A Little More Processing

By nature I am what some people describe as a “processor.” I don’t think being a processor is a particularly negative characteristic, but throughout my adult life, I’ve often had the impression that some of those who describe me that way see that as a weakness. I will defend myself on this issue by simply saying the ultimate definition of a follower of Jesus is “one who thinks like Jesus thought.” (Philippians 2:5) I’m not sure we can “think like Jesus” without at least some “processing” where we attempt to align our gospel-laden heart with whatever topic is before us. I know some people whose lives and kingdom work would be more fruitful with a little more processing and a little less snap judgments.

I say that to remind you that for just over three years now, I’ve been “processing” the reality that I would likely outlive Vicki, my beyond-description life partner in marriage, in parenting, and in ministry. That wasn’t how I saw things happening. But in January 2019, we learned the shocking news that Vicki had pancreatic cancer, one of the more difficult kinds of cancer to medically address. Then we learned it was inoperable. Then we learned that it would require extensive chemotherapy and radiation. Then we learned that even with all of that, the average life expectancy was about nine months.

If you have been reading my posts about Vicki, you know that she stubbornly defied the odds and lived with the horrific diagnosis from January 2019 until August 24, 2021. That’s just over two years and seven months. The only time she ever complained about it all, as I described in a previous post, was late one night when the chemo pump she came home with quit working. She gave me a lot to process with her response to that moment.

In the same earlier post, I mentioned that I had more to say, but would need some time to think and process. More than a few people responded by encouraging me to say more. On Saturday, February 12, we were finally able to have a memorial service in honor of Vicki’s life, and by doing that, to honor the God she loved and served so faithfully. It was a magnificent service. For me, it was a processing event, and I think I’m ready to say some, not all, of what has occupied my heart and mind for over three years now. One of my earlier lines was something like, “Bad theology is not comforting.” It’s not. We who follow Jesus need to do some processing here before we utter what we assume to be comforting words.

Before I begin, I want to emphatically say that I can’t recall a single person who has said something to me who didn’t think they were being comforting. This is simply a discussion of what helps and what doesn’t. I haven’t kept a list of who said what – so don’t read this wondering where you fit in the mix of it all.

When it is your time, it’s your time. I think this sentiment comes out of some hyper-literalistic reading of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, especially verse two, which says, “there is a time to be born, and a time to die.” My favorite graduate school professor often said that the most serious problem the Pharisees had was their “hyper-literal reading of Scripture.” Occasionally he would wryly add, “and that still sometimes happens.” I think all Solomon is saying is that we humans will be born, and we humans will die. But he isn’t saying that at birth, we were given some sort of inviolable expiration date.

If the text is saying we have such an expiration date, then why go to the doctor at all? Logically, you would have to believe that if it is your “time,” then the doctor can do nothing to stop it, and if it isn’t your “time,” then why waste your money on doctors and hospitals – you aren’t going to die. This kind of thinking is an unhealthy understanding of what the Bible says about the sovereignty of God. The issue here isn’t that God isn’t powerful enough to have made humans that way, but rather that it seems He didn’t choose that option.

If this theology – when it’s your time, it’s your time – is true, then I must tell you I have a bit of a problem with God. This whole ordeal was challenging – but the last four weeks of Vicki’s life were at times excruciating. Of those four weeks, the first was at Piedmont Atlanta. The second, at home. The third, back at Piedmont Atlanta. And the final one, at home with hospice care. Pancreatic cancer isn’t just difficult to cure; it is infamous for its ability to create awful pain. By the way, the week between Piedmont visits was her birthday, and we left for the last Piedmont visit on our anniversary.

I remember one night at Piedmont – where, by the way, the care was exceptional – when Vicki’s pain became horrific around 8:30, just half an hour before visiting hours ended. It was during the surge of the Delta variant, and Vicki was the only person on the entire wing who wasn’t there because of COVID. Visitation was very restricted. I had to leave her there alone by 9:00 p.m. every night and couldn’t return until 7:00 the next morning. This night, the nurses were trying hard to manage Vicki’s pain. Nothing seem to be working. Someone came in the room at 9:00, saw me there, and said, “You need to leave the hospital.” They weren’t rude, just following orders. I said, “I can’t leave her like this.” The person said, “But you must.” I said, “You just need to give me an hour or so – I can’t leave her like this.” The kind nurse said, “Just be very quiet, I’ll cover for you.”  I left around 10:30, when Vicki finally began to rest.

In order to believe the “when it’s your time, it’s your time” stuff, I would need to believe that somehow the all-powerful, all-loving God who gave us the name Yahweh as His covenant name, delighted in watching Vicki suffer – and watching my two daughters and I suffer a different kind of pain as we cared for her – for four weeks as He waited until it was her “expiration time.” I’ve been reading the Bible a long time. That kind of nonsense isn’t there.

