One year on

It was a year ago this weekend that I received my official diagnosis.

After all the scans, biopsies and blood tests, the results were in and it was cancer – advanced prostate cancer.   After we told family, friends and work colleagues, I wrote The Enemy Within.  A lot has happened since then.

By April this year, I had completed my initial treatment – hormones, radio and chemo (see After Treatment) and I settled into a less rigorous regime while monitoring my PSA which had been successfully driven down from over 300 to the mid-teens.

More recently however, things have taken a turn for the worse.  Although my PSA has stayed low, I did not experience the improvement that I hoped for after finishing chemo.  I have continued to work as much as I can, but day to day life has been getting harder.  All this came to a head a fortnight ago when I was admitted into the Dorset Cancer Centre in Poole for a few days to get back on track with pain relief, vomiting and constipation.

I had a new CT scan, and the next morning, much to my surprise, my oncologist appeared at the end of my bed to give me the news.  Despite all my treatment over the last 12 months, my cancer has continued to grow and develop.  Two of my lumber vertebrae are in an early state of collapse, and my lymph node cancer has grown to the point where it is putting pressure onto my right kidney.  The CT scan also revealed that the cancer has eaten away the bone in my right femur at the hip, and I am now on crutches to stave off spontaneous fracture.

Not the news we wanted.

Treatment has started again in earnest.  I’ve had two more courses of radiotherapy and been prescribed Abiraterone, which is only licensed in the NHS for later stages of prostate cancer when other treatments have failed.  Simply put, my cancer is outrunning my treatment.  Timescales are shortening.  We hope the Abiraterone may overcome this deficit but even then, it will only work until the cancer adapts again.

The care I have received in the light of this news has been phenomenal.  In the past week alone, I have had three trips to Poole for radiotherapy together with two home visits from our hospice nurse, another from their occupational therapist, and my GP is going to visit me regularly at home from now on.  My basic pain relief has been changed to Fentanyl patches which will work whether I can keep food down or not, by absorption directly into the skin.

Adapting to this news brings to mind the many hundreds of people who have been praying for me during the past year; some in person, with the laying on of hands, many more in churches, prayer groups and over social media.  Many of you have been praying for healing for me, for victory over the cancer and deliverance from this cruel disease. 

The reflections which follow in this post are for you with gratitude, but also wisdom.  Knowing how to react to bad news in the midst of prayer is a tricky one. 

Following a revival in healing ministries in the 1970’s, there grew up a theology in some parts of the church which said “if only you had more faith” you would be healed.  That was not helpful.  It passed the blame for unanswered prayers to those who were praying or even to the person being prayed for, adding a kind of spiritual torture to those who were already ill.

In response to this others pointed out that any Christian theology of healing must also have a theology of dying if it is to be to be balanced and complete.  Christ did not die upon the cross to bring us eternal life here within the imperfections of a fallen world. He died and rose again to open the gates to eternal life in a new creation free from pain, sickness, sorrow and death.  Restating this was not just the task of theologians.  I remember Christian pioneer rock-star Larry Norman reminding us of this in his 1972 seminal album “Only visiting this planet” (still well worth a listen if you can find it!) including a lyric from a Jim Reeves song, “This world is not my home – I’m just passing through.”

A more modern trend dealing with disappointment in prayer is to search harder for things which may be blocking the power of God in our lives.  Emotional scars, sin, bitterness or unforgiveness are prime targets, and while I know that emotional healing can bring physical healing – I saw this so clearly in my mother’s arthritis – overemphasis of this can also lead into a rabbit hole of introspection trying desperately to discover the key to unlocking the healing which is desired.

The truth is that death can also be God’s healing, releasing us from the fettered bonds of this life into the glory of God’s presence.  Paul reminds us in Romans that “the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.” (Romans 8:18).

In my early 20’s, the Charismatic movement in the UK was challenged by the death of a major figure in the movement.  David Watson was at the height of his ministry as a renowned preacher, author and minister of the Gospel.  He saw God bringing healing to many, many people through his ministry around the world.  Then David was diagnosed with cancer and died at the age of 50.

I have mentioned David Watson’s last book (Fear no Evil) before.  Reading it again during this year, I have followed his journey from diagnosis, to the outpouring of prayer it provoked, with Christian celebrities quite literally flying in from all over the world to pray for his physical healing – a healing which David believed God would give.  After his terminal diagnosis and initial treatment, he continued with his ministry, took every opportunity to be prayed with, and yet the book charts with selfless honesty his journey to a place where he simply became open to God’s will, whatever that may be.

