Morgan Bolt's Blog, page 5
September 4, 2017
Appreciate your Hunger
I want to share a pet peeve of mine with you.
Throughout my cancer treatment, I’ve struggled to eat enough and I’ve lost a good deal of weight. Eating is a constant battle; rarely do I feel better after eating than I do beforehand, and I just don’t ever feel hungry like I used to. If I had my way, I’d easily go all day without eating and hardly realize it.
More than once, people have expressed to me that they wish they had this problem. People have told me they wish they could lose weight like I can, they wish they weren’t hungry like I’m not, or they wish they could have my lack of appetite.
Every time, I want to look them in the eye and say flatly “no, you really don’t.”
It’s not that big of a deal, and if you’ve said this to me or to people in situations like mine, don’t worry about it. Sure, it’s annoying, but I know you mean well. But please, do try to be grateful if your good health allows you to eat, to want to eat, and yes, to gain weight.
Throughout my cancer treatment, I’ve struggled to eat enough and I’ve lost a good deal of weight. Eating is a constant battle; rarely do I feel better after eating than I do beforehand, and I just don’t ever feel hungry like I used to. If I had my way, I’d easily go all day without eating and hardly realize it.
More than once, people have expressed to me that they wish they had this problem. People have told me they wish they could lose weight like I can, they wish they weren’t hungry like I’m not, or they wish they could have my lack of appetite.
Every time, I want to look them in the eye and say flatly “no, you really don’t.”
It’s not that big of a deal, and if you’ve said this to me or to people in situations like mine, don’t worry about it. Sure, it’s annoying, but I know you mean well. But please, do try to be grateful if your good health allows you to eat, to want to eat, and yes, to gain weight.
August 22, 2017
Sermon on Suffering and the Book of Job
This past Sunday I had the privilege of preaching at my church in Corning. I chose the subject of hardships and suffering, examining the story of Job and my own experience with cancer in my discussion. To listen you'll have to click the link below, because I'm not tech-savvy enough to get the audio file uploaded here.Listen Here
August 21, 2017
Still Waiting for Scan Results...
I’m still waiting for the results of my PET/CT scans that I had last Thursday. That’s OK, I guess. I haven’t thought about that much at all. I’m trying to focus on other things, like go-karting with one of my friends from college this weekend, preaching yesterday, and writing a lot. I don’t know what my scan results will show, but it’ll likely be more of the same: nothing extremely conclusive, nothing great, and some suspicious spots, I assume. But I’m not going to worry about that until we know for sure. Right now, I’m just taking it one day, or hour, at a time.
August 14, 2017
White Supremacy is a Cancer
White Supremacy is a cancer. That’s not a metaphor I use lightly or flippantly. In fact, I’ve argued more than once against other people using cancer as a metaphor for something they despise. I have cancer, after all, and a really bad cancer at that. I know what cancer is, what it isn’t, and what it involves. I’m much too familiar with cancer’s effects on the human body and I know too-well how difficult cancer can be to purge from one’s system. I don’t say this from a platform of ignorance about cancer or a desire to provoke a reaction. I’m just calling it as I see it. White supremacy is a cancer. I first felt my cancer—large lumps in my belly—several months before I actually went to a hospital for a diagnosis. I ignored the signals my body sent me saying something was amiss. I told myself it couldn’t be anything too serious, it couldn’t really be something bad like cancer. Not in my 23-year-old body. Eventually the distress signals became unignorable though. Long after I should have done something, I finally went to a hospital, got diagnosed with a terrible cancer, and started the process of grueling treatments. It’s been almost three years now, and I’m still in treatment. I may always be.
And that as I understand it is how white supremacy has existed in this country, during my lifetime at least. So many of us have ignored the voices of people of color saying it is a real, serious issue. We’ve turned deaf ears to the signals saying something is amiss. We’ve told ourselves that white supremacy can’t still be a problem, not in this country. “That’s not us” we tell ourselves, as if that could make it so. Lately white supremacy has become impossible to ignore though. Long after we all should have listened and done something, we’re finally waking up to the harsh reality of who we are. We are a country with a terrible cancer, a malignant ideology that leaves no room for the diversity of humanity. We need treatment. Urgently.