Everything happens for a reason. Think through that one for a moment. Back in December, a 12-year old boy was shot and killed  by his 11-year-old friend in Riverdale, Georgia. It was likely an accident that was the result of a gun being left unattended and loaded. The child’s mother actually said, “God designed this the way he wanted to design it.” That sentiment often seems to be the idea behind the concept that “everything happens for a reason.” Adopt that idea, and quickly you have painted an incredibly narcissistic, nasty God who must have lied whenever He talked about how much He loves the world.

So what was the reason for Vicki’s ultimately fatal pancreatic cancer? Did she have some secret sin for which God was getting even? Did I do something no one knows about that was awful, and He decided to punish me by inflicting her with such a disease? (If you think either of those are options, read John 9.) As Kate Bowler notes when talking about this, maybe it was “because of my aversion to Brussels sprouts.” (Everything Happens for a Reason: And Other Lies I’ve Loved, page 170) There are probably as many “reasons” as there are people who love to pontificate about such unbiblical ideas. And it seems that about half of them are more than willing to share with you what they believe is the reason. 

Think again for a moment. A few months ago, horrific tornadoes blew their way through the Midwest, with destruction almost beyond description. Lots of people were killed. Hundreds were left homeless and jobless. Recovery will take years. What’s the reason for that? Does God just occasionally get angry and decide to obliterate little towns in Kentucky?

If I’m reading Romans 8:18-25 within the ballpark of Paul’s intent, the world isn’t functioning as God intended it to function. Cancer was not in the original plan. It strikes me as deeply ironic that while God created the universe “to grow,” cancer is something like “growing out of control.” God’s reason for creation is found in Genesis 2, not Genesis 3. With Paul, rather than suggesting a reason for everything, I think I’ll “eagerly await the revealing of the children of God” when the world of Genesis 3 and beyond becomes again the world of Genesis 2.

God picked a pretty flower. While attending the funeral of an infant who died some 30 years ago, the preacher conducting the service looked directly at a weeping mother and father and said, “God needed a flower in heaven, and He picked your little baby.” I have never remotely come close to seeing how that would have been comforting for those broken-hearted parents, grandparents, and other family members. This sometimes comes out as, “God needed a new angel and chose your loved one.” Is this some misguided desire for a guardian angel, or something that we create in our own minds?

Compare that to what the apostle John tells us in 1 John 3:2: “Beloved, already we are children of God but it has not yet appeared what we shall be. But we know that when He appears, we will be just like Him, for we will see Him just as He is.” No offense to angels – but they seem to be creatures made by God, not reconfigured humans. No offense to angels, but I’m planning on having the same kind of resurrected, glorified body that Jesus had post-resurrection. I can’t explain exactly what that will be like – but neither could John, so I’m not embarrassed. It seems, however, that we will be more human than we can understand.

To believe this line of thinking, I would have to believe that the God who instructed me “to consider the needs of others more important than my own” (Philippians 2:1-4) capriciously meets His needs by ignoring mine. Then there is the issue of why we would think God has needs to begin with. (Romans 11:33-36) 

In late November, I took Sarah and Bethany and some dear friends with two wonderful children to the light show at the Atlanta Botanical Garden. It was a wonderful evening. Walking through one part of the gardens, there were these long strings of multi-colored lights hanging from limbs high up on massive hardwood trees down to the ground. They were programmed to blink to the beat of the music being played. One of the musical selections was the theme to “The Pink Panther.” The lights blinked perfectly to the tempo of the song.

Vicki used to play that for kids on the organ at First Christian Church, where she played for over 25 years. Kids loved that, and so did I. I think – other than the masterpieces of religious and classical organ music – that might have been her favorite piece to play.

I was telling someone that story not long before Christmas, and their response was, “Just think about her first Christmas with Jesus.” I get the sentiment of that statement, but truth be told, I would have preferred her to be walking around the Atlanta Botanical Garden with me and our children. I hope that isn’t a selfish sentiment on my part, but rather a way of saying what an incredible blessing she was to me and our children. That sentiment sounds pretty good until it is said about one you loved dearly and miss deeply.

Processers like me may be guilty of overthinking words. I’ll let you make that call. But I have spent months of processing the inevitable fact that Vicki would die before me and leave me behind – not alone, I have wonderful kids and a host of friends and family – but without her, whom I have adored since she said “yes!” when I asked her to marry me.

I’m confident that is worth some processing.

I have more to say – but this is probably more than you wanted to read already.