Braving contemplation in community

12/31/2021

As diverse as the nature of individual and communal challenges relating to cancer might be, so are the ways we might think about caring for individuals and communities. At NJIC3 we take a broad approach to care, thinking in terms of direct service, contemplation, and collaboration and advocacy. Through the next few blog entries, we hope to explore these categories in turn for ways that each one of us might be uniquely able to demonstrate care towards someone facing cancer. To begin with contemplation seems fitting not only because the start of a new year often imparts a reflective mood, but because great acts of service and advocacy have so often been motivated by quiet moments of contemplation.

To honestly observe the world around us and within ourselves—to pause and linger with questions to which we have no immediate answers—is perhaps a key aspect of what makes life feel meaningful, but it is also a daunting activity that many of us avoid. In avoiding the discomfort of silence, we allow our lives to get busier and louder with less time for stillness. Our days are full, but so often we’re left feeling disconnected from the things that matter most to us.

These past two years have given rise to more isolation and distance from others than most people would choose, so it wouldn’t be surprising if the first picture that comes to mind when you think of “contemplation” is one of a lone person ruminating. But what if our pausing, paying attention, and asking questions didn’t have to be such a lonesome task? What if we could carve out spaces in the presence of others to make silence less intimidating or to allow ourselves new observations through another’s eyes?

Reflecting on how a terminal cancer diagnosis affected his ability to find clarity on how to live his life, Paul Kalanithi reminds us how disorienting such internal questioning can be:

“The tricky part of illness is that, as you go through it, your values are constantly changing. You try to figure out what matters to you, and then you keep figuring it out… You may decide you want to spend your time working as a neurosurgeon, but two months later, you may feel differently. Two months after that, you may want to learn to play the saxophone or devote yourself to the church. Death may be a one-time event, but living with terminal illness is a process.”[1]

Those among us who are facing cancer might feel a greater urgency to ask important questions, but the task is no less daunting or complex. To come alongside someone as they bravely enter the contemplative space can be a deep act of care, and one that each of us stands to gain deeper insight from as we acknowledge the limits of our own understanding. Kalanithi expressed the need we have for community in our contemplation:

“In the end, it cannot be doubted that each of us can see only a part of the picture. The doctor sees one, the patient another, the engineer a third, the economist a fourth, the pearl diver a fifth, the alcoholic a sixth, the cable guy a seventh, the sheep farmer an eighth, the Indian beggar a ninth, the pastor a tenth. Human knowledge is never contained in one person. It grows from the relationships we create between each other and the world, and still it is never complete.”[2]

May we enter this new year with courage to seek stillness, and the comfort of others as we face what we alone cannot bear.

A peaceful new year to you all.

If you are seeking support and community in your moments of contemplation, please reach out to us for more information about interfaith groups at NJIC3@improvingnj.org.  

[1] Paul Kalanithi, When Breath Becomes Air (Random House Publishing Group, 2016), p178.
[2] Kalanithi, p172. 

Braving contemplation in community

12/31/2021

As diverse as the nature of individual and communal challenges relating to cancer might be, so are the ways we might think about caring for individuals and communities. At NJIC3 we take a broad approach to care, thinking in terms of direct service, contemplation, and collaboration and advocacy. Through the next few blog entries, we hope to explore these categories in turn for ways that each one of us might be uniquely able to demonstrate care towards someone facing cancer. To begin with contemplation seems fitting not only because the start of a new year often imparts a reflective mood, but because great acts of service and advocacy have so often been motivated by quiet moments of contemplation.

To honestly observe the world around us and within ourselves—to pause and linger with questions to which we have no immediate answers—is perhaps a key aspect of what makes life feel meaningful, but it is also a daunting activity that many of us avoid. In avoiding the discomfort of silence, we allow our lives to get busier and louder with less time for stillness. Our days are full, but so often we’re left feeling disconnected from the things that matter most to us.

These past two years have given rise to more isolation and distance from others than most people would choose, so it wouldn’t be surprising if the first picture that comes to mind when you think of “contemplation” is one of a lone person ruminating. But what if our pausing, paying attention, and asking questions didn’t have to be such a lonesome task? What if we could carve out spaces in the presence of others to make silence less intimidating or to allow ourselves new observations through another’s eyes?

Reflecting on how a terminal cancer diagnosis affected his ability to find clarity on how to live his life, Paul Kalanithi reminds us how disorienting such internal questioning can be:

“The tricky part of illness is that, as you go through it, your values are constantly changing. You try to figure out what matters to you, and then you keep figuring it out… You may decide you want to spend your time working as a neurosurgeon, but two months later, you may feel differently. Two months after that, you may want to learn to play the saxophone or devote yourself to the church. Death may be a one-time event, but living with terminal illness is a process.”[1]

Those among us who are facing cancer might feel a greater urgency to ask important questions, but the task is no less daunting or complex. To come alongside someone as they bravely enter the contemplative space can be a deep act of care, and one that each of us stands to gain deeper insight from as we acknowledge the limits of our own understanding. Kalanithi expressed the need we have for community in our contemplation:

“In the end, it cannot be doubted that each of us can see only a part of the picture. The doctor sees one, the patient another, the engineer a third, the economist a fourth, the pearl diver a fifth, the alcoholic a sixth, the cable guy a seventh, the sheep farmer an eighth, the Indian beggar a ninth, the pastor a tenth. Human knowledge is never contained in one person. It grows from the relationships we create between each other and the world, and still it is never complete.”[2]

May we enter this new year with courage to seek stillness, and the comfort of others as we face what we alone cannot bear.

A peaceful new year to you all.