Now, I’m a pacifist. I believe in nonviolent, loving solutions to problems of violence and hate. I believe none are beyond God’s redemptive powers. And I do believe that applies even in situations like this. Yes, white supremacy is a cancer. It is irreconcilably evil. But the people who have been duped into such horrific ideologies are not. They must be confronted and corrected wherever they harangue and spout their deplorable ideals and they must be stopped from causing further harm, but they themselves are not cancer. Just as I’m getting every available treatment to kill my cancer while working to keep myself as healthy as possible through it all, we have to fight white supremacy with everything we have while working to rebuke and ultimately reconcile the people promoting it.
Curing this country of white supremacy will be neither swift nor easy. My cancer has required years of chemotherapy, over a dozen surgical procedures, multiple rounds of radiation, and participation in a clinical trial. It isn’t a pleasant process and it’s left me with numerous scars. I fear the same will be true of the process to rid the world of white supremacy. But I also hold fierce hope that it can be achieved just as I hope, against all odds, that I will one day be cancer-free.
And that as I understand it is how white supremacy has existed in this country, during my lifetime at least. So many of us have ignored the voices of people of color saying it is a real, serious issue. We’ve turned deaf ears to the signals saying something is amiss. We’ve told ourselves that white supremacy can’t still be a problem, not in this country. “That’s not us” we tell ourselves, as if that could make it so. Lately white supremacy has become impossible to ignore though. Long after we all should have listened and done something, we’re finally waking up to the harsh reality of who we are. We are a country with a terrible cancer, a malignant ideology that leaves no room for the diversity of humanity. We need treatment. Urgently.
Now, I’m a pacifist. I believe in nonviolent, loving solutions to problems of violence and hate. I believe none are beyond God’s redemptive powers. And I do believe that applies even in situations like this. Yes, white supremacy is a cancer. It is irreconcilably evil. But the people who have been duped into such horrific ideologies are not. They must be confronted and corrected wherever they harangue and spout their deplorable ideals and they must be stopped from causing further harm, but they themselves are not cancer. Just as I’m getting every available treatment to kill my cancer while working to keep myself as healthy as possible through it all, we have to fight white supremacy with everything we have while working to rebuke and ultimately reconcile the people promoting it.
Curing this country of white supremacy will be neither swift nor easy. My cancer has required years of chemotherapy, over a dozen surgical procedures, multiple rounds of radiation, and participation in a clinical trial. It isn’t a pleasant process and it’s left me with numerous scars. I fear the same will be true of the process to rid the world of white supremacy. But I also hold fierce hope that it can be achieved just as I hope, against all odds, that I will one day be cancer-free.
August 8, 2017
Cancer is Not a Battle
The nearly-unanimous response when someone is diagnosed with cancer is to call the person “brave” or “courageous,” assuring ourselves that our loved one is a fighter who can beat their new affliction. We comfort ourselves with reminders that our beloved is a warrior who will kick cancer’s butt, and we even share stories of times they’ve overcome something difficult before.
That’s garbage.
It doesn’t matter how strong or courageous someone is. That won’t cure their cancer. Only treatments like chemo, radiation, and surgery can kill off someone’s cancer. Being brave, stoic, or tough helps people deal with such treatments, sure. But it isn’t a viable treatment itself. It isn’t a guarantee that they’ll ever get cancer free. I know over a dozen people who would still be alive today if it were.
I get that cancer is scary and people like to feel as if there’s something they can do about it. We don’t like things that are beyond our control. It makes us feel better to think that as long as we’re brave enough and determined to really fight, we’ll be ok even if we get cancer. But cancer doesn’t know or care. Cancer just is. Cancer is a disease, not a battle, and we need to be realistic about that.
Also, not everyone who gets cancer is brave. Not everyone who gets cancer feels like they can fight it or even wants to fight it, and that's alright. Telling someone they’re tough and brave and can beat it when they don’t feel that way isn’t often very helpful. Also, bravery doesn’t always mean a willingness to fight. In a lot of ways it’s braver to accept our own mortality than it is to do whatever it takes to stay alive simply because we’re afraid of death.
