Chronic Illness and Faith: A Crate of Complexity

I’m sipping large gulps of crisp mountain air as I trace Mount Eden’s bushy paths across its slope. Gazing at the peak, I release a sigh of freedom as I notice that today I might be able to reach the top. What a treat this is. What a delight to be able to trust that my body will cope with the activity my soul craves. To stretch my muscles, release my endorphins, stare for miles across this sparkling city, and not be interrupted by my uterus spasming.  Landing on the grass by the trig, I thank God that today I can do what I want to do. I can move my body how I wish. Thank You that I can enjoy Your creation today without worrying about my pelvic floor giving way or my blood pressure tanking. 

One week later, I am curled in the recovery position in bed, struggling to breathe during my second COVID-19 infection. The week before I tested positive, I had been reflecting on how much progress I had made with my health recently. I was finding more and more freedom. My health was becoming less and less of a full time job. Glimpses of opportunity to do what most 23 year olds do were revealing themselves to me. However, the minute COVID entered my system, it felt like all this hope was destroyed in an instant. This infection led to four weeks confined to my bed, six weeks off work, one hospitalisation due to my systems shutting down, and ongoing Long Covid that lingers four months later.

How is this fair? After five years of debilitating chronic illness, I had finally felt like I was regaining some of my life. Why was this taken away from me? Why, when being teased with glimpses of hope, was I forced to add another diagnosis to my ever-growing list? Why would God let this happen?

Maintaining a Christian faith while battling chronic illness is challenging. It’s also inspiring, adventurous, beautiful, and filled with learning. Our modern world is becoming increasingly aware of the prevalence of mental illness, chronic illness, and disability. Through sharing my story I hope to inspire a discussion on the relationship between faith and chronic illness.

I have so many questions.

The Lord is on my side as my helper (Psalm 118:7). 
Then why did God stand by my side and watch me become chronically ill? How was God helping me when I suffered secondary conditions of my endometriosis? Where was God’s protection? 

By Your great power and outstretched arm, nothing is too hard for You (Jeremiah 32:17). 
Why didn’t God use that power to interrupt the downward spiral of comorbidities? If it wasn’t too hard, why didn’t God intervene when I was nearing hospitalisation for the tenth time in a year?

Of course, I can use my knowledge of the human body to logically explain that with chronic illness comes vulnerability to comorbidities. The toll that endometriosis takes on the body wreaks havoc with all other systems. My weak immune system led to Long Covid. My body’s tendency towards altered body tissue has caused Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. Traumatic experiences in my early life have seeped their way into my cells making me prone to multiple illnesses. Yet, as a follower of Christ, scripture tells me that God could intervene on these feedback loops. When She doesn’t, I am full of grief. The grief of unanswered questions, and closure that is always out of reach. 

Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? (1 Corinthians 6:19). 
This verse nurtures my heart. It is an inspiring reminder to me to treat my body with the highest level of respect and dignity, as I was beautifully and wonderfully made. This verse also forms a tight, twisted knot in my heart. How do I have a spiritual relationship with my created body if I constantly feel that she is letting me down? If my body is the Holy Spirit’s vessel, why does she obstruct me from the daily life I desire? It is difficult to love a body that fails me. But not loving my body hinders my closeness with the One who created her. It’s a hard cycle to break.

I don’t know why bad things happen. I don’t know why I sing church hymns on Sunday about God the healer, and get admitted to hospital on Monday. I don’t know how to reconcile the powerful persistence of my grandmother’s prayer group, and the hopelessness of yet another specialist appointment. But I refuse to believe that God actively places illness in my life, as if to ‘teach me a lesson.’ What doesn’t kill me often makes me weaker. And that’s okay, because I don’t believe that God actively tests my strength. My life’s hurdles have, in many ways, turned up the dial on my resilience, self-awareness, and communication skills. But I don’t imagine that, before I was born, God sat in a conference room with Gabriel and drew up a storyboard of all the plot-twists that would enable my self-growth. Having my Creator be the  puppeteer who hand-picks my trauma does not fit with my idea of the God that I learnt to know and love. 

There is much I don’t know, but I do know this: I am always granted the best possible outcome from the bad circumstances I’ve been dealt. The hurricane seldom clears, but the brick-walled shelter always presents itself in the nick of time. I don’t know why God doesn’t fix my health issues, but She is constantly offering small pockets of relief that help me to stay afloat. Almost every time I am feeling too unwell to see the number of  work clients scheduled in my diary that day, a handful of them will cancel. My bowel was paralysed during the most crucial week of the year for applying for graduate jobs, yet I was still offered my dream job. On the day that I realised I wasn’t well enough to live alone anymore, a family member called and offered me a place in his home. This is how I know God has my back, even if it’s not always in the ways that I initially hope or expect. 

The Lord is on my side as my helper (Psalm 118:7). 
She helps in creative ways.

By Your great power and outstretched arm, nothing is too hard for You (Jeremiah 32:17). 
You identify things I don’t know I need.

Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? (1 Corinthians 6:19). 
So my body remains strong enough to keep me alive, despite never living without pain.

I still have hope — perhaps not a conventional hope, but hope nonetheless. I do not expect that one day I will be fully healed. While possible, I feel this is unlikely. I still live in fear of what curveballs are yet to be thrown my way. However, God has proven to me over and over that She will surely offer me a palm tree to cling to when the next tsunami hits. It will somehow be possible to pull through, just like it was last time, and the time before that. 

My chest widens, my shoulders broaden, and I soak up the morning rays. A pīwakawaka settles on the sturdy trig pole. The hopeless reality of chronic illness seems at odds with having a hope-filled faith in God. But on days like these I scan creation, knowing that God is there somewhere, in the nooks and crannies that I least expect. 

~

Cara Adler is a psychology graduate from Victoria University of Wellington who has enjoyed being a part of communities including Cityside Baptist and Stillwaters Community Wellington.