If you are seeking support and community in your moments of contemplation, please reach out to us for more information about interfaith groups at NJIC3@improvingnj.org.  

[1] Paul Kalanithi, When Breath Becomes Air (Random House Publishing Group, 2016), p178.
[2] Kalanithi, p172. 

Braving contemplation in community

12/31/2021

As diverse as the nature of individual and communal challenges relating to cancer might be, so are the ways we might think about caring for individuals and communities. At NJIC3 we take a broad approach to care, thinking in terms of direct service, contemplation, and collaboration and advocacy. Through the next few blog entries, we hope to explore these categories in turn for ways that each one of us might be uniquely able to demonstrate care towards someone facing cancer. To begin with contemplation seems fitting not only because the start of a new year often imparts a reflective mood, but because great acts of service and advocacy have so often been motivated by quiet moments of contemplation.

To honestly observe the world around us and within ourselves—to pause and linger with questions to which we have no immediate answers—is perhaps a key aspect of what makes life feel meaningful, but it is also a daunting activity that many of us avoid. In avoiding the discomfort of silence, we allow our lives to get busier and louder with less time for stillness. Our days are full, but so often we’re left feeling disconnected from the things that matter most to us.

These past two years have given rise to more isolation and distance from others than most people would choose, so it wouldn’t be surprising if the first picture that comes to mind when you think of “contemplation” is one of a lone person ruminating. But what if our pausing, paying attention, and asking questions didn’t have to be such a lonesome task? What if we could carve out spaces in the presence of others to make silence less intimidating or to allow ourselves new observations through another’s eyes?

Reflecting on how a terminal cancer diagnosis affected his ability to find clarity on how to live his life, Paul Kalanithi reminds us how disorienting such internal questioning can be:

“The tricky part of illness is that, as you go through it, your values are constantly changing. You try to figure out what matters to you, and then you keep figuring it out… You may decide you want to spend your time working as a neurosurgeon, but two months later, you may feel differently. Two months after that, you may want to learn to play the saxophone or devote yourself to the church. Death may be a one-time event, but living with terminal illness is a process.”[1]

Those among us who are facing cancer might feel a greater urgency to ask important questions, but the task is no less daunting or complex. To come alongside someone as they bravely enter the contemplative space can be a deep act of care, and one that each of us stands to gain deeper insight from as we acknowledge the limits of our own understanding. Kalanithi expressed the need we have for community in our contemplation:

“In the end, it cannot be doubted that each of us can see only a part of the picture. The doctor sees one, the patient another, the engineer a third, the economist a fourth, the pearl diver a fifth, the alcoholic a sixth, the cable guy a seventh, the sheep farmer an eighth, the Indian beggar a ninth, the pastor a tenth. Human knowledge is never contained in one person. It grows from the relationships we create between each other and the world, and still it is never complete.”[2]

May we enter this new year with courage to seek stillness, and the comfort of others as we face what we alone cannot bear.

A peaceful new year to you all.

If you are seeking support and community in your moments of contemplation, please reach out to us for more information about interfaith groups at NJIC3@improvingnj.org.  

[1] Paul Kalanithi, When Breath Becomes Air (Random House Publishing Group, 2016), p178.
[2] Kalanithi, p172. 

Envisioning community care for those on a journey with cancer

10/08/2021

Welcome, one and all, to the NJIC3 blog. We hope that this will be an online space for a wide array of voices to reflect on their experiences with cancer, whether as someone who has received a diagnosis or who has walked alongside a person who has (perhaps both). In whichever position you the reader find yourself in, may these reflections offer you a sense of hope or comfort or of being understood.

Since this is our first post, it seems fitting to talk a little about the spirit behind NJIC3 and the ways in which we hope for this community to grow. As a group, we represent a range of different faiths and theological commitments, and there are many differences we could think of (isn’t that what we’ve been so well-trained to do, recently?). Yet one common thread that appears time and again for people of faith is the question of suffering and how we ought to respond to it. Despite different explanations that are offered for the meaning (or lack thereof) of suffering, we have found widespread agreement that our faiths compel us to care deeply for the needs of those who are hurting. The very fact that we find ourselves engaged in faith communities points to the belief that we are better equipped for difficult times in life and more likely to flourish as human beings when we are in supportive communities. We do not believe that anyone should have to suffer alone.

“Cancer” is a word that probably evokes a wide range of thoughts and emotions for the average person. The ways that cancer affects individuals, families, and communities cannot be neatly defined, nor should we try. But what can be said is that we are witnessing a moment in history where physical, emotional, and spiritual health are increasingly viewed as commodities to be secured by the individual from a marketplace of services. For those with the resources to do so, it can be a stressful world to navigate, made more complex by corporate profit-making tactics. For those without the necessary resources, it is a world of medical and mental health expertise that is always beyond their reach.

NJIC3 is committed to a vision where no one should have to navigate the complexities of cancer on their own, and where a person’s access to the care they require is determined not by their private resources, but by the wealth of resources we find within our communities. We see a vast range of possibilities for connecting the generosity and diverse gifts within faith communities to the unique needs that arise for people who are affected by cancer.

In future reflections, we will be exploring in greater depth the three areas of focus that we are basing our work on at NJIC3: contemplation, care, and collaboration. For now, though, we hope that anyone who is reading this and feeling compelled by the vision of community cancer care will get in touch. Whether you are someone who would benefit from increased support, or you would like to give of your own resources for those who would, we would love to hear from you. You can reach us via email at NJIC3@improvingnj.org or give us a call at +1 (786) 322-3458. Please also contact us if you would like to share your own reflection on the cancer experience through this platform.

Until next time, with peace and thanks.

NJIC3 team