So don’t say someone is brave, a fighter, or will kick cancer’s butt. You don’t know that. When someone gets cancer, think about them, not about simple platitudes to make yourself feel better about their situation. Just be there for them, whether they’re facing it “bravely” or not, whatever that even looks like.
That’s garbage.
It doesn’t matter how strong or courageous someone is. That won’t cure their cancer. Only treatments like chemo, radiation, and surgery can kill off someone’s cancer. Being brave, stoic, or tough helps people deal with such treatments, sure. But it isn’t a viable treatment itself. It isn’t a guarantee that they’ll ever get cancer free. I know over a dozen people who would still be alive today if it were.
I get that cancer is scary and people like to feel as if there’s something they can do about it. We don’t like things that are beyond our control. It makes us feel better to think that as long as we’re brave enough and determined to really fight, we’ll be ok even if we get cancer. But cancer doesn’t know or care. Cancer just is. Cancer is a disease, not a battle, and we need to be realistic about that.
Also, not everyone who gets cancer is brave. Not everyone who gets cancer feels like they can fight it or even wants to fight it, and that's alright. Telling someone they’re tough and brave and can beat it when they don’t feel that way isn’t often very helpful. Also, bravery doesn’t always mean a willingness to fight. In a lot of ways it’s braver to accept our own mortality than it is to do whatever it takes to stay alive simply because we’re afraid of death.
So don’t say someone is brave, a fighter, or will kick cancer’s butt. You don’t know that. When someone gets cancer, think about them, not about simple platitudes to make yourself feel better about their situation. Just be there for them, whether they’re facing it “bravely” or not, whatever that even looks like.
July 17, 2017
Personal Responsibility is Selfishness
“Personal responsibility” is a phrase I hear all too often. Typically it’s used as a coded phrase for selfishness, a lack of empathy, and ignoring the fact that being part of society requires acknowledging our shared responsibilities towards one another. As I see it, personal responsibility is unpatriotic and un-Christian, at least when taken to the extremes it so commonly is these days.
Now, personal responsibility doesn’t sound so bad on the surface. And it isn’t. Taking responsibility for your own actions and life choices is a necessary part of being an adult human being. Failure to do so often amounts to laziness and immaturity, two traits I know intimately. It’s important I acknowledge that before I go railing against personal responsibility. Personal responsibility isn’t exactly a terrible ideal devoid of any redeeming qualities. Rather, personal responsibility is important. It’s something I often don’t take seriously enough. But it’s also a cheap façade trying to hide dismantling Medicaid and protections for people with pre-existing conditions behind something more palatable. It’s the source informing a lot of misguided and malicious ideas about how society should work and how we should treat one another.
With regards to healthcare, “personal responsibility” seems to mean a complete disregard for others and a focus solely on oneself or one’s family. I’ve been told my own cancer treatment isn’t worth it, that it’s too expensive and unfairly burdens other people. I’ve been chastised online for daring to say that I should be able to have health insurance, since insurance companies covering expensive treatments like what I need for my cancer means other people might have to spend a little more on their own coverage. As if that isn’t the basic principle of how insurance works. Someone just last week told me they find it “hard to even relate” to my fear of losing my life-saving coverage, because they are spending too much on health insurance. As if spending too much money is remotely comparable to losing access to the treatment keeping your chronic cancer managed. I’ve been told I should have planned better, been more responsible, and saved more money before I got cancer. As if anyone can plan for a cancer like mine.
Statements like these just highlight for me how so many people thoroughly fail to understand serious health issues and how unexpectedly they can arise. They make clear how little empathy so many people feel as well, and how content so many people are to disregard those whose life experiences run contrary to their preconceived notions. For me, these kinds of ill-informed to blatantly malevolent statements reveal “personal responsibility” for what it is: a lame excuse to justify selfishly ignoring others.
