Teckla and I both battled cancer recently—a battle that resulted in the surgical removal of the cancer. In both of our cases, a lot of work was done to determine whether and where we had cancer. Teckla became something of pin cushion as she had multiple biopsies on both breasts. One of the first tests showed no cancer in one breast, but she had a doctor who was suspicious of some dense tissue. Eventually, we discovered cancer in both breasts. She had a partial mastectomy on both sides. It went well.
Like most people I hate the C-word. I would certainly have felt better if no one had told me I had prostate cancer. My doctor seemed to think the truth was more important than my feelings. I was not greatly comforted by the compassionate and loving bedside manner of any of our doctors. But I was comforted by their competence and knowledge, and even more by their willingness to tell me the truth—even when the truth was “I don’t know.”
I could have insisted that the doctors be more tolerant of my rambunctious cells, intent on doing their own thing. Cancer is such a judgmental word. Wouldn’t it be more loving and accepting—more tolerant, to call them cells that march to the beat of a different drummer? They are cells simply expressing their inner essence and exercising personal autonomy. Why must we demand conformity? Why this hatred of diversity?
And of course, being told I had cancer made me feel sad and unsafe. Truly loving doctors would have kept this truth to themselves. After all, we all have our own truths, so why must I be oppressed by their “truth”. My feelings, no matter what the facts may be, are what matter most. God is love; therefore, love is God. All I really needed from my doctors were some good vibes, but instead they told me the truth.
I am glad they did. I am thankful for their intolerance. I am thankful for new technologies that allow better biopsies and more accurate judgments about how aggressive a kind of cancer is. I benefited from a new prostate-cancer-specific contrast used in my scans. A post-surgical biopsy showed that the surgery had clean margins—meaning it is likely that they got all the cancer. They were so intent on getting the cancer out that they cut out good tissue too. Our surgeon was careful not to be inclusive.
As believers we are called to speak the truth in love—not as self-righteous prigs—but as humble and forgiven sinners. Foremost, we are to speak the truth of Jesus, who forgives our sins. But there is no glorious message of forgiveness unless we tell truth about sin which like cancer eats away at our soul. The grace that cleanses us flows freely when we admit we are unclean. God is love, but we can’t turn that upside down and make a god of every disordered passion. Love is not God. And genuine love is only experienced in surrender and obedience to the commands of Jesus, who said if you love me, you will obey my commandments.
I should add that we did have a bad experience with the first doctor we spoke to about Teckla’s cancer. He was abrupt, irritated that we had questions, and came across as arrogant. We sought out another surgeon, and we found one who took a full hour to answer all our questions. He gave us more information about the staging of the cancer and the benefits and drawbacks of different surgical options. He didn’t talk less about her cancer; he talked more.
Truth need not be sacrificed to love. Lying to us about our cancer would not have been loving us. Lying to people about their sin is not loving them. At its best it is sacrificing long-term health for short-term comfort. At its worst, love that refuses to speak the truth is self-love—caring most about people’s approval and about posturing as compassionate.
We see truth and love perfectly one in Jesus. When the woman caught in adultery is brought before Him, He writes in the dust and then stands and says, “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first throw a stone at her.” One by one, they all leave. Jesus asks her with great tenderness, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She says, “No one, sir.” Jesus then says, “Then neither do I condemn you. Go now, and sin no more.” And had he been one of my doctors, he might have said, “I will see you at your six-month check-up.”
I think one of the main complaints against Christians using the S-word like Jesus did is that we are so often like the elder brother is the parable of the prodigal son. We are quick to identify prodigal son’s sins of the flesh, yet blind to our sins of the spirit—pride, resentment, bitterness. Jesus did not rebuke the Pharisees for tithing their mint, dill, and cumin. He rebuked them for not also doing justice, mercy, and faithfulness. They were bad oncologists, picking at a cancerous mole and ignoring the huge tumors in plain sight.
It is only as we abide in Christ that believers can walk faithfully in love and truth. We need his life flowing through us to keep us from pinballing from truth to love. As we abide in Him, He will live in us.
Only his Spirit can empower us to speak the truth in love, and love in truth.
