Viewpoints: Finding Grace In The Cross Of Cancer

LORRAINE V. MURRAY, Special Contributor

Published: October 21, 2004

In her book “No Greater Love,” Mother Teresa related a beautiful little story about a robin. When the robin saw Jesus suffering on the cross, the bird flew around and around until he could remove a thorn from the crown on Jesus’ head.

As he did, the thorn pierced the little bird, and the robin’s breast turned red from the blood. “Each of us should be that little bird. We should ask ourselves what we have done to comfort others,” Mother Teresa wrote.

“When I look at the cross, I think of that robin,” she added. “Don’t pass by the cross. It is a place of grace.”

At first, I was very reluctant to pick up the cross of cancer. Frankly, the notion of finding even the faintest glimmer of grace in this illness was foreign to me.

I now see that I was in denial about my illness. I kept expecting the doctor to call me and say there had been a big mistake, and I was really in perfectly good health.

I knew that Jesus had said, “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me,” but I wasn’t ready. “Please, Jesus, can’t you give me a lighter cross?” I begged.

As time passed, however, I began observing other people who seemed to be discovering light in the darkness of their suffering.

For example, I have a friend who is gradually losing her vision due to a degenerative eye disease. When she first learned about her condition, she seemed overwhelmed by grief over the prospect of going blind. Then, as time passed, I noticed she seemed calm and even joyful. One day, I asked her about her secret.

“My husband and I have been reading the Scriptures together every day,” she said. “It makes such a difference.”

It took me a while, but gradually I started seeing glimmers of light in my own situation. For example, I became aware that God generously had sent me many kind and compassionate people to help me on my journey.

For years, I had thought about finding a spiritual director, but I kept procrastinating. After I discovered that I had cancer, I sent a letter to a respected priest, and asked if he would counsel me.

How surprised and moved I was when he wrote back and assured me he would be honored to see me. Since then, we have met monthly to discuss all the twists and turns of my spiritual life.

One day, I was feeling particularly troubled, and he looked at me with infinite kindness and said, “You have to throw yourself into the arms of Jesus over and over.” That comforting image returned to me many times in the months that followed.

One afternoon, after a radiation therapy treatment, I heard the screen door opening, and saw my friend Pam and her little boy, Stephen, 6, coming in. He was carrying a plate of cookies that he and his grandma had made, plus a hand-drawn card.

I will always remember the shy and loving look on the little boy’s face as he handed me his offerings. I realized then just how many moments of grace God was sending me.

As we struggle to accept the cross of cancer, we may feel too weary at first to help other people. At some point, however, when we regain our energy, we may discover that many of our loved ones are struggling with their own heartache and suffering.

The cross we carry may seem like the weightiest one in the world, but plenty of people are bent under the weight of heavier ones. It has taken me time to see this, but I believe that cancer can be a place of grace because it can help us feel a connection with all the other people in the world who are suffering.

When radiation therapy was well behind me, I began casting about for ways to serve others. I had taken holy Communion to shut-ins and the elderly at my church for a few years, but I felt God might be calling me to other types of service.

It was difficult to choose, however, among the cafeteria line of volunteer opportunities that exist in Atlanta. Did I want to help in the kindergarten? Work in a hospital? Volunteer at the American Cancer Society?

One day, Father Pavol Brenkus, a priest at St. Thomas More Church, Decatur, delivered a sermon that really helped me. As he was exploring the question of serving God, Father Pavol suggested using the unique gifts that God has given each of us.

Later I spent time reflecting on the gifts that I enjoyed using. When I realized that writing was definitely at the top of the list, I concluded that I might serve others by writing a book about my struggles with cancer.

You may be reading these lines and thinking, “I am too exhausted to even consider helping someone else”—and that is fine. It is really important to be patient with yourself as you recover from cancer.

Energy and enthusiasm may escape you for a while, but they will return. And at some point, you will know that you are ready for the next stage of healing, which is service.

A word of caution though: Often we feel that our calling is something more than we are doing at the time. We may overlook our most obvious talents. For example, if you are a mother, and your day is filled with cooking, watching the children and striving to keep your family healthy and happy, then your way of feeding the Lord’s little sheep is through mothering, which is a lovely calling.

Some women who are recovering from cancer have very full schedules. Some are tending to elderly relatives, raising children or working outside the home.

Still, no matter how busy you are, you can minister to others in small ways. At home, you might make a neighbor a cup of tea or lend an ear to someone in trouble. At work, you can bring in cookies or fresh flowers to share with others.

Sometimes just the tiniest acts of kindness make a huge difference. St. Therese of Lisieux, also known as the Little Flower, wrote about the little way of love in her autobiography, “Story of a Soul.”

Therese had numerous health problems and fretted that these would prevent her from serving God. “Love proves itself by deeds, and how shall I prove mine?” she wrote in her diary. “Great deeds are forbidden me.”

Gradually, though, Therese realized that she could show her love in small ways. “I can prove my love only by scattering flowers, that is to say, by never letting slip a single little sacrifice, a single glance, a single word, by making profit of the very smallest actions, by doing them all for love.”

St. Therese’s life is a reminder that we don’t have to make enormous changes in the world to find grace in our crosses. And especially when we are still recovering from the emotional and physical shocks of a cancer diagnosis, we can remember her words.

“Jesus does not demand great deeds,” she wrote. “He asks nothing from us but our love.”

Many years after Therese’s death, a woman named Agnes Gonxha Bojaxhiu modeled her life on the little way of Therese.

She began her ministry by picking up one dying person on the streets of Calcutta. It was a small action, but this woman, who became known as Mother Teresa, today is venerated all over the world for her commitment to Christ.

Some people may be too ill to have the energy to minister to others, but, as Mother Teresa taught, these people can still pray—and prayer can change the world.

Our prayers may seem like only a drop in the ocean, but she reminded us that the ocean of love would disappear without these drops.

Helping others changes us forever. The robin that tried to relieve Christ’s suffering ended up with a red breast. And although the color came from blood, there was still beauty there.

As Christians, we believe that darkness always gives way to light. The suffering of the crucifixion is surpassed by the joy of the resurrection.

We also know that our sweet Jesus is the light of the world, and the love of our lives. We can discover his presence in every situation, even in cancer. And if we keep our eyes open, we will glimpse his light everywhere.

Lorraine V. Murray also is the author of “Grace Notes” (Resurrection Press). E-mail: lorrainevmurray@yahoo.com.