Such selfishness and disregard for others is far from patriotic. This might not be especially relevant if not for the fact that many of the people who said the things I mention two paragraphs above have “patriot” in their twitter bio or feature the American Flag in their profile picture. I guess some of us have vastly different ideas of what it means to be patriotic. I think it’s patriotic to happily pay a little more in taxes or health insurance if it means our country spends a little more on making society better and covering people who most need medical care. I think it’s more patriotic to want to inconvenience ourselves for the sake of the greater good than it is to post patriotic pictures of flags and bald eagles online and set off fireworks annually. I think it’s patriotic to ask what we can do for our country and our fellow citizens, not what we can do for ourselves. Personal responsibility, as it connotes today, leaves little room for patriotism.
Personal Responsibility is also egregiously un-Christian, which wouldn’t matter to the national conversation if it weren’t so often Christians, often citing their idea of Christian values, who support “personal responsibility” and “personal freedom” as guiding principles for everything from gun regulations to healthcare policy. I can’t find anywhere in Jesus’ teachings that suggest emphasizing personal responsibility as much as we do today. In fact, as I see things, it’s Christian to disregard personal responsibility. Not that Christians are called to be irresponsible, but we are implored not to worry about taking care of ourselves so much and instead focus on serving and caring for others. The Good Samaritan didn’t cross over to the other side of the road to better take care of himself, after all. Neither should we.
Now, personal responsibility doesn’t sound so bad on the surface. And it isn’t. Taking responsibility for your own actions and life choices is a necessary part of being an adult human being. Failure to do so often amounts to laziness and immaturity, two traits I know intimately. It’s important I acknowledge that before I go railing against personal responsibility. Personal responsibility isn’t exactly a terrible ideal devoid of any redeeming qualities. Rather, personal responsibility is important. It’s something I often don’t take seriously enough. But it’s also a cheap façade trying to hide dismantling Medicaid and protections for people with pre-existing conditions behind something more palatable. It’s the source informing a lot of misguided and malicious ideas about how society should work and how we should treat one another.
With regards to healthcare, “personal responsibility” seems to mean a complete disregard for others and a focus solely on oneself or one’s family. I’ve been told my own cancer treatment isn’t worth it, that it’s too expensive and unfairly burdens other people. I’ve been chastised online for daring to say that I should be able to have health insurance, since insurance companies covering expensive treatments like what I need for my cancer means other people might have to spend a little more on their own coverage. As if that isn’t the basic principle of how insurance works. Someone just last week told me they find it “hard to even relate” to my fear of losing my life-saving coverage, because they are spending too much on health insurance. As if spending too much money is remotely comparable to losing access to the treatment keeping your chronic cancer managed. I’ve been told I should have planned better, been more responsible, and saved more money before I got cancer. As if anyone can plan for a cancer like mine.
Statements like these just highlight for me how so many people thoroughly fail to understand serious health issues and how unexpectedly they can arise. They make clear how little empathy so many people feel as well, and how content so many people are to disregard those whose life experiences run contrary to their preconceived notions. For me, these kinds of ill-informed to blatantly malevolent statements reveal “personal responsibility” for what it is: a lame excuse to justify selfishly ignoring others.
Such selfishness and disregard for others is far from patriotic. This might not be especially relevant if not for the fact that many of the people who said the things I mention two paragraphs above have “patriot” in their twitter bio or feature the American Flag in their profile picture. I guess some of us have vastly different ideas of what it means to be patriotic. I think it’s patriotic to happily pay a little more in taxes or health insurance if it means our country spends a little more on making society better and covering people who most need medical care. I think it’s more patriotic to want to inconvenience ourselves for the sake of the greater good than it is to post patriotic pictures of flags and bald eagles online and set off fireworks annually. I think it’s patriotic to ask what we can do for our country and our fellow citizens, not what we can do for ourselves. Personal responsibility, as it connotes today, leaves little room for patriotism.
Personal Responsibility is also egregiously un-Christian, which wouldn’t matter to the national conversation if it weren’t so often Christians, often citing their idea of Christian values, who support “personal responsibility” and “personal freedom” as guiding principles for everything from gun regulations to healthcare policy. I can’t find anywhere in Jesus’ teachings that suggest emphasizing personal responsibility as much as we do today. In fact, as I see things, it’s Christian to disregard personal responsibility. Not that Christians are called to be irresponsible, but we are implored not to worry about taking care of ourselves so much and instead focus on serving and caring for others. The Good Samaritan didn’t cross over to the other side of the road to better take care of himself, after all. Neither should we.
