John 1:1-18
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overtake it.
There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.
He was in the world, and the world came into being through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.
And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John testified to him and cried out, “This was he of whom I said, ‘He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’ ”) From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is the only Son, himself God, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.
I’d like to start by thanking pastor Becca for the privilege of speaking to you this Epiphany Sunday. Standing at the lectern before the congregation on the day that is associated with the visit of the Magi was never something I aspired to or thought I would be empowered to do, and I sincerely mean it when I say it’s an honor.
The day Becca invited me to speak, I came home and shared her offer with my wife Jill and our two kids.
Jill was skeptical that I had heard Becca correctly, and asked, not entirely unjustly, “with all due respect, what makes you qualified to give a sermon?!” I laughed and didn’t entirely disagree, and imagined my embarrassment as Becca clarified what she’d actually meant.
In the days that followed, I revisited the topic with Becca, and, well, here I am! Rather than calling it a sermon though, today I’d like to give you my testimony in the hope that you find what follows as instructive as I find it meaningful in this new year.
The word epiphany means “manifestation” or “revelation” and signifies the moment Jesus’s divine nature was revealed to the world.
I don’t claim to be a wise man and I won’t be revealing anything divine in nature today. Many people in our congregation have experienced or are currently experiencing what I will speak of. I am but one person in this community and don’t claim a superior view or greater wisdom, but I hope my speaking today connects with everyone in some way.
While writing my testimony, I’ve thought about who my intended audience is. As I said, I hope it’s meaningful to nearly everyone, but I especially hope it connects with people considering joining our church, parents of young children, and anyone struggling in life in 2025.
On numerous occasions, friends, family, and colleagues have expressed their disbelief that I developed cancer. On even more occasions, I have voiced that disbelief. Is this really happening to me? How on earth did I find myself here?
I was never a smoker, drug user, and mostly lived a healthy lifestyle, but at 39, I was diagnosed with stage 2 bladder cancer. After weeks of chemotherapy, a nine hour surgery to remove my bladder, much of my prostate, and 20 something lymph nodes, I was deemed cancer free. I felt I had dodged a bullet and spent the next 11 months in immunotherapy just in case the cancer remained. Even though I was cancer free, I experienced a persistent fear that the cancer would come back.
My goal was to get to the two year mark of remaining cancer free, which would place me statistically 95% in the clear. I embraced hope that I would get to that two year mark, and prayed to God how grateful I was to have caught the cancer in time. What a gift it would be, I thought many times, if I could remain cancer free for another 20 years with this newfound perspective on life.
Then, after going in for a routine CT scan in early December 2023, the results indicated a spot of concern in my chest. A bronchoscopy to investigate further revealed that not only did my cancer come back, but it had spread to my lung.
Now, at 42, I live with metastatic/stage 4, incurable, cancer.
Since my initial diagnosis 33 months ago, I have spent a lot of time reflecting on my situation, perhaps too much time, I admit. I’ve navigated the grief of the initial diagnosis, the difficulty of recovering from and living with life-altering surgery, the devastation at being told it came back and spread throughout my body, and would always remain. And for the past year, I’ve lived with an acute sense of the fragility of life. I receive near weekly infusions at the hospital, at an astronomical cost to my insurance, which I hope and pray will stop or slow the spread of my cancer in time for the development of a new
treatment.
When I was initially diagnosed in April 2022, my son just turned 6 and my daughter was 9. One of my greatest fears was that they would not remember me or when I passed away, which felt imminent, they would feel a perpetual emptiness without their father. I was devastated at the loss of the future I expected to have with my wife. At the loss of the chance to guide my children through life, especially given the significant technological, political, and social changes that are afoot. At the loss of all those experiences and benchmarks we assume will be there for. Teaching my kids to drive. Graduations. Weddings. Family vacations. Retirement. Birth of our grandchildren. Paying off our mortgage. Ok, I wasn’t focused that, although I do look forward to that day! There are many more expectations I had as you can imagine. Other questions plagued me. How would my wife cope raising our two kids? How would my kids cope without their father?
How could I guarantee my family’s happiness if I die?
To navigate these questions and fears, I’ve read many books, listened to dozens of podcasts, spoken to professionals with decades of oncology experience, to people who have overcome cancer, and patients who have metastatic cancer like me, and spouses, children, and parents who have lost loved ones to cancer. I’ve learned many lessons over the past 33 months, but 5 that I’d like to share today are the following:
- Embrace vulnerability.
