It has been a terrible couple of weeks. Let’s start with where we are now. My wife, Leandra, has breast cancer. It is going to be a trying year, but we feel certain that she will survive, and thoroughly kick cancer to the curb. About a year and half ago, Leandra noticed something, got it checked out, and was told it was nothing. When it changed a few months ago, she went back, and test after test came back inconclusive. This went on for weeks. Almost three weeks ago we received the call to tell us that her MRI shows that she almost certainly has cancer, and more invasive tests were needed to determine the kind. To add insult to injury, this was at the very beginning of our first couple’s trip together since the beginning of the pandemic. We are planning to go back to celebrate once treatment is over. For the past two weeks, we’ve been going to appointments for biopsies and more tests, and the news we’ve received on Monday was the best we could have hoped for. The dark cloud filled with “what-ifs” that has been following us has mostly dissipated. Now, we just need to do what we are told to do, persevere, and plan on growing old together.

This will undoubtedly change my rhythm at St. Luke’s, but the timing is oddly good. Celal was called to St. Luke’s when we still thought this was nothing, but he is more than capable of covering for me when needed. It has taken a lot of effort to bring things back to life from the pandemic. We still have a lot to do, but we are so much further ahead than we were a year ago. I do not plan on disappearing by any means, but there will be hard weeks where I know I will have to lean on the strong leaders and staff of St. Luke’s. I am grateful for the strong spirit that lives and is growing in our community.

I could not imagine a thought could be so omnipresent until we entered into the time when we were waiting for her complete diagnosis. It would not have been wise to tell people what we were going through, but feeling normal was completely out of the question. Occasionally, we would briefly forget but then it would come crashing back into our consciousness. I hope you all did not notice, but I have been avoiding any unnecessary conversations the past two weeks, because it was so hard to pretend and to care about something other than the crisis we were facing. During this time, one of the most comforting things for me to do was to celebrate the Holy Eucharist with you. We were all praying together. Everyone was bringing forward things said and unsaid, and the weight on my heart didn’t disappear, but it was allowed to exist in tension with all of your prayers, hopes and fears as well. In each service the Eucharist felt like a brief moment when I could feel authentic with you.

Corporate prayer, that is praying together, is such an odd thing in this day in age. Despite its sinking popularity, I believe this type of worship will continue to last into future generations, because it uniquely speaks to the human condition. Everyone is holding onto things that they don’t quite understand or are not ready to share, and coming together to pray in the mystery of the risen Christ can give us words when we have none, and the comfort that we did not know to ask for. Being with you, and emptying my soul on the altar with my unspoken prayers on Sunday morning has kept me going.

I hope that you all come to Church in the midst of whatever brokenness you may be feeling, and know that those around you may have those things that are too scary or delicate to share. When you decide to let it out, I know that at St. Luke’s you will find the space to land on your feet and feel the love that you need.

Blessings,

Nick