NJIC3’s latest book group selection: The Bright Hour by Nina Riggs
01/07/2022

In December we wrapped up a series of weekly meetings to discuss Paul Kalanithi’s memoir When Breath Becomes Air, which proved to be a fruitful time of reflection and conversation. At the outset of this new year, we hope you will be able to join us in reading The Bright Hour: A Memoir of Living and Dying by Nina Riggs and meeting on Wednesday nights to reflect on the author’s lessons in living one day at a time. 

Meetings will take place at 6-7 PM EST via Zoom.

Meeting ID: 899 7407 1053
Meeting passcode: 097716

Reading schedule:

01/12: Prologue – Chapter 13 (pp 1-38)

01/19: Chapters 14 – 4 in Stage 2 (pp 39-76)

01/26: Chapters 5 – 17 (pp 77-115)

02/02: Chapters 18 – 6 in Stage 3 (pp 116-152)

02/09: Chapters 7 – 19 (pp 153-190)

02/16: Chapters 20 – 6 in Stage 4 (pp 191-234)

02/23: Chapters 7 – 20 (pp 235-273)

03/02: Chapters 21 – end (pp 274-310)

We invite you to come, whether you are able to read the assigned pages or not, and take time for yourself to contemplate in the company of others.

 

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. 

Poem: “Four Months Out”

12/10/2021

Each morning when I see the five purple ridges on my belly,
I think of the machines that swallowed me whole
and tubes and tools that boldly went where no man had gone before.
I think of the Angel of Death who swooped in one night,
telling me to choose between quality or length of life,
and that she’d be back in the morning to get my answer.
And Dr. Ruppert coming through my door five minutes later,
mopping up the sobbing mess the Angel left behind.
I think of the laughter of the women in white on the 10 the floor
and the hours I spent waiting, watching, and wondering.
And each morning I smile and want to swallow the world in a huge
beeping,
booping,
betadine,
steri-strip,
KY-covered
hug.

– This poem was contributed by an anonymous writer to whom we are grateful, and we wanted to share it with the readers of this blog. Our desire for this blog space is to amplify the many voices of those in our community who have experienced cancer from some angle, in some way. If you would like to add your voice to this effort, please get in touch at NJIC3@improvingnj.org. 

Reading and reflecting together on When Breath Becomes Air

11/09/2021

Starting tonight and continuing over the next six Tuesdays, we will be joining together for an hour of discussion and contemplation around the celebrated book When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi. Every week, we will aim to read about 30 pages of the book and come together for an hour to reflect on themes of meaning, life, and mortality that are so beautifully brought together in this work.

The meetings will take place virtually over Zoom from 7:30 – 8:30 PM EST.

Whether you are able to read the assigned pages or not, we invite you to join us for a relaxed time of conversation and learning from different faith perspectives. Every week will include a summary of previous discussions for those who are unable to join regularly.

The reading schedule is as follows:

  • 9th November: Prologue – p30
  • 16th November: pp. 31-54
  • 23rd November: pp. 55-88
  • 30th November: pp. 89-120
  • 7th December: pp. 121-150
  • 14th December: pp. 151-183
  • 21st December: pp. 184-228

We look forward to sharing this time with you!

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. 

Poem: “Four Months Out”

12/10/2021

Each morning when I see the five purple ridges on my belly,
I think of the machines that swallowed me whole
and tubes and tools that boldly went where no man had gone before.
I think of the Angel of Death who swooped in one night,
telling me to choose between quality or length of life,
and that she’d be back in the morning to get my answer.
And Dr. Ruppert coming through my door five minutes later,
mopping up the sobbing mess the Angel left behind.
I think of the laughter of the women in white on the 10 the floor
and the hours I spent waiting, watching, and wondering.
And each morning I smile and want to swallow the world in a huge
beeping,
booping,
betadine,
steri-strip,
KY-covered
hug.

– This poem was contributed by an anonymous writer to whom we are grateful, and we wanted to share it with the readers of this blog. Our desire for this blog space is to amplify the many voices of those in our community who have experienced cancer from some angle, in some way. If you would like to add your voice to this effort, please get in touch at NJIC3@improvingnj.org. 

Reading and reflecting together on When Breath Becomes Air

11/09/2021

Starting tonight and continuing over the next six Tuesdays, we will be joining together for an hour of discussion and contemplation around the celebrated book When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi. Every week, we will aim to read about 30 pages of the book and come together for an hour to reflect on themes of meaning, life, and mortality that are so beautifully brought together in this work.

The meetings will take place virtually over Zoom from 7:30 – 8:30 PM EST.

Whether you are able to read the assigned pages or not, we invite you to join us for a relaxed time of conversation and learning from different faith perspectives. Every week will include a summary of previous discussions for those who are unable to join regularly.

The reading schedule is as follows:

  • 9th November: Prologue – p30
  • 16th November: pp. 31-54
  • 23rd November: pp. 55-88
  • 30th November: pp. 89-120
  • 7th December: pp. 121-150
  • 14th December: pp. 151-183
  • 21st December: pp. 184-228

We look forward to sharing this time with you!

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. 

Poem: “Four Months Out”

12/10/2021

Each morning when I see the five purple ridges on my belly,
I think of the machines that swallowed me whole
and tubes and tools that boldly went where no man had gone before.
I think of the Angel of Death who swooped in one night,
telling me to choose between quality or length of life,
and that she’d be back in the morning to get my answer.
And Dr. Ruppert coming through my door five minutes later,
mopping up the sobbing mess the Angel left behind.
I think of the laughter of the women in white on the 10 the floor
and the hours I spent waiting, watching, and wondering.
And each morning I smile and want to swallow the world in a huge
beeping,
booping,
betadine,
steri-strip,
KY-covered
hug.

– This poem was contributed by an anonymous writer to whom we are grateful, and we wanted to share it with the readers of this blog. Our desire for this blog space is to amplify the many voices of those in our community who have experienced cancer from some angle, in some way. If you would like to add your voice to this effort, please get in touch at NJIC3@improvingnj.org. 

Reading and reflecting together on When Breath Becomes Air

11/09/2021

Starting tonight and continuing over the next six Tuesdays, we will be joining together for an hour of discussion and contemplation around the celebrated book When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi. Every week, we will aim to read about 30 pages of the book and come together for an hour to reflect on themes of meaning, life, and mortality that are so beautifully brought together in this work.

The meetings will take place virtually over Zoom from 7:30 – 8:30 PM EST.

Whether you are able to read the assigned pages or not, we invite you to join us for a relaxed time of conversation and learning from different faith perspectives. Every week will include a summary of previous discussions for those who are unable to join regularly.

The reading schedule is as follows:

  • 9th November: Prologue – p30
  • 16th November: pp. 31-54
  • 23rd November: pp. 55-88
  • 30th November: pp. 89-120
  • 7th December: pp. 121-150
  • 14th December: pp. 151-183
  • 21st December: pp. 184-228

We look forward to sharing this time with you!

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