22
November 26
St. Peter, St. Cloud
Today was a trip to St. Peter’s in St. Cloud with a good friend, Shawn, a strong firefighter with the biggest heart. Following Mass we took a picture with Father Leroy Scheierl, all of us Paynesville natives so we covered who we knew in common. St. Peter’s is a long church with a lower ceiling than most, certainly not ornate, but strong in spirit with kids streaming through the hallways and running on the playground of the parochial school housed under the same roof.
Father Leroy’s homily spoke so clearly to me. He related the reading from Daniel 2:31-45 and gospel from Luke 21:5-11 to how fleeting life is but how difficult it is to let things go. Despite the transitory nature of life, we get attached to things. The reading was about a gold/bronze/iron idol that was destroyed, even the remaining dust blew away. Father Leroy clarified that Nebuchadnezzar (one of my favorite Biblical names to say aloud) dreams about kingdoms to follow. The kingdoms led up to the One Kingdom, which was disturbing to the Jews who were so proud of their Temple in Jerusalem. Biblical history shows the Temple was destroyed 30 years after the death and resurrection of Jesus as prophesied. As with other homilies in the end of Ordinary Time, Father Leroy highlighted hope and encouraged us to enjoy life. The tangent is that “we are in the world, but not of the world.” In our time we need to put our primary “focus on God and his mercy which will never pass.” This homily really resonated with the disconnect I had in both focusing on my life in the present while preparing for the inevitable end, in an awkward balance with one foot “in life and in death.”
Hovering
Hovering. The perfect word for my experience came to me after Father Leroy’s sermon. I could actually decide if I wanted to focus on my “in life” foot. Certainly some moments were “in death” foot like waiting for results when I try so hard not to perseverate on the worst outcome. I had always regarded this stage as emotional cancer. Anyone waiting on results from a biopsy or mammogram and has imagined the worst has suffered from emotional cancer. I had reassured several friends and family members who were recently diagnosed or waiting on results that for me having a treatment plan after long days and nights of little sleep brought great relief. It in no way diminished the unmitigated terror of having cancer, but it gave me focus. Stage IV meant regularly scheduled PET and MRI scans which meant more emotional cancer. And oddly, the scans were both appreciated as necessary surveillance but despised for bringing reality to my fears as the cancer progressed. I tried various methods to cope and despite having dozens of scans, I was always dumbfounded at how time crawled between scans and getting results like some slowly melting Salvador Dali clock. I usually gave into the anxiety at night with a book rather than tossing and turning, but it took a pretty good book to keep my attention. On