July 10, 2017
Where is our Empathy?
This is our ongoing healthcare debate in a nutshell, folks.
On one side we have patients who need continued protections from pre-existing condition discrimination and lifetime or annual limits for our coverage. On the other, we have extreme stinginess and selfishness that says people like me aren't worth treating, aren't worth the monetary cost, and aren't worth burden we place on society.
People with health conditions like mine are extraordinarily expensive to try to keep alive. From the perspective of strict utilitarianism or social Darwinism it doesn't make sense to save lives no matter the financial cost. But if we as a country claim that all people are equal, or if we who are Christians believe everyone bears the image of God and is equally worthy of love, we must reject such thinking. I find it odd that many of the people who support a social Darwinian approach to healthcare also view Charles Darwin as an evil, Satan-inspired figure, his ideas an attack on God. I've long rejected such notions, but now I see they hold a kernel of truth. When concepts like survival of the fittest are misunderstood and taken as prescriptions for human society, not as descriptions of the mechanisms at play in the natural world, that is indeed an attack on God and God's children.
That's how I see our current healthcare debate. We can attack those people who've had the misfortune of experience health issues at some point, or we can continue to protect and care for them while working to improve our healthcare system for everyone. We can decide people like me aren't worth covering and treating if it means everyone else pays a little more, or we can recognize that to be a part of society means to accept our shared responsibilities towards one another. That this is even up for debate right now makes me wonder when we lost our empathy, if ever we had any.
On one side we have patients who need continued protections from pre-existing condition discrimination and lifetime or annual limits for our coverage. On the other, we have extreme stinginess and selfishness that says people like me aren't worth treating, aren't worth the monetary cost, and aren't worth burden we place on society.
People with health conditions like mine are extraordinarily expensive to try to keep alive. From the perspective of strict utilitarianism or social Darwinism it doesn't make sense to save lives no matter the financial cost. But if we as a country claim that all people are equal, or if we who are Christians believe everyone bears the image of God and is equally worthy of love, we must reject such thinking. I find it odd that many of the people who support a social Darwinian approach to healthcare also view Charles Darwin as an evil, Satan-inspired figure, his ideas an attack on God. I've long rejected such notions, but now I see they hold a kernel of truth. When concepts like survival of the fittest are misunderstood and taken as prescriptions for human society, not as descriptions of the mechanisms at play in the natural world, that is indeed an attack on God and God's children.
That's how I see our current healthcare debate. We can attack those people who've had the misfortune of experience health issues at some point, or we can continue to protect and care for them while working to improve our healthcare system for everyone. We can decide people like me aren't worth covering and treating if it means everyone else pays a little more, or we can recognize that to be a part of society means to accept our shared responsibilities towards one another. That this is even up for debate right now makes me wonder when we lost our empathy, if ever we had any.
July 3, 2017
Book Update
I’m getting really excited about my book on faith and cancer. It’ll either be really good or really bad; I’m not quite sure which yet. Recently I’ve found a few publishers that want a whole manuscript, not just the first couple chapters, a formal proposal, and an outline of the rest as used to be the case, so I’ve been working on finishing up the rest of the book. I should be done with it as best as I can be without other people reading it by about the end of the week, so I’ll be looking for some beta readers soon. If reading it and giving me feedback interests you, just let me know! I have a few people lined up already but could certainly use a couple more.
This book will be part memoir, part musings on theological issues relevant to my experiences with cancer. I’ll retell my treatment history of the last two-and-a-half years, hopefully without being too dull or downbeat, while exploring ideas like why suffering happens, what prayer means, and how The Church can—and cannot—support and help people in situations like mine. If that sounds interesting to you and you have some time in the next month or so to read and critique, just let me know and I can add you to my list of Beta readers. If that sounds interesting but you don’t have time, stay tuned in the coming months (hopefully!) for information about publication. And if this doesn’t sound interesting to you, just ignore everything I’m saying here!
