On August 17, 1999, I was scheduled to fly out from Denmark to Pakistan to visit some churches we had planted there. Wondering about some physical symptoms I had noticed in myself, the day before I left I met with a medical specialist, leaving specimens for the lab to work on. I don't suppose it's anything serious, I thought to myself as I left for Pakistan.
The test results caught up with me in Pakistan: I had colon cancer. I was advised to return home as soon as possible. An operation was scheduled in a month's time.
Visiting the newly established churches was an encouraging experience. It was rewarding to see the faithfulness of members in spite of some hindrances. Still, my visit was overshadowed by the ominous message from home. The word "cancer" is always disquieting, if not devastating.
At the time the disturbing message had reached me in Karachi, I had to decide between keeping it to myself or sharing it with others. It's probably very "Danish" to be private in such matters. However, I wanted contact, communication, intercession, and, honestly also compassion. I felt I should be open and honest.
My church employment for more than 47 years in various capacities had brought me in contact with people in many parts of the world, and when I opened up the matter to others, I received many comforting messages. Among the persons and groups who said they were praying for me were Lutheran ministers, Muslim friends, and Adventist fellow-believers in Asia, Africa, Australia, North America, and Europe.
Upon my return to Denmark, I was hospitalized. The operation lasted six hours, and I spent the next ten days in the hospital.
The oncologists recommended six months of chemotherapy. A little later, I developed pneumonia twice and had hernia surgery. For a person who had enjoyed good health in his 67 years, these seven months were a time of anxiety and fear that the cancer might have spread. It was also a trial for me to move in and out of the hospital and actually be hospitalized for 30 days.
The psychological effect of the "verdict"
Elizabeth Kiibler-Ross in her book On Death and Dying analyzes certain stages people go through when they have been told that their days are numbered. They are as follows:
1. Denial and isolation (not me?)
2. Anger, rage, envy, resentment (why me?)
3. Bargaining (if I am good, I can live)
4. Depression (what's the use?)
5. Acceptance
These stages do not always come in that order, however, they can occur concurrently and are intermingled with feelings of hope, fear, anguish, and even terror. I recognized them as general outlines and dealt with them as such. So my experience went something like this:
1. Denial. It cannot be true. I am not sick. The medical people have made a mistake. I am strong. I have traveled in all kinds of situations and lived in four continents, sometimes under trying conditions. I have survived three wars. I come from a strong family, number six of eleven children, with parents that lived to an advanced age. It is a mistake. It cannot be true.
2. Then when it was proven to be true, the Why question emerged. Why should I get this terrible disease? I questioned my obedience to the health message with which I grew up but to which, perhaps, I was not always faithful.
An experienced nurse told me that I should never attempt to find out what had caused my cancer. It would be futile. Cancer hits people arbitrarily. On reflection I am positive that I did not experience anger, resentment, or rage. Perhaps a little envy when I watched healthy people.
3. The "acceptance" reaction was to fight the disease with all means possible physical, emotional, and spiritual. I decided that this ailment was not going to get me. I was going to live a few more years. This, no doubt, meant a battle with its depressions, its "up's and down's."
My wife, Iris, and family stood wonderfully by my side in this decision and strengthened me in all aspects. Iris encouraged me to take one day at a time, to focus on the progress I had made during the previous 24-hour period, rather than thinking about, even fearing, the many future treatments or operations. Also I decided that I should have a special project to be involved in: a how-to book on evangelism in developing areas of the world.
4. Then came the great moment of relief and joy. After the operation itself, with some additional scans and examinations, the chief surgeon assured me that I could be considered cancer-free.
That was, of course, to the best of their knowledge. No one knew what really was going on in my body. In my case, there existed a propensity for recurrence, but the doctors felt that I was in a reasonably safe state.
5. Interestingly, now I experienced some guilt feelings. The man in the bed opposite me had died a few days after his operation.
Another patient, a professor in American history at the University of Copenhagen, was told that his colon cancer was beyond medical help. He received permission to use all the morphine he wanted to make the rest of his days as painless as possible. He was a Lutheran, and on several occasions we talked together about spiritual things and I had prayer with him.
He did not live for more than five months after the operation, dying at 53 years of age, leaving a wife and three children. When I attended his funeral in one of the main churches in Denmark, my mind returned to the Why question.
However, now the issue was not why I got the cancer, but why I was spared the severe terminal consequences my friends had to suffer. I still have that feeling of guilt when I think of my two fellow patients who became my friends in a special way.
In the hospital ward I had the opportunity to share my belief in God and Jesus Christ as Savior with other patients who were in similar situations. It is amazing how pre pared we are to talk about spiritual things when we are in a crisis.
Spiritual manipulation as a preparation for death?
All through my life as a minister, I have prayed and comforted many who suffered from cancer. Now the tables were turned. I was at the receiving end. What I had preached to others now was a reality in my own experience. I imagined, especially in the first weeks, that death for me was a possibility.
