Cancer initiates
a wide spectrum of treatment approaches. Blood is drawn, we are scanned,
operated on, injected and burned. We can be pumped with hormones, have body
parts removed and see specialist after specialist. It can send the toughest of
us into mental breakdown.
Before I go
any further, please allow me to introduce myself. I am known for my writing,
mostly of a sort of Christian/spiritual bent. I think I can hear your eye roll
right now. I mention my “background” to give context to my current ground. I consider myself to be a person of faith, holding
tight to certain principles of that faith.
But, with
that being said, I have, over the years, evolved, morphed and changed. Like
most of us out there. Some people would say I have even “strayed.”
However, it’s
not that simple.
I had lived
a life, repeatedly smacking into hypocritical walls and a lack of compassion within
a religious setting. For years, I had reached out for help and support
concerning both my eating disorder struggles and the abuse from my childhood.
Once, I had
one pastor who, upon my request for help stated, “Counseling is not really
something I do. I suggest you talk to someone else.”
You mean, like a pastor?!?!?!?
Yeah, that’s
typically the stuff I encountered. “Church hurt” is often how it’s described
and, man, was I ever!
So, now, the
dilemma. After distancing myself from “the church,” I was diagnosed with Breast
cancer. Now what?
I went
through testing, waiting, freaking out, getting my mastectomy and radiation
treatments. I saw specialists; I made tough decisions. I prayed, a/k/a, I
begged and whined.
And, after
doing this for a while, I cautiously
enquired about the chaplain associated with the Cancer Care department in my
clinic. I called her extension and left a rambling message about my concerns
that my version of spirituality and her version may not be able to co-exist.
I had done the cliché church program. I was not looking to do that now. Would
she, could she, accept that?
I was
skeptical, because, when most of us hear the word, “Chaplain,” we automatically
think of a straight-laced pastor in an equally straight-laced dogma.
It can be
intimidating, as, in our very gritty cancer experiences, our words and
responses often appear to be less than “Holy.” What if we let an “F-bomb”
accidently drop? What if we’re not “cleaned up enough” for the Chaplain? What
if we’re too sad, too anxious or too angry, because of our cancer and life
experiences, to withstand the scripture solutions doled out to us?
So, now, not only do we have cancer, but we also have additional fear and guilt added on to it?
Yeah, sign
me up for that.
Let’s call
her “Serenity.” It’s not her real name,
but it might as well be. The woman is peaceful.
I, indeed, respect Serenity’s privacy and, let’s face it, naming her “Mimsy” is
not going to cut it.
So, this
chaplain, Serenity, returned my voicemail and we spoke about how she and I
would approach things. I told her about my denominational background, how life
had taken me through some twists and turns. I told her I had a significant
faith experience that sent me moving away
from my denominational start and into
the land of the megachurches. From that place, I encountered tremendous growth,
opportunities… and also being “church hurt.” I saw, firsthand, the priority
image, money and hierarchy played; often, they were emphasized to the detriment
of helping “the flock.”
I was
explaining this to Serenity and she was nonchalant about it. No ruffled
feathers of panic like I was used to. She told me she operated from a universal
approach, all-inclusive. After all, cancer patients come in all sizes, beliefs
and faiths. She herself, had roots in Catholicism. But, over the years she
admitted she has “branched out.”
Okay, so,
we’re branching. I think this could work.
And, since
that initial phone call, Serenity and I have been branching out on many
cancer-related themes. She has the personal experience to back it up; she’s a
Breast cancer survivor, herself.
We have talked
a lot about the fear, the uncertainty. She knows I’m “high strung” and, over
our conversations, has encouraged me to locate my “anchors,” the solid,
dependable structures that exist for me whenever fear, change and painful
things occur. Writing is one of those anchors.
Likewise,
she’s advised me to keep “a short horizon.” I’m to focus on here and now more
than the weeks, months and years that intimidate me. This is a struggle; I’m a
planner. I’m also a catastrophizer.
Chicken Little, sky is falling, let’s build a cancer bunker kind of stuff.
(I’m a great
party guest).
And,
throughout our sessions, she has always respected my boundaries. That’s a
biggie for me, having come from childhood abuse and toxic relationships. “No”
is my close friend.
One
meaningful incident illustrating her respect of my limits involved a phone
conversation that was particularly intense. In our past meetings, she and I
would typically close with prayer. And I was okay with that… typically.
But this
conversation was too heavy. I felt I needed to end our conversation; I requested
that she not pray with me over the
phone, but on her own. I wasn’t “anti- prayer.” I was anti-further upsetting
myself. Things were just too intense for me. Her response?
“I’m glad
you said that.”
Wow.
She didn’t
try to strong-arm me into Albrecht Dürer’s “Praying Hands?” She respected me,
in my less than Kumbaya mental state and supported the truth of that moment?
Uncharted
spiritual territory!
This locked
it in for me; she and I can continue talking. There was no judging, no
coercion. There was no “you’re wrong and evil; repent, sinner!”
No. There
was “I will support you; tell me what that support looks like.”
And, I think
that’s what true Chaplaincy should look like. It doesn’t come with
Ecclesiastical robes, a priest’s collar, or even the mention of a
denominationally-specific, incarnation of God. It is support and the
recognition that yes, there is something at work, larger than us, freeing us from needing to control
everything (as much as our control freak selves fight that).
But it always comes back to support, a
listening ear, not a judging mouth or mind.
Spirituality
can, indeed, be a large piece of cancer recovery: prayer, meditation, a code of
conduct we follow. The chaplain experience can be a bridge between full-on
religion and practical life coach.
And, each of
us needs to take some time to figure out what that means for us. Cancer or no
cancer.
Indeed, on a
grander scale, it’s about the vicissitudes of ever-changing life. We all
experience change, death, loss, pain, upset in plans. Chaplaincy can speak to
all of it. What are we wanting? What are we needing? It’s not about proselytizing;
it’s about genuinely adjusting to our humanity, in all of our brutal complexity,
with another fellow heartbeat. Sometimes, that involves simply sitting, with no
immediate solutions and being aware we are heard, seen and cared for.
Is this the
true religion? I don’t know. But is it truly help?
Yes, I
believe it is.
Copyright
© 2021 by Sheryle Cruse
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