I had been fretting for two weeks preceding my mammogram, as I do each year. Even though it’s been 14 years since my diagnosis, the demon of fear sinks its claws into my heart whenever the test is imminent.
Fortunately the results came back fine, and my husband and I had champagne with supper to celebrate. That night, I slept soundly because the specter of cancer was no longer stalking my dreams.
The next day, I heard that two Christian missionaries — who had been infected with the Ebola virus while taking care of the sick and the dying in Liberia — were being transported to Emory University Hospital for treatment.
Suddenly I was back at square one again, worrying about some future catastrophe that could turn my world on its head.
I had already read heart-rending accounts of the way this virus is spreading in Africa. Many experts grimly report the death rate is about 60 percent.
I prayed for the victims of this horrendous disease, but at the same time, a tiny seed of fear began growing. You see, my husband and I live fairly close to Emory, so our neighborhood could be ground zero for any potential outbreak. Not a really comforting thought.
I also reflected on the lineup of fears that folks routinely wrestle with. Every year, there’s a new strain of flu, and last winter, doctors warned it was particularly severe. In warmer months, there’s the West Nile virus carried by mosquitoes.
And don’t forget trees. A few years ago, a huge oak crashed down during a storm and took the life of a neighbor, the father of young children. We also have occasional encounters with venomous snakes that slink up from the nearby creek and find their way into our yards.
And if that’s not enough, horrendous home invasions and assaults are routinely reported on the local news.
At Mass last Sunday, the reading from St. Paul was meant especially for worriers like me.
He asked the poignant question, “What will separate us from the love of Christ?” He then enumerated some possibilities, including anguish, distress, persecution and peril. I mentally added a few of my latest worries to the list.
When it came time for the sermon, Father Jean Ikanga, a visiting priest from the Congo, reminded us that God always has the final word when it comes to the stresses of our everyday lives.
No matter what we fear, he said — and, yes, he did mention the Ebola virus — God’s love will sustain us.
I felt comforted when I realized we have the example of St. Paul to guide us. He suffered beatings, torture and imprisonment but remained firm in his faith.
And then I asked myself whether anything truly could separate me from Christ. What could ever stop me from loving him? Or prevent him from loving me?
The answer is nothing. Not cancer, not snakes, not the latest flu, not crimes, not an Ebola outbreak. And certainly not the machinations of the devil who spreads fear in a more deadly fashion than any virus.
