Whilst staying in a friend’s home recently, right outside the bedroom door hung an old barometer on the wall. It’s now just a couple of days on from my second infusion of pembrolizumab, and I find myself thinking that if life and wellbeing could be measured on a similar kind of instrument, this last month would have seen the dial spinning around pretty wildly. These last two weeks have seen huge joy as we were able to spend time with many old friends as we revisited our former home in Upton on the Wirral. Then Tom has just passed his driving test. Fantastic. But at the opposite side of the dial, within six days of my first dose of pembrolizumab less than a month ago, I carted myself back into the oncology department feeling terrible. Feverish. Night sweats. Extreme bouts of fatigue which kept stopping me in my tracks, reminiscent of the Duracell bunny advert. I was tested and examined and told that everything was within usual parameters of possible side effects. Reassured. But all the symptoms, apart from the fever-like feeling, have continued and are now joined by aching legs that continue to awaken me throughout the night. But worst of all, my tumours – particularly the one on my neck – suddenly grew within days of the first dose, possibly because of the previous drug being withdrawn and pembrolizumab taking time to settle in. The response it elicited within me, Catherine and the family was one of mild alarm. All the brakes seemed to be off and we were starting to career, out of control it felt, down the hill.
Remarkably, however, in the last ten days, the tumours – particularly the one on my neck – have now suddenly reduced in size in the most amazing way. You’ll see from the two comparative photos. I know pembrolizumab has had some significant results worldwide, but even Ayman is impressed at the speed of response seen in this tumour. Then I also remember the army of thousands around the world who’ve picked up my story and have said they’re remembering me before my faithful saviour, Jesus.
As I’ve been reflecting on the whole thing, especially when my neck tumour swelled so enormously, something struck me. Precisely where the tumour is, I used to wear (albeit irregularly and sometimes uncomfortably, preferring the more informal look) my vicar’s clerical ‘dog’ collar – a sign, a mark, a symbol of a particular kind of ministry in many Christian denominations.
In a curious way, it seems that the tumour is a kind of strange badge of a new ministry into which Father God has called me and Catherine as we share our story with others. That in God’s different economy of things, rather than it being a ministry ‘limiter’, this cancer – and even losing Ben, as utterly painful as that continues to be – has opened up a whole vast array of opportunities to both know and testify to God’s amazing grace, His timeless enduring promises, the profound hope and strength He gives through Christ when the night seems at its darkest and the days can seem utterly devoid of light. That when the world around us celebrates wealth and power, strength, confidence and health, God’s different – even strange – economy turns all that on its head and whispers in a still, small voice and through the pages of the Bible, that real prosperity, peace, security, purpose and hope are found somewhere else – through knowing Christ. And that difficult, dark seasons can perversely provide space and opportunity to know and rely on Him in even deeper ways. As I was reflecting on it, I thought of Bible characters Jacob & Paul. Jacob was the grandson of Abraham and son of Isaac. He was a sheer deceiver. Cheated his brother. Lied to his Father. A stealing schemer. Yet one night, as he was sleeping alone by the river Jabbok, resting during another of his schemes, Genesis 32 records a strange incident where he finds himself wrestling with ‘a man’ through the night. As the story unfolds, it’s clear he’s wrestling with God himself, something he’s metaphorically been doing all his life. The fight lasts into the dawn and when his unearthly opponent, unable – deliberately perhaps – to overcome Jacob, touches his hip, it leaves Jacob with a limp for the rest of his life. But it’s a moment of inner change for Jacob, and he’s given a new name – Israel – and his life from that point is on a different trajectory with a new priority which although imperfect, was symbolised by his hip and limp. In God’s different economy, the dislocated hip rather than failure and loss, represents a new ‘ministry’, new-found strength through weakness, of knowing God and reliance on Him.
Then Paul. At one point, the great apostle taking the message of new life in Jesus Christ with such a profound effect, spear-heading the spread of the gospel into the known world, is inflicted by what he refers to as ‘a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me.’ It’s not at all clear what exactly it was. But three times he pleads with the Lord to take it away from him. And God’s response?
‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ (2 Corinthians 12)
Rather than it becoming a hindrance to Paul, it seems to become for him a reason for thanksgiving, a badge, a sign of his ministry, a way through which he knows Christ, something which he even embraces as he falls back in reliance on Christ’s strength and power more than ever. It emphasised to Paul the unmeasurable depth of resource and strength available to him, to us, through God’s powerful grace – his unmerited riches and favour – there for even the simplest and weakest believer. That in God’s different economy, those things we might at all costs want to avoid, to run from – weakness, powerlessness, illness, exposure, even an unravelling life – can be precisely the ways and means God sometimes – often even – uses to introduce us to His higher ways and incomparable riches, the things He uses for our blessing and benefit as well as ways we can testify to the power of Christ in us to others, realising we all live through painful, sad and difficult seasons. That suffering can be a springboard. That suffering can be redeemed, that dirt can be transformed into diamonds. Whilst it’s true that He might not have caused whatever dark situation we’re living with – I don’t necessarily attribute my cancer to Him – He can nonetheless use them for our benefit and His glory. God’s different economy.
The verse from the old hymn which contains the line that gives my blog its title says…
” O joy that seekest me through pain
I cannot close my heart to Thee
I trace the rainbow through the rain
And feel the promise is not vain
That morn shall tearless be”
In God’s different and ‘strange’ economy, both pain and loss, weakness and illness, suffering and hardship are not the end of the story for the one who’s made Christ – God’s way home for us – their treasure. That through His suffering, Christ entered into our suffering. Because of Christ’s taking on human flesh and His death – God’s incarnation and slaughter as the sacrificial lamb in our place to entirely cover and atone for all our muck and offence – and because of His resurrection from the dead – God’s stamp of approval that full satisfaction for our offences had been provided, that He’d conquered it and that therefore death could not hold Him (or anyone trusting in him) down – because of these enormously precious things, there is a ‘morn’ coming that ‘shall tearless be’ for all who’ve clothed themselves in Christ, made Christ their treasure, who’ve placed the weight of their life’s trust on Him. There’s an eternal morning coming when all tears shed in life – tears because of hardship following Christ, but also tears shed because of the effects of living in a broken, sin-scarred world where loss and heartache exist – those tears will be wiped away by God Himself. And our eyes will, on that morn, become firstly unclouded then opened to see the inheritance, the place He’s prepared for us. And we’ll see Him, still with the wounds in His hands, in His feet and side, standing in front of us, face to face. It’ll all be well. So well. It’ll all be worth the wait. Worth the pain.
To quote Ben from his one entry here on the blog…
“However, I realise that, one day, I will see (Dad) in Glory and together we will celebrate what we have gained through Christ. Bless the Lord, my soul cries out! The good news is that if you’re reading this and you know the Treasure that is Christ, you can have the same confidence”