Edgework

Then Miriam the prophetess, Aaron’s sister, took a tambourine in her hand, and all the women followed her, with tambourines and dancing. Miriam sang to them: Sing to the Lord, for he is highly exalted. The horse and its rider he has hurled into the sea (Exodus 15:20-21).

In this posting I will reflect on my experience of going through a medical procedure to correct a heart arrhythmia problem. Many people have asked me how it went. While I am sure there are better analogies I could have used, I found myself comparing my experience to the biblical account of the Israelites crossing the Red Sea.

According to standard practice, my doctor had informed me about the risks involved. There was a possibility that things could go wrong – that I might not make it out alive or that I would experience a stroke. I had never been in such a situation before, as many before me have. Yet here I am, having passed through the sea and dancing on the far shore with Miriam. I am aware that uncertainties of the desert road ahead remain and that in the end I may need a repeat procedure to finish the job.

In the weeks leading up to the procedure I found myself increasingly reflective. While hopes were high, I had to face the fact that things might not go as planned. Some suggested I should just think positively and all would go well. But I have been around long enough to know that we don’t always get everything we ask for. So I sensed that this period of my life offered an opportunity to process some “end-of-life” issues. At first I found it a little awkward, but as time went on I found the experience to be quite positive and encouraging.

I reflected a lot on the old German word “Gelassenheit” which Meister Eckhart used in the 14th century, the Anabaptists picked up in the 16th century and Martin Heidegger popularized in the 20th century. It is a hard word to translate or define but it includes concepts of “yieldedness, submission to the will of God, tranquility, serenity, humility, simplicity and letting things be in whatever may be their uncertainty and their mystery.” I am sure I have not mastered “Gelassenheit” by any stretch of the imagination. But I think I have tasted a little bit of its rich flavor.

As the countdown continued, I found myself enveloped by a deep and comforting peace. It really was “…the peace of God, which transcends all understanding” ( Philippians 4:7). I made sure all my papers were in order. I wrote a lengthy love letter to my family and filed it away. I also expressed in more intimate ways than usual my deep love for Ruth, my family and a handful of very close friends. I sensed myself leaning back into their arms of love as well as those of a loving God.

Now that I have climbed on to the far shore of the Red Sea and am feeling stronger every day, some might suggest that all this preparation for a different outcome was a waste of time. I don’t feel that way. It was a great spiritual and deeply personal exercise that has helped me grow in new ways as a person in my mid-sixties. I have no regrets. I feel like I am more prepared than ever before to face whatever may lie ahead in my journey of life.

Permit me to share a few observations I made over the past few weeks.

First of all, I need to say that the staff at St. Boniface Hospital was exceptional. Although I saw a lot of people along the way, I was always aware that they were working as a team to help produce the best results possible. Some people complain about our health care system in Canada, and I admit there is room for improvement when it comes to waiting times and food services. But where else in the world could I have received this level of professional care without going bankrupt. A speaker we heard recently said that Canada has the best healthcare system in the world, hands down. When I think about the care I got without cost over the last few weeks, I tend to agree.

Secondly, experiencing a good deal of pain during the complications following the procedure had a redemptive side to it. Never in my life had I known such acute and relentless pain. But when the pain was at its worst I was forced to reflect on how much pain there is in the world. Is this anywhere close to the pain Ruth experienced giving birth to our four boys, I wondered? Then I thought of the many people in war-torn parts of the world where there is no help in sight – no painkillers, no antibiotics or even simple bandages. And then my mind focused on the pain Jesus suffered on the cross and I sensed that he understood my pain and that he cared. And so my acute pain put me in touch with the wider world of suffering. I think it will change me in ways I still don’t understand.

Thirdly, I am thankful for the network of support I experienced during this time from family, friends and brothers and sisters in Christ. So many went out of their way to assure me that they wished me well and that they were praying for me! Even my roommate in the hospital proved to be a great blessing. He thought it remarkable that I did not curse and swear like roommates before me. We had a genuine meeting of hearts in the short time we were together.

And finally, now that I am in recovery mode, I am definitely more aware that each day I have is a gift. And if I choose to share that gift in loving ways my life is greatly enriched.