This book will be part memoir, part musings on theological issues relevant to my experiences with cancer. I’ll retell my treatment history of the last two-and-a-half years, hopefully without being too dull or downbeat, while exploring ideas like why suffering happens, what prayer means, and how The Church can—and cannot—support and help people in situations like mine. If that sounds interesting to you and you have some time in the next month or so to read and critique, just let me know and I can add you to my list of Beta readers. If that sounds interesting but you don’t have time, stay tuned in the coming months (hopefully!) for information about publication. And if this doesn’t sound interesting to you, just ignore everything I’m saying here!
June 27, 2017
Forgiveness
I need to forgive the people who actively support and are working to pass the GOP healthcare bill. Lately I’ve seen a slew of hatred aimed at the people behind the bill, not just the bill itself, and I’m afraid I’m quite guilty of this as well. As horrific as this proposed legislation is, as devastating as it will be for people like me, it isn’t worth adding more hatred to the world. Not hatred directed at the individual people responsible for this bill, at least. I need to forgive the people behind this bill, even as I believe they need to be held accountable for the millions of lives it will harm should it pass into law. It’s hard to know what that really looks like though.
How can I forgive people for something they believe is right for them to do? How can I personally forgive those behind this bill while continuing to make clear it is an immoral attack on people like me? Our society tends to frame forgiveness as a three-step process: person A apologizes, Person B accepts that apology, and finally Person B bestows forgiveness, ending the matter. Forgiveness is most-often taught as a response to an apology, not something offered freely and especially not given to those who feel no remorse. Forgiveness is usually thought of as the end of the matter too. ‘Forgive and forget,’ we say. And that just doesn’t apply here, at all. It’s just not how forgiveness works in this—and actually all—situations.
In the situation of this so-called “healthcare” bill, many legislators are working diligently to pass it into law, making deals to win over those on the fence about voting yes. Many people believe they are doing the right thing and would doubtless do it again if they got the chance. I don’t expect anyone working on this bill to apologize for it after it goes into effect and kicks people out of elder care facilities or cuts off treatment for children with disabilities who are on Medicaid. Or kills people like me with cancer who easily surpass lifetime and annual limits for their insurance coverage. Here, as in actually every other situation, forgiveness must be freely offered. I haven’t begun to do that, and I need to.
Forgiveness, as I see it, is not a favor given only in return for a sincere apology. It is a conscious choice to not hold a person’s actions against them, whether or not they apologize or even recognize a need to offer an apology. It is essentially waiving our right to use another’s actions as leverage against them or as an excuse to retaliate. It doesn’t mean everything will go back to the way it was. It doesn’t mean you have to forget what the other person did. But it does mean you cannot hate them for their actions, no matter how much you might hate their actions. Now, I don’t know how exactly to waive my right to hold this bill against people, to forgive them for their role in passing it while never accepting it and working to ensure that nothing like this ever happens again. But I have some ideas of where to start.
Forgiveness for this bill means I won’t let myself hate any of the people responsible for it, as a start. Be they voters who supported candidates calling for an ACA repeal or the legislators themselves who are working on it and whipping up votes, I must not let myself fall into hatred for any human being. They might be the closest thing I have to enemies, but even (and especially) so I must love them and pray for them. I have not and am not, so I will start there. Forgiveness for the terrible wrong of this bill also means that I will not let it affect how I interact with people who do support it. It means I must never let my words or tone become harsher because of this bill. It means I must not answer in-kind when I get into arguments over this legislation and instead seek always to simply state my case for opposing the bill, rather than descend into personal attacks. It means, in short, that I must treat all people with equal dignity as image-bearers of God, whether or not I agree with their politics—or really, if they agree with mine.
But forgiveness in this context doesn’t mean I will ever accept this bill or stop fighting it. It doesn't mean that if I die due to this legislation I don't still want my death held up as an example of why this law is terrible. It doesn’t mean that I won’t voice my opposition to the policies of the people who champion this bill and hope for or even work towards their losing reelection so they are no longer in a position to pass further, more damaging laws like this one. After all, forgiving a bully or an abuser doesn’t mean you have to spend time with them again, especially if they make no moves towards contrition and repentance. Forgiveness for this bill also doesn't mean I will stop fighting against this horrendous legislation any way I can while seeking to continually improve our healthcare system so it truly works for everyone, as I believe should be our goal. Simply stated, it doesn’t mean I’ll forgive and forget. I will forgive, but I will still remember—with fierce sadness instead of bitter anger, though.
