Diagnosed with cancer is like being in a hot air balloon, miles into the atmosphere and all of a sudden you hear a leak in the balloon above you. Your mind races between land, sky, the past, the future, why is it leaking and what, if anything you can do about it. You fight off the urges to look down and resign yourself to the possible crash landing that may be only minutes away.  Your mind races to reorder the facts, not even sure what the facts are and darkness of another kind begins to take over. You can still see because there is light all around you, but your eyesight grows limited. Your mind shuts down the distant views, and you begin to feel immediate and frantic emotions with no regard for long term events or plans. It grows dark in your soul.

Most people with cancer face this time with emotional resources they did not know they had. Things grow dark and then the darkness starts to recede, even if the diagnosis does not. Even grim news, the word terminal, or you have six months to live may not undue you as you have begun to face your mortality. It may even spur amazing changes in you and your lifestyle. For some, it doesn't change much at all, they go on living as they did the day before the doctor said "You have cancer".

I sat with a lady and her family many years ago when I pastored in Jersey. Most days I would just stop in and sit there, small talk, prayer and the occasional answer to a question about God and what he thought of the families ordeal. They were a God fearing/respectful family, but they had questions that I could not answer fully. After 20 years, I still can't answer those questions.

What I could do with that family was to push back the darkness. To give them a chance to open up the shades on the window of their minds and let some light back in. We couldn't repair the hole in the balloon, but we could help them to see that they would ride again. They were a wonderful family and they treated me ever after that time with deep appreciation. I remember one of the gifts they gave me, a pair of cowboy boots. Now in Jersey, even in South Jersey, there just isn't much call for cowboy boots. Some, but not much.But I gladly wore them.

It was the light that we were able to bring to their eyes that made them so grateful. That they and their loved one could live with dignity in her last days and hours on this earth. I'm pastoring in a church right now that has recently had or is now facing some 4 cases of cancer. Two have passed away recently and two are pushing back the darkness. At times, the darkness threatens even me and I'm not the one with the illness. But being so close to the families, feeling such a part in their health care, I feel at times like the darkness refuses to focus only on the family, but wants to capture anyone connected with them. But I keep going back to the light. I get angry at the darkness, curse it in my own feeble way and pray myself into brighter moods.

But it takes a toll on you. It's like you are giving a blood transfusion and you are not sure how much blood you can give, but you keep on giving as the receivers of your blood continue to grow in number. You are not sure how many you can help, but you keep helping. Fortunately, God has shown me that many members in the congregation can take up the pastoral role as well. They cook, visit, pray, share, encourage, educate, sit with and join the family in their vigil. They end up pastoring me as well, as I pastor the cancer patient.

I think if I had not learned this shared ministry of pastoral care, I would have cracked up some time ago. I certainly would not be ready for the heavy round of darkness that has come our way recently. So I am very thankful that I have a church that is in this thing with me, together, pushing back the darkness.