- Seek out connection and community
- Engage in the practice of gratitude
- Focus on living in the present
- Choose love and joy over fear and despair
I. Embracing vulnerability
◦ One of the first books I discovered upon being told I had metastatic cancer was Frank Ostaseski’s The Five Invitations:
Discovering what death can teach us about living fully. I’ve found this book to be full of wisdom, and among the many sage passages, is one on embracing vulnerability. Ostaseski writes, ” vulnerability is not weakness; it is non defensiveness. The absence of defense allows us to be wide open to our experience…if we are not willing to be vulnerable to pain, loss, and sadness, we become insensitive to compassion, joy, love, and basic goodness. The courage to love requires vulnerability; is there a more vulnerable state than love?”
A. The first state of vulnerability I encourage you to embrace is that of emotional vulnerability. Specifically in your expression of love.
- To Ostaseski’s point, and as is taught extensively throughout the Bible and in other religions, I’ve found embracing the vulnerable state of love to be central to my management of grief and fear. I’ve always expressed my love and affection for my wife and children, but never have I found it more important than in this past year. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t tell my family I love them as I know tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. I know deep in my heart that if I were to pass tomorrow, there would be no doubt in my family’s mind how much I loved them; indeed, as has been said many times and places before, the power of love transcends death. So I encourage you today to let those you love know it, and say so on a regular basis. You don’t have to follow in my footsteps, but I was never a hugger either, but as I say goodbye, I have learned to embrace that practice too, not knowing if I would see a friend or family member again as we part ways.
B. A second state of vulnerability is social vulnerability; that is, asking for help.
- I never envisioned I would publicly share this, given the stigma and perception of weakness or judgement that still exists in our culture, but since my diagnosis, I have regularly seen a therapist. Doing so has helped me process my grief and fear, cope with the ever changing side effects of my treatment, but also to recount the joys I’ve experienced in life. I learned through a friend about an organization here in Fairfax called Life With Cancer, which provides free sessions to patients or family members who are experiencing the effects of cancer. I can’t emphasize enough how helpful this has been in my healing journey and I encourage you to also ask for help in overcoming whatever obstacle in life you are facing. Far too many of us try to face what life throws at us without help, resulting in needless suffering. In my humble opinion, and as I’ve said to my kids, everyone should have a therapist!
- As is obvious in my speaking today, I’ve embraced an openness with my cancer experience. I have friends with cancer who have not found being open about their diagnosis easy, never having told their colleagues at work they were dealing with cancer. I pass no judgement on how one navigates their cancer journey or any other obstacle in life; however, it has been my instinct to be open with everyone about my experience. I have found that being open has resulted in meaningful friendships and experiences of connection and inspiration. If I hadn’t shared what I was going through with others, I would not have learned that so many I knew had traveled this path or similar ones before me, and had wisdom to share, and love and support to express. I wouldn’t have been able to share the joy of a stable scan, or ask for positive vibes and prayers in a time of need. Due to my openness, Ive allowed others the opportunity to heal with me as they’ve also been affected, albeit indirectly, by this disease. Most meaningful to me though, is the possibility that by me sharing my experience, I may have the positive effect of helping others face their own challenge in life one day.
C. A third vulnerability I’ve explored is that of spiritual vulnerability. Early on in my diagnosis, through tears of grief in my eyes, I met with Pastor Becca one-on-one, and laid out my appreciation for this community. I also wanted to be transparent and authentic to myself and discussed the issues I’ve had with past churches we’ve attended, issues I’ve had with their teachings, or doubts regarding certain beliefs. I certainly don’t have all the answers and haven’t even articulated all my questions, but I have found Becca’s acceptance of me rooted in the love that Jesus proclaimed. I have also found significant healing and connection by being a part of this community, even while holding my doubts. I credit Becca’s embrace of this vulnerability to my being here today.
II. Seek out connection and community
A. As I’ve navigated the uncertainty that has accompanied my diagnosis, my family has been blessed with incredible support from friends, colleagues, teachers and parents at school, and especially within the BPC community. The love and connection we have received here has given me such peace and is a testament to the quality of the people of BPC. I’m especially appreciative of how this community has helped my family feel a sense of belonging. As I’ve told my kids many times, we are not alone in our pain and struggle. And as I’ve done elsewhere, I’d like to recognize some of those people, in no particular order except for this first bunch.
