Forum Family Fix 2009 and its aftermath

The TC-Cancer online support forum had its annual get together on July 4th in New Jersey. I hadn't been to one before, but since we had extra mandatory vacation days tacked onto the holiday weekend, I decided to make the trek (just me this time, next time it will be a family affair).

What a blast! Probably about 30 survivors, supporters and kids came and we partied until the wee hours of the morning. New friends were made and old friendships were renewed. It's a group of folks who, were it not for the connection through testicular cancer, probably would have no reason to meet and talk. As one of the participants shared:

I can't help feeling like everyone here is very much an extended family to me. I'll never be happy that cancer entered my life. But I can't help feeling very fortunate indeed for having found so many beautiful people, each so unique and special, because of it.

For me at least, there wasn't a lot of emotion connected with our gathering at the time, just folks having a good time. Then there was the next day.

I was in New York Sunday morning to kill time before my flight. I was dropped off in Midtown (about 56th and 6th Ave) with another couple from the group who was staying in the city for a couple of extra days. So I was walking down 5th Ave and passed a Presbyterian church. I found myself wondering, "maybe there's a Methodist church nearby..." so I whipped out the phone and did a search. Boom, there's Christ Church UMC at 60th and Park Ave, about 8 blocks from where I was. And, as it turned out, they had a service starting at 11 (it was about 5 past at the time). I hauled a$$ over to the church and took a seat near the back, about 10 minutes into the service.

The Scripture readings for the day and the sermon were all about being strong in our broken places. The preacher also quoted from Maya Angelou's poem read at President Clinton's first inauguration: “History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived but, if faced with courage, need not be lived again." It dovetailed so well with the sentiment expressed at our gathering of those touched by testicular cancer that I found myself overcome with emotion. Joining in the celebration of communion just took the emotion to the next level.

After the service, I basked for a while in the beautiful weather in Central Park with a sense of grace, peace, and serenity, thankful that I have been blessed to join a group who have been able to help me (and many others) find strength in a time of weakness. Can't wait for the next one!

Flipping cancer the bird

Why we go to church at Berry

This was read last Sunday, by the author, in our church here in Chicago. He’s a twenty something musician. It’s his response to why he’s part of Berry UMC. I asked him if I could share it b/c it touched me so as a profound reminder of how important the small church is in the world.

Here’s some background about his references to help make sense of the whole:
• Sherrie is the pastor.
• Ben is a 5 year old rambunctious boy, most often found almost tripping any number of people as he runs in and around our legs, during fellowship time. He's often chasing his twin sister or younger sister.
• Temma is the pastor’s daughter who has the capacity of about a 3 month old. She comes to church every Sunday, is wheelchair bound and 23 years old. Our sanctuary is on the 2nd floor and there is no elevator. It takes at least three strong people to carry her up and down those stairs.

Why I Go to Berry
by Matt

The first Sunday that I attended Berry around 5 years ago, the benediction was in the form of Wendell Berry’s “The Mad Farmer Liberation Front.”

I remember Sherrie’s reiteration of the final lines. “Go now… be like the fox, making more tracks then necessary, some in the wrong direction. Practice resurrection.”

At the time, I was visiting Chicago on tour, while still living in Michigan. In the interest of time, lets say that I was a hardened and withering Fundamentalist attending a 1,400 member congregation with 2 jumbo-tron screens, a neon backlit white plastic cross, and a sense that nothing could happen unless it was MASSIVELY visceral and overwhelming.

I say this, not to condemn that church or way of experiencing God, but to acknowledge the immaturity of my own perceptions and lack of engagement in that community. My judgments kept me from seeing anything through the thick “God presence” fog emanating from a hissing machine behind the plastic plants on stage. I always missed the message because I was so busy noting the production, which was so completely incredible that I was sure – through a well-timed fan letter – it would be featured on This American Life with the suggested title, “Weekly Circus: Super-sizing Sunday Service in Middle America.”

I had disengaged and to curb my frustrations, I was assuming the role of an anthropological scientist. “Just here to watch.”

It’s no surprise that the first visit to Berry was slightly alarming. Everything was completely other to me. It was small. There wasn’t a safe 400th row to bob and weave my way through toward the door. Sherrie took long, considerate breathes between thoughts, which was a revelation in itself. “She’s actually thinking as she talks.” I was in love with the unrehearsed, unpolished, and sometimes down-right raw way that things occurred. Children showing me Jesus by freely running amuck. People shared defaming prayers of joy and concern in the safety and trust of the community.

“Who will serve communion?” How about you and you? And there was communion, without spiritual hierarchy or micro-management. It made sense to me. I could not remain anonymous because this wasn’t a drive-thru window. And though I maybe thought that was what I wanted, it wasn’t. This was a meal at a small table in a friend’s home. It was honest and loving, and that was about all that it needed to be. A community of engagement.

I’ve been here ever since, and I’m a part of it simply because I love it. I see Christ in the minutia here and at times when I’m most uncertain of belief, that is exactly what I need. A still small voice. It could be Ben singing “Jesus Loves Me” or it could be a few of us and Temma making our way down the stairs.

I want to end with a quote from Nelson Algren’s Chicago: City on the Make…

Yet once you've come to be part of this particular patch, you'll never love another. Like loving a woman with a broken nose, you may well find lovelier lovelies. But never a lovely so real.

Berry: Community on the Make