Wrestling

So much of what I could write about Edinburgh seems completely useless in the present context. Lara's mom died Thursday evening (which was after midnight for us). If you've followed this blog, you will know what has been going on, but here's a summary. Elizabeth Barnoske was diagnosed with the most aggressive kind of brain cancer back in March of this year. Less than seven months later, after repeated hospitalizations, a surgery, radiation, and two different kinds of chemo-therapy, she slipped into a coma and died quickly. She was to turn 51 this December, and see her first grandchild next March.

First of all, let me throw out the disclaimer of saying that I am perfectly aware that death is a human problem that, theologically speaking, is the result of our corporate rebellion against God. I know where death comes from and that it is the naive and uninformed atheist who justifies his/her atheism by the question, "How can a loving God allow suffering?" All we actually deserve is suffering and death. God has provided for our reconciliation to himself and the defeat of death through Jesus.

Yes, I know all of this.

But I have to be honest. God's laissez faire approach to cancer makes me mad. Sure, I can look at it from the perspective that at least she didn't suffer over an even longer period of time, at least she died relatively quickly. Only she did suffer, constantly for the last seven months, and in ways no one should ever have to suffer. There is nothing good or redeeming about this, and I have more than a little difficulty understanding how God is glorified through allowing a servant of his to suffer and die in such a horrible way. Where is the covenant benefit? Beyond feeling grief, I feel totally humiliated for having believed that God might possibly heal cancer. Is it a sign of spiritual immaturity to trust God? Surely not, but that's sure what it feels like.

I guess the issue for me, and for every Christian as they go through times like this, is what can we reasonably expect from God? It's pretty clear that God wants our total allegiance and trust. Okay, but what does that mean? Is trust that is not defined by some set of expectations truly trust? The whole Bible, from beginning to end, speaks of times (maybe exceptional) where God miraculously intervened for his people and delivered them, often through healing. This healing aspect of God's intervention seems to expand and accelerate in the New Testament. Obviously, one of the ways you can deal with these things is to dismiss them in a cessationist sort of way by saying that healing was only for the apostolic age (many of us do this even if we are not doctrinally cessationist), but I still don't think this is justified by the texts without projecting our own disappointment back upon them. Christians tend to become cessationists when their naive hopes of God's intervention are not realized. In this case, the fact that our relatives weren't healed is justified by saying that they have entered into (at least the first stage of) life everlasting.

But can we honestly push all the weight of God's blessing forward to an undefined future, saying it's okay because of the resurrection to come? The attitude that Jesus' resurrection means that God can stop intervening in earthly affairs is totally backwards based on the picture painted by the New Testament. The Kingdom of God is here, or at least that's what we are told. At times like this, the whole theological balancing act between realized and future eschatology just seems like a gigantic cop out: whatever of our experiences doesn't fit into one category we just push to the other. It feels like an elaborate hoax, a justification for a system that simply doesn't work. For example, if the supernatural ethics of the Sermon on the Mount, of self-abandonment and not caring about money, don't seem reasonable based on your experience that you really do have to look out for number one and money actually does make the world go 'round, then excuse yourself by saying that these ethics are to be fully realized in the future kingdom and we must simply live by the rules of the world around us. Or as another example, don't bother trying to identify the presence of beasts one and two from Revelation in our current governmental systems, or the Harlot in our own sub-culture's participation in the larger human culture of rebellion and idolatry, because those are images that only pertain to the last few years of human existence. I just don't see in the apostles' written words an attitude of waiting for anything, except the return of Christ.

Obviously, therein lies the time-related reason for pushing anything into the future. We await Jesus' return and the manifestation and fulfillment of his rule in the world, which includes such things as the final defeat of death and the vindication of his followers by a resurrection and everlasting life thereafter. But the question still remains, what can the followers of Jesus reasonably expect from God in this present life, especially now? Nothing? I think not. The certainty of a future total victory over death provides a foundation for what we might call peace and joy. We Christians have that vague concept of spiritual comfort, but what does that mean? I still hurt, and I know that Lara and Joe and Dave, among others, are hurting worse than I am. I know that God loves us, but I would like to feel it right now.

I'm tired. I'm tired of wrestling with death, with cancer, with God. I'm tired, but I am not going to let this issue go simply because I want to slip back into the slumber of unawareness. God is not off the hook, and neither am I. Especially in the United States we allow our prosperity to turn us into spiritual herbivores, beasts who avoid real issues by turning on the television or by going shopping or by some other escape method. If I read the Jacob cycle and Job correctly, I don't think God wants to be off the hook. Somehow, it is through this wrestling that God is actually known in all of his fulness and glory. What I want with regard to cancer is some sort of propositional guarantee of something, some sort of concrete expectation I can depend on each and every time. But when it comes to truly knowing God, propositions are a mere starting point. The real and harsh truths of life cannot be glibly reduced to mere statements. They transcend even our ability to describe them; we can only glimpse and reflect.

So today, Saturday 10th of October, 2009, I sit in my new flat, the one we had just moved into and were spending our first night in when we got the call, wishing Lara were here but also being glad that she's in Dallas with her dad. They both need that right now. When Lara's gone, I eat less and generally feel lethargic. I'm going to ty to eat, get out, and type some preliminary thoughts for my dissertation today, because that's still going on despite the events of this week. The funeral is supposed to be next Friday or Saturday, and I'll be flying to Orlando for that purpose later next week.