- First and foremost, I’d like to recognize my wife Jill, my daughter, Miriam, and son Theo, all of whom have been my rock and inspiration every day. Without the perpetual joy I receive from my family, the daily laughter and silliness, their laughing at my attempts at humor, and often just simply laughing AT me, this experience would be much more difficult. I love you all so much. On that note, I’ve learned that its important to show gratitude to those we see every day, such as those immediately around us. It can sometimes be far too easy to overlook those who are right in front of us.
- Within the BPC community, I’d like to also recognize the following people: Marc and Jenny Childress; Dan and Becky Herrema; Adam and Julianne Erbrecht; Arlene Decina and Laurie Roberts; Lynn and Alex Miller; Andrea Ham; Paul Gilbert; and last, but not least Becca and Dave Messman.
a) I’ve turned to you all at different moments these past 33 months and without fail, you have helped me process whatever I was struggling with.
b) To our friends Dan, Adam, Marc, and Andrea and your families, thank you for everything. From participating in food trains when I was in chemo, to calls, Facebook messages, and texts letting us know you’re praying for us or are available if we need help—we’re deeply grateful.
c) Arlene, as Ive said before, you are a very special person to my family, and have been there so many times for us and no doubt for others too; you’re truly the embodiment of love to so many families in BPC.
d) Laurie, your cards and hugs have been a perpetual reminder to our family of the love that exists within BPC. If my memory serves me, we first spoke on the phone in the early days of my grief and I found myself so moved that you would lovingly support me in my time of need. Thank you. Lynn and Alex Miller, similarly, thank you for opening your home to us as we sought a break from life in 2023. Your kindness and openness inspired us to make memories that my family will share for a lifetime! - f) Paul, thank you for transforming a painful chapter in your life into a source of guidance for me, and a foundation of friendship for us. Your support has been a light as I’ve wrestled with grief and sought strength to navigate whatever the future may hold in my cancer journey.
- g) And last, but not least, thank you Becca meeting me where I was when I was first diagnosed; for all the text exchanges; for the prayers; for visiting me in the hospital after my surgery; and for answering my text at 6:18am on December 22nd 2023, and praying with me as I was in the deepest grief of my life; and for this opportunity to speak today
III. Engage in the practice of gratitude
A. One epiphany I had after my metastatic diagnosis was the counter-intuitive wisdom of turning toward my pain. For so long, I sought respite from my cancer diagnosis, wanting to pretend it had never happened. A year ago, seeing that I would never be rid of it, I decided to consider the very difficult question: Why am I grateful for my cancer? I identified numerous reasons, but a few that I will offer today include the following:
- Cancer has revealed to me not only the fragility of life, but that life itself is a constant state of flux like a river. It is far too easy to believe the myth that all will continue as it always has—that life will not change suddenly. In fact, life is fluid and it is important to recognize the inevitability of that change and embrace it. This realization has helped me appreciate the fleeting nature of many beautiful moments I’ve experienced this past year and to embrace being present in life. I’ve also found solace in knowing that not if, but when I will experience sadness or physical pain, those feelings and conditions, too, are subject to change.
- Related to the previous point, I have become acutely aware that my body is in a constant state of change due my disease and treatment. I’ve gained a newfound appreciation for how many bodily functions we take for granted, and have learned to find gratitude for what I can still do. For example, whereas I’ve been a life-long jogger, I can barely jog today without fear of falling due to the neuropathy in my feet; however, I can still walk and dance just as well as I ever could—ok, ok, so I can’t dance! While my fine motor skills such as writing by hand have been affected, I can still speak and type. While my vision and hearing has been affected by treatment at different times over the past two years, I can still see and hear, although my wife my disagree with the latter!
- a) So if one day you experience a loss of ability or your body fails you unexpectedly, as I have experienced, I hope you will step back and consider all that you still have, and be grateful for it.
- Lastly, I’m grateful that cancer has has opened me up to new experiences and personal connections I probably wouldn’t have otherwise made, even with strangers. My speaking today is a perfect example. I’m especially grateful for the deep friendships I’ve formed with other current or former cancer patients and feel as if we’ve been life-long friends—our friendship accelerated due to the intimate nature of our situation, like brothers or sisters in arms. We regularly check in on each other, and share our experiences, our joys, and fears. I’ve also bonded with oncology nurses in a way I never thought possible, sharing hugs, photos, and asking about each others’ families and pets.