The first thought that came to me was that I should spend much more time reading the Bible, the Spirit of Prophecy, and other devotional literature. These were important in preparing me for whatever would come. I felt I had to be more spiritual if I were to be accepted by God. This was the "bargaining" state in my experience. It was really the idea: "If I am good, I can live."
Thankfully, my Seventh-day Adventist beliefs, theological training, and reflections took over. The questions came to me, "What was the actual motive for such exercises?" Did I really believe that reading the Bible and religious literature would make me more acceptable to God? Could I win special favors in my somewhat desperate situation by such actions? Could I influence God in such a way that He would more readily accept me, should the cancer be terminal?
Of course not! In my ministry I have taught and preached that salvation comes by faith and acceptance of Christ as my Savior. This has also been at the core of my personal faith and relationship with God. God's acceptance of us is by His grace. Anything I try to do to please God and make myself fit for His kingdom will only make the saving process more complicated. Works of any kind will not change God's dealing with me. He knows me. When this biblical truth dawned on me anew in the hospital, a wonderful peace fell over me. I thanked God for His mercy in dealing with human beings with me.
Prayer as a bargaining commodity
In the "bargaining stage" of my experience, prayer also became a kind of "inducement." Would not more time spent in prayer, even extended prayers, make a person more accept able to God?
My personal prayers were to prepare me to meet my Savior. In this preparation it is the content of prayer and a person's faith, rather than their frequency and length, that are of significance.
Important also is the motive for the prayer. When the principal purpose is naively to make one more agreeable and win favors with God, the whole purpose of praying is misunderstood. One cannot pray oneself into heaven. So also in the "bargaining" stage, my understanding of the theology of prayer prevailed to some extent, but I also moved on to new dimensions in my faith and prayer.
There were prayers for a miracle to happen. People in various parts of the world were praying for me. Many of these prayers, including my own, were for a miracle to take place. However, no miracle took place.
Miracles are rare. When they do occur, they are usually reported in other countries far away. Millions of suffering Christians in many countries send up their prayers for healing, food, employment, and protection in various disasters such as civil wars, earthquakes, and floods. It often seems to these people, and to us for that matter, that God does not hear and answer prayers.
Do we have to reconsider our concept of the meaning and purpose of prayer? Do we need to revise our concept of miracles and their place in God's overall plan of salvation?
Miracles and prayer
I have no problem in accepting that, in both the Bible and church history, miracles have had a significant function in saving God's people when there was danger that they would be eliminated. We need only to read the story of Moses in Egypt, the wonders performed by Christ in His attempts to found His church, and the work of the apostles.
There are personal instances where God intervenes and answers prayer by performing a miracle. However, inspiration seems to reveal that God has a general plan for the salvation of humankind, and we as His children are part of that plan. The main thrust of His design is to get people into His kingdom, where there will be no more death, disease, hunger, or suffering. Our desire to add a few years to our existence in this world is perhaps more self-serving than fitting into the divine purpose. No doubt it is difficult from our narrow perspective to see the larger picture in God's redemptive plan. In a narrow sense, prayer requests something, a favor, from God. We sometimes pray like a child writing down a list of gifts wanted for Christmas.
In a broader sense, the main purpose of prayer is to bring us into closer contact with God, to admit our dependence on Him. On the one hand, prayer gives us a sense of need, helplessness, and unworthiness. On the other, it gives us an assurance of divine generosity, love, and forgiveness. That is more important than receiving material gifts, even healing and longer life.
Prayer draws us nearer to God, and the belief that one's sins are forgiven is the greatest source of peace. Along with this, intercessory prayer for fellow humans will draw us nearer to them in true, deep concern and love.
Ignorance of death
One of my observations when associating with fellow-patients in my hospital ward and listening to their anxieties was that there was a fear of whom and what they would meet if they should pass away. What would be on the other side? Was it hell, heaven, or nothing? This ignorance resulted in fear and uncertainty. One patient asked me what I believed about God and death but when I offered to tell him, he politely made it clear, that he did not want to be talked into any concepts that made any demands on his life.
In these moments, though I'd read and taught them many times, I found fresh comfort and tremendous peace in the realities of the Bible teaching about heaven, hell, and whom I would meet on the other side. Paul makes it clear that a Christian should have knowledge. "We do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep" are his words (1 Thess. 4:13, NIV).
It is a great comfort to know from the Bible that there is no eternal burning hell waiting for those who refuse to accept Jesus as Savior (Mal. 4:1-3), and to know that the time between death and the resurrection at His second coming is like a sleep in a state of unconsciousness (John 11:11- 14; 1 Cor. 15:51). After death, the next thing a person who died in Christ will experience is to see His face (Ps.17:15). When one is really facing these realities they become all the more precious.
Perhaps the most consoling words about dying are in Rom. 14:7-9: "For none of us lives to himself alone and none of us dies to himself alone. If we live, we live to the Lord; and if we die, we die to the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord. For this very reason, Christ died and returned to life so that he might be the Lord of both the dead and the living" (NIV).