In Chapter 18 he wrote,

“Through the unexpected diagnosis of cancer I was forced to consider carefully my priorities in life, and to make some necessary adjustments.  I still do not know why God allowed it, nor does it bother me.  But I am beginning to hear what God is saying, and it has been enormously helpful to me.  As I turn to the Bible, I find passages coming alive for me, perhaps more than ever before.  As I praise God or listen to worship cassettes, my vision of the greatness and love of God is being continually reinforced.  I am content to trust myself to a loving God whose control is ultimate and whose wisdom transcends my own feeble understanding.”

In my own small way, that is where I am now.  My faith is strong but is also being moulded and tempered by the refiner’s fire and from now on, the prayers I would ask for me are as follows:

For God’s will to be done, whatever that may be.  If that is for healing, I am content to stay, but if my time is approaching, I am ready to embrace it.  This is not giving up and I have an extensive list of goals I would like to experience with my family before that day.  I also have a good many blog posts yet to write, publish and inflict on you all if you choose to read them!  But like Jesus in Gethsemane, my prayer to God is not my will, but yours.

Thank you to everyone who has been upholding me in prayer as well as everyone who has held us in their thoughts, sent their love and best wishes.  We are strengthened by them all.

The photo at the top of this blog post is from a hotel bedroom in Birmingham.  Surprisingly philosophical I thought, for a hotel…

Radiotherapy, Chemo and God

So my treatment has suddenly moved up a gear.

In addition to the hormone therapy I am receiving, I start 5 days of radiotherapy later this week, and chemotherapy next month.  Like other cancer patients, I am going to have destructive beams and chemicals pumped into my body on a regular basis.  Suddenly, it has all become very real.

The hope is that these treatments will kill enough of the cancer cells to keep everything under control. 

The other hope in my life comes from prayer.  Since my last post, I have been overwhelmed by people saying they will be praying for me, and I am acutely aware that hundreds, if not thousands of people are praying for myself and Mel, Isaac and Iona.

I have to say that I have a chequered history with prayer for healing.

In my teens and twenties, I saw some remarkable answers to prayer.  I saw people healed, physically and emotionally.  I saw heroin addicts come off drugs with little or no side effects in response to prayer, when they had tried many times before and given up, because withdrawal was unbearable. 

Yet when my wife was horrifically injured in 2003 with excruciatingly painful and life threatening injuries, I sat by her hospital bed day after day for months, praying for God to ease her pain – all to no effect.

Coming on top of questions about why God let her accident happen, this daily disappointment left my prayer life scarred for years.  I became unable to reach out to others in prayer, and only began to find my own healing last year, for the scars this left on my soul.  (See ‘Healed to Pray’ for more.)    As a result of that inner healing, I have felt able to pray for others again in the way I used to.  I have not seen dramatic results, but have been aware of God moving in and through those prayers.

When it comes to praying for myself however, the block still remains.  Why would God answer prayers for me, when he wouldn’t answer my prayers for Mel?

So while I have valued all the messages of prayers from friends around the world, I have found it difficult to believe that God would answer.  My name has been added to prayer lists and candles have been lit in all kinds of Christian communities, from Pentecostal intercessory prayer groups, to Convents and Abbeys, and I am deeply grateful.  I just wish I had more faith that God would answer them.

Yet when I visited Southwark Cathedral last week, around the anniversary of my ordination there, I felt drawn to light a candle and much to my surprise, found myself simply praying “Lord, in your mercy, heal me”.

As I reflect on this, it occurs to me that I don’t know how effective my radio and chemo therapy will be, but I am still going ahead with them.  I hope they will have a beneficial outcome and extend my life, but I don’t know how much good they will do.  Similarly with prayer, I don’t know how God will answer the many prayers being offered on my behalf, but why should I be any less hopeful that they will have a positive effect?

I find myself standing alongside a man who brought his child to Jesus to heal him.  When Jesus said to him that everything is possible for one who believes, he replied, “I do believe, help my unbelief!” (Mark 9)

Not that prayer is predictable, of course.  It does not follow clearly defined rules.  It is not like a political petition, where the greater the number of signatures, the better the chance of being noticed.  In the end we are all subject to God’s will, both active and passive.

I am reading ‘Fear No Evil’ by David Watson at the moment.  It is his story of his struggle and death from cancer at the height of his ministry.  He had seen God heal many people at services he led, and hoped for God’s healing for himself, all to no avail.  John Wimber’s story is not dissimilar.  So even if there seems to be no discernible answer to prayer, I feel that I will be in good company (if a little overshadowed!).

