Just Go On Anyway
Life is a series of hard knocks. I know; I’m covered with scars and bruises. But you are too, aren’t you? In my seventy years, I’ve yet to meet someone whose existence was unscarred by broken relationships, illnesses, loss of loved ones, loss of jobs, broken dreams, and cancer, cancer, cancer.
Rolling Stones, Keith Richards, and famous blues player Buddy Guy were at a pool table chatting about the American genre of music rooted in the black community. Buddy was expounding on how one comes to play the blues. The blues master explained, “To play the blues, you’ve must have lived the blues; you’ve got to have experienced some hard times. So, if you don’t think you’ve had enough hard times, just keep living a while; you’ll get there.” (My paraphrase)
As a pastor, I witnessed considerable sadness through the years. Divorces – lots of divorces – sickness, death – lots of death, and thousands of unmet dreams. Of all the subjects I have preached and taught, human pain and suffering resonates with more people, more deeply than any other subject. We live in the conundrum of what we hope for and what is. My friend, Drew, describes it as the space or “gap” between expectations and reality. Too often, for most of us, what is, is not what we hoped. People don’t get married thinking of their future divorce. Parents don’t have children expecting a leukemia diagnosis. Most folks don’t go through life expecting the cancer diagnosis will cross their path one day. Young people don’t get advanced degrees, hoping to end up in a dead-end job. A thousand challenges await every child that burst forth from their mother’s womb. No wonder we come out crying!
I’ll never forget the night I received a call from a good friend. She was visiting relatives in Florida, and her husband, one of my mentors, had gone to the hospital. “Would you go and be with him until I can get there?” “Of course,” I said. I was honored she asked for my help. Phil was a great friend and life guide. He was a fine-looking man, highly educated, well-known, and respected in the community. He was the head of the English Department at a large high school in the area and was also a golf pro at a popular golf course in our area. I like to golf, and Phil tried to teach me how to play – emphasis upon “tried.” We were well into an 18-hole stretch when he sat next to me in the cart. He said, “Don, you are terrible at this game. You need to keep your day job. You’re a pretty good preacher.” I kept my day job! Phil was a picture of success.
I took what seemed like a very long walk to the emergency area of Holy Spirit Hospital. It was the middle of the night, and the emergency room was relatively quiet. I don’t like the smell of hospitals. No matter how well they are maintained, there must be some kind of mysterious odor to illness and its pain. As a pastor, I’ve spent a lot of time in hospitals. It was never one of my favorite parts of the job. I went to the front desk and asked to see Phil. I told her I was his pastor, so she quickly helped me find my way to his little room. As I walked down the hallway, I could see one bed after another containing someone in pain, along with their family and friends sharing the burden. Hospitals always resonate with a constant dripping of beeps. I’ve laid awake at night hearing those beeps. I hate those beeps. Finally, the nurse pulled back the curtain, and there laid Phil.
The man in the bed was not the confident, strong man I’d learned so much from. He was wearing the demeaning, ugly hospital gown that every poor soul who lies in one of these beds dons. One maintains little personal dignity in the hospital. The infirmary is the great equalizer. We all look equally foolish and embarrassed wearing gowns that reveal our entire backside and our front side, too, if you’re not careful. Wealth, education, power, and confidence all look the same in a hospital bed. I’ve always wondered who designs these gowns. I think of a group of college students who’ve been up too late, having imbibed too many drinks, sitting around a dorm room, laughing to one another, “Let’s design the ugliest possible garment for sick people to wear.” The designs on most of these gowns remind me of images I envisioned when I was on illicit drugs many years ago. I think doctors and nurses constantly need something to cheer them up, and every new patient provides more humor as they fit into one of these hideous garments, back to my story.
Phil’s face was downcast, and I immediately sensed something serious was happening. I was right. A doctor with a terrible bedside manner had just entered the room a few moments before I arrived. She forthrightly told Phil he had terminal brain cancer. I think she had attended the Atilla the Hun School of Medicine. Science can be very cold and deflating, particularly when delivered by an ill-equipped messenger. Phil and I began to chat a bit. I had no idea what to say. What can you say that’s worth anything in these situations? “I’m sorry. I’m here for you.” I guess that’s about as good as it gets. Mostly, I’ve learned two lessons for situations like this: be present and keep your big mouth shut most of the time.
Phil was a man of deep faith and a strong will. But now, both his faith and his demeanor were meeting head-on their most formidable foe ever. I don’t remember his exact words, but I will never forget the message. “Don, I guess this is where the rubber meets the road. I will find out if I really believe all of these Christian teachings I’ve espoused all these years. I will discover the measure of my faith.”
When we stare death in the face, our deepest beliefs immediately emerge front and center. It makes me think of a little church in our area. It’s an old white church building with a high steeple and belfry. It sits along a major road, and at the very top of the bell tower, there is an old-timey red neon sign that simply says, “Jesus Saves.” It usually seems outdated, but in times like these, this message is what many long to possess. “Does Jesus really save?”
Phil and I discussed the implications of his long-held faith and how it would now apply to him in a whole new way. Would he crumble and acquiesce to the diagnosis, which meant his human demise, or would he somehow find in his spirit the power to believe that famous Christian Bible verse, “28 And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28 (NLT) Phil chose to believe. I learned my most enduring lessons from Phil during the last few months of his earthly life. I am confident that his light and momentary troubles have led him to eternal glory with his God.
All this brings me to the point of this book. The frailties of humanity befall all of us. And we will often not understand the “hows” and “whys” of their intrusions into our lives. So, whether it is COVID-19 or brain cancer, we must determine what we truly believe and then say to ourselves – “I think I’ll just go on anyway.” Phil went on anyway and left a powerful legacy of faith and courage. You can too!
