Radiating peace into reality

Six treatments down, 22 to go in the first course of external beam radiation therapy (then another 28 in the second). Daily Scott has to be precisely positioned on a table of technology, scans pinpointing the targeted areas of cancer, four humming metal arms emitting unseen rays of energy as they rotate around his body. The procedure is meticulously calculated to maximize disabling damage to the cancer cells and minimize the same to the rest of the body. The radiation itself can't be felt or seen or heard. Healing mysteriously, we hope. 

In the first hours and days post-resurrection, Jesus quietly appeared to Mary, to the women, to questioners along the road, to the gathered group. His initial approach was to ask questions himself, invite reflection. To the sorrowfully desperate women he said "Rejoice" (literally, be glad about grace) and to the gathered group hiding in fearful disarray he said "Peace be with you" (probably literally shalom, that Hebrew peace that communicates depths of justice, the world put right).  Grace and peace, joy and justice.

These are more than greetings, more than polite wishes. The risen Jesus radiates power to change the world. Saying "rejoice" is not a rebuke for feeling sad or a nagging correction to cheer up. His presence and words actually embody the grace of joy, the gift of a different disposition, the change from all-is-lost to all-is-new. Saying "peace" is not a crunchy longing to get away from trouble or a guilt-trip correction to worry, it's a bestowal of an actual remake of the world order.

Scott still has cancer, he will have it the rest of his life. The world is still broken, as we watch our East and Central Africa Area facing multi-country multi-militia scrambles for power and resources that leave the majority of the people poorer and threatened (10 minute video explains some of the back story here).

And yet, change radiates.

Silent and unseen, unfelt, unheard, the waves and particles of energy from the external beam radiation contraption enter the body to resist the evil of cancer, to transform the inner landscape on a personal scale. And on a cosmic scale, the one who said he's making all things new has begun that entropy-shifting reality. We get signposts of hope along the way, for us this week a dramatic fall (99% drop) in the prostate antigen. For the world, we see child survival statistics and a million metrics of shalom. Hours before his death, Pope Frances addressed the global Catholic Church on Easter with the truth that hope is no longer an illusion (he referenced the opening verses of Romans 5, that hope does not disappoint because the resurrection changes everything). A subtle power radiates out from that moment of grave-burst all the way up to this one. From a cave in Palestine to a hospital in Baltimore and a border in Congo. 

Hope becomes a view of the world informed by quantum-physics of faith. Prayer pulls us into the post-resurrection reality . . . we need it, and so does Africa. Thanks for journeying with us.

In between therapies, a walk through Baltimore above, and Easter Sunday with the Harries' (Abby's parents who helped connect us to care at Hopkins, so grateful)

Waving palms, turning tables, and a reversal narrative of more radiation than radiance

Sunday

An artist depicts miraculous research in the radiation oncology clinic

Jesus, palms, and donkey: reversing expectations

In a day of presence, voice, and handwriting (no printing let alone radio, no film let alone internet), what strikes me about Palm Sunday this morning is that enough people had heard of Jesus that the pre-festival inflow of pilgrims to the capital turned into an impromptu parade. A community organized by word-of-mouth managed, person to person, to simply tell the stories in a way that kindled hope. Jesus' followers tried to be media consultants, urging him to sound more anti-Roman, more revolutionary, more like a winner. Instead he chooses a donkey foal, and the hard call to forgive and serve, refusing to promise any platform on which to build nationalism. He never shied away from principles for living together in peace and justice, he told the billionaire to sell everything and give to the poor, he scattered the cheating money tables. But he refused to be put in the position of enforcing laws. He chose to appeal to his listeners' hearts and leave the possibility of refusal open. 

No podcast, no substack, no blog, no call-in show, no appearances on the talk-show circuit, no book or movie contracts or awards, no tik-tok, no tweets/whatever X is called now. The one time the disciples got a glimpse of the outside-of-this-world-and-time glory on a mountaintop chatting with Moses and Elijah, they wanted to build circus tents and sell tickets. Instead as soon as the bright cloud dissipated he went back to his usual theme of upcoming suffering. Shortly later, he chooses the donkey colt to connect his journey to Zechariah 9. The same verse that contains the phrase we hear now, from the river to the ends of the earth, does so with a picture that excludes the war horse and the battle bow, that speaks of Jesus' gentle rule.

Such a reversal, conquering by allowing the worst to proceed, by riding peacefully into the trap that has been set, comes with a cost. The crowds who cheer at the novelty and promise of anti-Roman power will jeer when their storyline is crushed. Fame fizzles at the first disappoinment.

Monday

Jesus walked in and out of the city, staying with friends in the suburb of Bethany, but also intentionally and faithfully entering the center of communal life, telling stories and healing undesirables and sparring with the intellectual crowd . . . as the shadow of death loomed darker day by day. 19 years ago this week my Dad let go of life day by day too, as ALS finally sapped his breath on Easter night. For us in 2025, this week marks the beginning of a 6-week phase of daily radiation therapy. Some parallels: staying with friends in a suburb, daily trips in to treatment, removing clothes, strapped to a device, marked and targeted. Separated from the people and life we have cared about until now. A turn towards powerless inaction. Coming face to face with the evil of a fatal disease. 

Scott is not Jesus, but Jesus offers for those He loves to follow in the small imprints of some of his steps. This week we pray to trust that the radiation which kills cells will extend life. That enduring will reap good. 

Note the cherry blossoms and keep reading . . 

I am finding some resonance with the trees that bud before producing leaves. This reversal narrative radiates flowers out of starkly empty branches. To do so, sap must have been stored from better times, and the energy expenditure on blossoms looks like a risky extravagance of faith, a gamble prioritizing the next generation of fruit and seed without a sure extension of this season's life. That seems about right.

The gamble of trees that flower before they can restore their photosynthetic life above.

The parallel we reach to hope for in this season below:

kids we visited pre-radiation, and today's reminder from our Bundi "kids" that the work goes on