All things considered, I am choosing to be hopeful.

Hopeful in the radio and chemo therapies I will soon be receiving, and hopeful in God for the prayers which are being prayed for me.  They are part and parcel of my treatment and I will embrace them both, with a mixture of belief and unbelief, faith and doubt, hope and realism.

So thank you to everyone who is praying for me, and if you have time, please continue to do just that.

Healed to Pray

Part 2 of the amazing things God did during my recent trip to Hong Kong for a celebration of Jackie Pullinger’s ministry.

Jackie’s Jubilee celebrations were a joy and a delight.  It was almost 30 years since I was a helper at St Stephen’s Society and yet as I walked into the worship marquee on the site of the old Walled City, the sense of praise and worship was just as strong, just a vibrant as all those years ago.

God did some amazing things in me during the weekend.  I have already written about one strand, but there was more.  Another special thing God did, was to heal me of a deep scar which had been inhibiting my Christian life and ministry for over a decade.

Thirteen years ago, when I was a vicar in Brixton, London, my wife Mel suffered a horrific road accident.  She was dragged under the wheels of an 18-ton truck while riding her bicycle and when the truck came to a stop, her pelvis was shattered, half of one thigh was missing and she had huge wounds.

Mel was blessed to survive for which we thank God, but the accident led to months and months in hospital, scores of operations, and immense pain.  Even with all the medical technology available, it took 3 years for her wounds to finally close, with painful daily dressings, procedures, and infections all adding to her agony.

For me it was almost unbearable, to watch her going through such pain. Even when maxed out on morphine and other pain relief, the pain was more than she could bear.  So I sat with her, holding her hand and praying for God to take away (or just reduce) the pain.  I did this day after day, week after week, month after month.  Around the UK, hundreds of people were also praying for the same thing. I don’t know why, but our prayers were not answered.  Her agony continued unabated.

The effect of this on my faith is hard to express.  In Hong Kong thirty year ago, I had prayed every day for new brothers coming off heroin and I had seen God do wonderful things.  After a while I had to remind myself that we were seeing miracles almost every day as God took away their pain and suffering.  Yet now, for the person who I loved more than anyone else in the world, those prayers went unanswered.

As the weeks and months rolled on, a kind of fatigue set in.  It became harder and harder to pray for healing, until one day I realised that I couldn’t minister to people in prayer anymore. I could say prayers for them – but I couldn’t minister to others in prayer like I did before.

As a vicar, this was really difficult.  People often ask vicars for prayer for all kinds of different things.  Before Mel’s accident I would instinctively say “Right – lets pray then!” and spend time with them, seeking God and ministering in the Holy Spirit.  Sometimes I saw God act directly, sometimes not, but now I found myself unable to do that anymore.  I was even frightened of people asking me for prayer.  If they did, I would often promise to remember them in my prayers, and even say a short prayer, but there was no expectation – it had all been drained away.  I knew this wasn’t right.  It was like a dark cold wall cutting a part of me off from God and the ministry he had called me to.

Walled City before its demolition

So as I came back to Hong Kong for Jackie’s Jubilee, I came with both hope and fear. 

Hopeful that God would do something in me but fearful that he wouldn’t, that the dark cold wall would remain.

Over the weekend a wonderful thing happened.  In the praise and worship, in the prayer ministry I received and in the profound sense of God’s presence there, God melted that cold dark wall.  I didn’t even realise it was happening at first, but by the second day, I remembered the principle we were always encouraged to embrace at St Stephen's Society.  If you aren’t receiving ministry, go look for someone else who needs ministry and pray with them.

After so many years of not being able to pray for others, I suddenly realised that I was ministering to others again.  I was laying my hands on them, and expecting God to speak and act.  I had my eyes open again, looking for what God was doing.  I was listening for God’s prompting again.  I couldn’t believe it and tears of gratitude came to my eyes.

Walled City Park today

God melted my cold dark wall of pain on the site of the old Walled City.

I still don’t know why my prayers for Mel went unanswered.  I am not sure that I ever will.  But I know that God’s love has set me free from needing to know and from the paralysing scar which had become a part of me.

On the last day of the Jubilee, I sensed God wanted to speak to me, and I wrote down these words.

You thought that you had lost, but in fact, you have won.

You have come through the fire

and you have stood fast in the days of darkness.

Now my refining fire comes to cleanse and heal you;

not to burn you, but to bring out your inner beauty

and enable you to shine with my glory.

You are my child, and I am your Father.

To God be the glory.

(Part 1 can be found here)