- The take away here is no matter how difficult ones situation may be, there is always much to be grateful for. It’s up to us to challenge our perspective and discover reasons to embrace the unexpected changes life brings.
IV. Focus on Living in the Present
A. After my initial diagnosis, I repeatedly asked myself “Why did this happen to me?”; “What could I have done to prevent this?” When I was restaged, I also suffered unnecessarily worrying about the future. “Will the next scan show growth?”; “Will I also lose my ability to walk?”; “How much worse will the pain get?”; “When or how will I die?”
B. A neighborhood friend who lost her husband when her children were little taught me an important lesson by encouraging me to try to push past my grief and be present with my family while I am still alive for as long as that is—to live in the moment so as to not lose the opportunity to continue creating memories.
C. I felt like that lesson was also delivered to me when I needed it the most in an almost divine-like fashion in April 2022—in of all places, an Uber! I had to get to my urologist because I just had surgery to remove the initial tumor in my bladder and needed to follow up, but wasn’t in a condition to drive myself. I wasn’t feeling physically or emotionally well and intended to sit quietly in the back of the car scrolling on my phone, headphones in. As we drove, the driver was listening to a podcast reviewing a book titled “the third stage of life”; among the subjects of the podcast were the importance of living in the present, not in the past or the future. As simple as it is, I had never heard life discussed in these terms; I sat there stunned with tears welling up in my eyes because of the pain I had been experiencing
trying to answer all those impossible questions in my head. An unexpected, but much needed conversation with this total stranger ensued and as we parted ways, he held my hand and told me “everything is going to be ok.”
D. Finally, to emphasize this point, a year ago, my doctor told me that I may have as little as a year left to live. If I had allowed myself to be preoccupied with what may happen in the future, I would have lost precious time with my family. I’ve come to learn that being preoccupied with the past or future won’t change the reality of my situation. Not only that, but it robs me of the present moment that I do have with my loved ones. Put another way, being bound by the past that cannot change or focused on the future that may never be, is a waste of the present moment, which is guaranteed.
V. Choose Love and Joy over Fear and Despair
A. I have been told to get a brain MRI out of concern my cancer spread beyond my lung (it didn’t). I have been told the cancer may have spread to my vertebrae and sternum and felt fear that the pain or complications would be unbearable. (It hasn’t) I’ve called 911 on the side of 495 (as embarrassing as this is to admit) because suddenly while driving, I couldn’t breathe and thought I was actively dying (I wasn’t). I’ve developed pneumonia. Twice. (Ok that actually happened) I’ve suffered side effects from my life-extending treatment, which has resulted in the loss of feeling in my hands and feet, neuropathic pain in my fingers, and trouble breathing. My skin on my legs and feet has thinned in this past year such that it tears at the slightest friction. And as I said before, as a lifelong jogger, I can’t run anymore without fear of falling. That is to say nothing of the perpetual waiting for CT scans that often results in what we call “scanxiety”.
B. I share these moments not to brag about what I’ve endured or suffered well, but to be transparent about the very real fears and experiences I’ve had, and to highlight that I’ve been given a choice: focus on all the opportunities to despair over my situation, or embrace the love and joy I am blessed to have all around me. And I’ll be the first to admit, I’m just as vulnerable as the next guy here to complain about my man cold, or about all of the other ailments listed above, or all that is wrong with the world. I often need help in reframing my mindset—just ask my wife.
C. And practically any day in 2025, we can read the news or doomscroll in our social media, and find plenty of reasons to be afraid, angry, and wallow in despair. That’s easy to do. But I
have come to appreciate that we are all empowered to make that decision based on what we choose to focus on and nurture in our lives; and I endeavor to choose love and joy, and I hope you will too.
VI. Finally, over the past year, I’ve learned to think of life as a body of water. Every experience creates ripples like pebbles thrown into a pond; and where those ripples intersect, connection happens. These ripples often extend far beyond their point of origin. I hope my testimony today created a positive ripple in your life and one day inspires you to choose vulnerability, connection, gratitude, presence, and love.
Thank you.