical church would like that term and why those of us from a congregational church would not.  Still, I have to admit that in 1 Thessalonians 2:11, 12 the Apostle Paul speaks of himself as a caring, concerned father to the Thessalonian church. It was with that background in mind that I recently spoke of myself as a father of a church that I love.

I had been invited to be the Homecoming speaker at Bethlehem, the church I served for the last two decades of my pastoral career.  The service could not have gone better.  Though I was not in good voice, and had to be seated behind the pulpit, the congregation seemed eager to hear me.  My text was Philippians 1:3-11, the great passage where the Apostle begins, “I thank my God upon every remembrance of you.”  I spoke of their past (vs. 3-5), present (vs. 6-8), and future (vs. 9-11), noting that these verse divisions speak to our head, our heart, and our hands in turn. I was able to weave in a good number of stories about my time as their pastor and had their attention, as well as laughter, and a few tears through the whole sermon.  

Long ago I learned the importance of conclusions.  A good conclusion can drive home the main idea of a sermon and a bad one can obscure it. During my preparation my wife Joy made a suggestion.  She said, “Why not include 3 John 4?”  I was resistant at first because it made me sound like I saw myself as their spiritual father, but I had to admit it did capture my emotions.  The verse says, “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth.”  I finally came up with a way to work it in.

I said, “When the Apostle John was an old man, he wrote the brief letter we call 3 John.  He may well have been older than anyone who would be reading his letter, and so it was completely appropriate for him to speak of them as his children.  I am not the oldest person in this sanctuary, but I think it is safe to say that, due to my illness, I am aging faster than anybody else here.  Grant me this one indulgence and let me call you my children. I greatly desire for you to walk in the truth, the truth that I have tried to expound today.  Believe me when I say, nothing would give me greater joy.”

Thanks for Reading!

Thanks for Reading!

I have been writing a blog since 2009.  My original idea was that it would be a creative outlet and help me articulate some of my thoughts and feelings about being a pastor.  I wrote about all sorts of thing.  Topics might have been something serious like how it feels when church folks tell you they are “going to try out the church down the road,” or something as mundane as my filing system or library organization.  I wasn’t really expecting internet notoriety, and, sure enough, I didn’t get it.  

That changed in 2016. I had been diagnosed with Corticobasal Degeneration (CBD) in 2015 and wanted to do something different with my blog. I started writing about my experiences with CBD.  This was to give my friends all the information they might want to hear about my condition.  I also found it therapeutic to just put down in words how I was feeling.  

I have been a pastor all of my adult life.  That has meant that a good deal of time has been spent communicating.  I typically preached three times a week and also taught an adult Sunday School class.  Anyone who knows what pastors do will also think about the amount of one-on-one conversation a faithful pastor has with his flock.  Now, with CBD to contend with, there has been a radical shift.  I had to resign from the church I had served for 21 years because I could no longer fulfill my responsibilities.  It was just too much.  As my symptoms progressed it became unsafe to drive, and so I became dependent on others to go anywhere, assuming I had the energy to do so.  At about the same time that I gave up driving, it seemed like my voice became markedly worse.  The speech pathologist at Mayo Clinic had diagnosed me with “mild to moderate dysarthria” in the Fall of 2015.  I am confident that the word “mild” and possibly even “moderate” would have been dropped by 2017.  I was able to fill the pulpit of a number of churches after my resignation, but as my voice began to fail me, I preached less and less.  I often did not feel equal to the task and feared my voice would fail mid-sermon.  More importantly, I have always felt that preaching is supposed to be about God, not about His messenger.  Ever since I broke my hip in 2017, I have had to sit on a stool to preach.  Combine that with an unpredictable, sometimes hard to understand voice and I felt as though I was drawing too much attention to myself when preaching.  The bottom line for me is that my “communicating,” whether through preaching or personal interaction, has definitely diminished.

All of this has made me turn, with renewed interest, to my blog.  It is a way to speak.  As I noted earlier, I did not begin to blog anticipating there would be much of an audience, but that has begun to change with my entries about my CBD journey. No, I am still not an internet sensation, and never will be, but I do see how many times my page has been viewed, and that number has grown.  I advertise my blog posts on Facebook, and I often get positive feedback.  I am particularly glad when other members of the CBD Facebook group say they are helped by something I have written.

Now, you would think that someone who feels he has a message to share and a means to do it would end up writing some really great blog posts.  I wish I could say that is true of me, but I can’t.  I’m not saying that I don’t feel like all of my blogs have been worth reading, I just can’t predict which ones will grab a reading audience and which ones won’t!  I have written some that I could not read through without crying, and they got 60 or 70 page-views.  Others, which in my humble estimation were not as good, got over 1000 page-views.  It’s a mystery to me.