So, to any and all who support the healthcare bill being worked on by the Republican Party right now, I forgive you. I love you. And please, please reconsider.
How can I forgive people for something they believe is right for them to do? How can I personally forgive those behind this bill while continuing to make clear it is an immoral attack on people like me? Our society tends to frame forgiveness as a three-step process: person A apologizes, Person B accepts that apology, and finally Person B bestows forgiveness, ending the matter. Forgiveness is most-often taught as a response to an apology, not something offered freely and especially not given to those who feel no remorse. Forgiveness is usually thought of as the end of the matter too. ‘Forgive and forget,’ we say. And that just doesn’t apply here, at all. It’s just not how forgiveness works in this—and actually all—situations.
In the situation of this so-called “healthcare” bill, many legislators are working diligently to pass it into law, making deals to win over those on the fence about voting yes. Many people believe they are doing the right thing and would doubtless do it again if they got the chance. I don’t expect anyone working on this bill to apologize for it after it goes into effect and kicks people out of elder care facilities or cuts off treatment for children with disabilities who are on Medicaid. Or kills people like me with cancer who easily surpass lifetime and annual limits for their insurance coverage. Here, as in actually every other situation, forgiveness must be freely offered. I haven’t begun to do that, and I need to.
Forgiveness, as I see it, is not a favor given only in return for a sincere apology. It is a conscious choice to not hold a person’s actions against them, whether or not they apologize or even recognize a need to offer an apology. It is essentially waiving our right to use another’s actions as leverage against them or as an excuse to retaliate. It doesn’t mean everything will go back to the way it was. It doesn’t mean you have to forget what the other person did. But it does mean you cannot hate them for their actions, no matter how much you might hate their actions. Now, I don’t know how exactly to waive my right to hold this bill against people, to forgive them for their role in passing it while never accepting it and working to ensure that nothing like this ever happens again. But I have some ideas of where to start.
Forgiveness for this bill means I won’t let myself hate any of the people responsible for it, as a start. Be they voters who supported candidates calling for an ACA repeal or the legislators themselves who are working on it and whipping up votes, I must not let myself fall into hatred for any human being. They might be the closest thing I have to enemies, but even (and especially) so I must love them and pray for them. I have not and am not, so I will start there. Forgiveness for the terrible wrong of this bill also means that I will not let it affect how I interact with people who do support it. It means I must never let my words or tone become harsher because of this bill. It means I must not answer in-kind when I get into arguments over this legislation and instead seek always to simply state my case for opposing the bill, rather than descend into personal attacks. It means, in short, that I must treat all people with equal dignity as image-bearers of God, whether or not I agree with their politics—or really, if they agree with mine.
But forgiveness in this context doesn’t mean I will ever accept this bill or stop fighting it. It doesn't mean that if I die due to this legislation I don't still want my death held up as an example of why this law is terrible. It doesn’t mean that I won’t voice my opposition to the policies of the people who champion this bill and hope for or even work towards their losing reelection so they are no longer in a position to pass further, more damaging laws like this one. After all, forgiving a bully or an abuser doesn’t mean you have to spend time with them again, especially if they make no moves towards contrition and repentance. Forgiveness for this bill also doesn't mean I will stop fighting against this horrendous legislation any way I can while seeking to continually improve our healthcare system so it truly works for everyone, as I believe should be our goal. Simply stated, it doesn’t mean I’ll forgive and forget. I will forgive, but I will still remember—with fierce sadness instead of bitter anger, though.
So, to any and all who support the healthcare bill being worked on by the Republican Party right now, I forgive you. I love you. And please, please reconsider.
June 25, 2017
Next Post Delayed a Day
I was hoping to write this week’s blog post today so that I could still post it tomorrow, but it just didn’t happen. I have a start, but it’ll take some work before it’s worth posting. Tomorrow I’m going to Six Flags with my sister since my abdominal drain is finally out and I’m doing better and I need to do something fun. So I won’t be able to finish this week’s post until Tuesday. I’ll be sure to get to it then though; don’t worry!