For 20 years, while I was serving Bethlehem Church, I had a Monday morning radio broadcast called “The Shepherd’s Hour.”  When it was first offered, I was really excited about having a “media ministry.” I knew the station wasn’t exactly a powerhouse, but it did cover the county and large parts of the surrounding counties, so there was a large potential audience.  I anticipated that before too awfully long random strangers would hear me talking somewhere and ask, “Aren’t you that preacher on the radio?”  If you are thinking, “I bet that never happened!” you would be wrong.  In 20 years it happened exactly once!  In spite of reminding friends and neighbors that I was “on the air,” they seemed surprised if the fact got inserted in a later conversation.  In fact, after about three months on the radio I was convinced that no one, other than my mother-in-law, was listening!  Then someone mentioned hearing my Monday morning message and said they appreciated it.  A few others even called the station to express gratitude.  More importantly, there were a few “hard cases” that wouldn’t darken the door of a church on a dare, who told me they were listening!

I guess what I’m saying is that just as I learned there were people listening to my radio program, there are folks reading my blog.  I hope it is doing them good, and just about the time I am convinced no one is reading, I get some appreciative comment or “like.” It seems my “communicating days” are not quite over.  Thanks for reading, I hope it is doing you good.

Memento Mori

Memento Mori

Recently, while reading Walter Isaacson’s biography of Steve Jobs, I came across the Latin expression memento mori.  Isaacson explains that when a Roman general returned victorious from battle he was given a Triumph, a grand parade, where many gifts and honors were bestowed upon him. Throughout all of this, a servant would follow the general repeating, “Memento mori,” which loosely translates into “Remember that you have to die.” This is from the chapter in Isaacson’s book where the cancer diagnosis, which would eventually take Jobs’s life, is first mentioned.

The writer of Hebrews reminds us, “It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment.”  We all observe the fact that people die, and yet in spite of scripture and experience most of us fail to consider our own mortality, that is until a doctor brings us a life threatening diagnosis.  About two years ago that happened to me.  It put me on an unfamiliar path.  I had been the care-giver throughout my pastoral career; now I was the one being cared for.  Not the one praying, but the one being prayed for.  As is typical for me, I began to look around for books to help me on this journey.  I found some that have been particularly helpful, and I believe would be a resource for both the suffering and those who want to understand and minister comfort. Most of these are not Christian books, but they are honest in picturing the struggle of men and women wrestling with their own mortality.

1.  When Breath Becomes Airby Paul Kalinithi, Random House, 2016

This book was recommended to me by my neurologist and is one of the best written books I have come across.  The author, who was a neurosurgeon in training, tells of being diagnosed with terminal cancer and how he spent the 22 months until his death.  As a doctor he had a clinical view of death, but when it was his life ebbing away his perspective slowly changed.  The readers can find themselves somewhere on that learning curve.

2.  Tuesdays with Morrieby Mitch Albom, Broadway Books, 1997

This book details the story of a college professor who is dying of ALS.  He reconnects with one of his favorite students from years earlier who had gone on to be a successful sports writer.  The two get together each Tuesday for the professor to talk about life, and death.  The reader feels as though he has taken a seat beside the bed of a wise man who wants to impart that wisdom before it is too late.

3.  The Last Lectureby Randy Pausch, Hatchette Books, 2008

Pausch was a computer science professor at Carnegie Mellon University.  He developed cancer, and, while he tried to beat it with a radical procedure, he did not.  He knew from about six months out that his death was imminent.  This led to what the university called his “last lecture.” It is a tradition at many schools for a retiring professor to give such a talk.  Pausch was extended this opportunity and took it.  The result was a memoir of sorts, packed with common sense rules for life.  If there is such a thing as an upbeat book about death, this is it.

4.  The View From A Hearseby Joe Bayly, Clearnote Press, 1969

This book is one of the many recommendations made by Warren Wiersbe from his book, Walking With The Giants.  It is from his chapter on the Minister as Comforter.  I can see why he recommended this book.  Bayly is a Christian minister who has served in both local church and Christian college settings, but his understanding of this subject is not merely theoretical. Beyond ministering to the dying and their families, he has lost three of his own children.  He discusses such subjects as praying for healing and gives some very practical advice about counseling the dying and those who love them.

There are many more books on this subject, some of which I have read, but these are the ones that I feel have the most potential benefit both for the dying and for those who minister to them.  Only Bayly’s book has a clear Christian perspective on death, but the others are what might be called examples of common grace.  They have wisdom and even inspiration to share with us.