Pancreatic cancer survivor

CHICAGO -- One year to the hour after coming out from under the surgical knife, Cardinal Joseph Bernardin was sitting behind his desk on the second floor of his Chicago lakefront home. Looking lean and relaxed, the archbishop of Chicago was eager to share some good news. "This," he said, "is my first anniversary."

It was June 12, 1995, when doctors at Loyola University Hospital removed a malignant pancreatic tumor and nearby organs. At age 68, Bernardin is now at a major milestone, moving from year one to year two in his postoperative recovery. Statistically, those diagnosed with this especially virulent form of cancer have only a one in four chance of living five years. But Bernardin's cancer was found early and he has been told it is in remission. He's daring to hope for the best, though preparing for what might one day come as bad news.

If he is visibly thinner, his eyes remain the same: big, clear and sparkling from behind what now seem like glasses a bit too wide for his face. He's wearing clerical black, but without the Roman collar, his shirt unbuttoned at the top. He is less guarded than the Bernardin of past, not as hesitant, quicker to smile, to laugh.

He shows signs of significant pain in his back and legs. Sitting at the edge of a wooden office chair, he is erect, stiff. He sometimes walks now with the aid of a polished wooden cane. Not unlike the pope, a few friends have noted.

But this cardinal will never become pope. It is almost unthinkable that a conclave would elect a man with a serious cancer history. Bernardin and other prelates know this. If he ever harbored thoughts of wearing white garb, those ambitions are almost certainly dead. Chicago will be Bernardin's last stop. So providence has removed him from the ranks of the papabile, the papal contenders. This elimination elevates him in a way, putting him above the fray when cardinals from the United States and around the world gather to choose the next pope.

This allows him a special vantage and privilege. On all matters pertaining to the church, he can, if he uses the opportunity, speak with greater freedom resulting from having shed any perception of personal ambition. Bernardin knows that if you are going nowhere, you have nothing to lose. But there is more here. Bernardin has changed. He is not the person nor the prelate he was three years back. He has been transformed by immense suffering.

Bernardin's cancer chemotherapy caused deterioration in his bones, including his back and legs. He fell early this year and had to undergo further surgery. His back will never be the same. If he's lost pounds, he's also lost inches to his frame. Quipped Bernardin: "I've just had three inches taken from my wardrobe. Everything was too long."

On this June day, however, it is not the pain and suffering that most seemed to characterize the prelate. It was, ironically, new energy. He spoke with animation and determination about new purpose and mission in his life. At times he described his work with a boyish enthusiasm, as if he had recently rediscovered a wondrous treasure, something buried or lost for a long time. And, in fact, he has. "I feel that I am a priest again," he said.

Bernardin, the priest, was referring to his new cancer ministry. He spends the first one or two hours of his working day staying in touch with cancer patients. While the cardinal is back to running the archdiocese, carrying the necessary workload, he has carved into his schedule -- "by setting new priorities" -- special time to minister to these patients by writing them letters, speaking with them on the telephone or updating the cancer prayer list (now over 500 names) that he keeps in the top desk drawer. It is clear he enjoys this work. It is also clear he is deriving much energy and satisfaction from it.

He pulls out a picture of a young child he visited some months ago, showing a letter from the boy's parents reporting that their child's cancer had gone into remission shortly after the cardinal began praying for him. "Now, I'm not saying I made a difference," Bernardin said. "But there is a great satisfaction that comes from seeing this boy doing well now."

The ministry began as the cardinal was recovering from his own operation. He would walk the oncology unit, greeting other patients. Later he would take the time to see patients each time he returned for chemotherapy. The visits have continued. Last month, Loyola University hospital named a cancer clinic after Bernardin.

"It used to be I wouldn't know what to say to someone with cancer. I was afraid. Now I can talk, ask questions. Sometimes I can hold a hand or offer a blessing. Sometimes it's a matter of speaking to parents. Sometimes it's a matter of simply listening or just being present. Being present at times can be enough."

Bernardin's renewed sense of priesthood -- one he admits he had not experienced for many years -- represents more to him than simply visiting the ill. The journey to this discovery was not short nor without significant cost. It dates back several years to the moment he was charged with sexual molestation. That was the beginning of Bernardin's own dark night of the soul and a process of transformation -- though there was no way he could have known it at the time. The molestation charge, he said, caused him great humiliation, isolation and immense loneliness.

Later the accuser, Steven Cook, retracted the charge, opening the way to forgiveness and reconciliation. Those acts, in turn, led to Cook's re-entrance into the sacramental life of the church just prior to his death. All of this took its tool on Bernardin, but taught important faith lessons, he said. On the power of God's redemptive plan through personal suffering, Bernardin now speaks out of experience.

After the Cook incident came the cancer diagnosis -- and more pain. But more opportunities and life lessons as well. Bernardin's illness brought him into contact with others like him, experiencing vulnerability while coming to terms with their own morality. It has been a time of special bonding for Bernardin. It has also been a time of special focusing, a sorting out period. By the end of this spiritual journey, Bernardin says he found himself occupying new spiritual space.

It is hard to imagine, given what Bernardin has gone through, that he would not be at some new point in life. And this appears to be the case. He speaks of experiencing a new personal awareness. For example, he says, that while he has not lost interest in certain ecclesial questions of the day, he has less time for the "internal wrangling" that goes on in the church.

"Much of it isn't that important," he says. Speaking of his reputation as peacemaker, he says, "It doesn't mean I've stopped the effort to reconcile, but I'm focusing on those issues that are really more important. Does this help a person? Does this promote the common good? Is it really worthwhile to put my time in this rather than something else?" These are questions he says he did not ask before. He feels fortunate now to be asking them. In this context he is able to speak of his suffering as a personal blessing.

In the cardinal's mind, the molestation charge, without a doubt, was more difficult than the cancer diagnosis. He still chokes up trying to convey the depths of the suffering caused by the Cook episode. He refers to it as "devastating."

"To have the whole world be told that you allegedly abused someone, to have it go around the world on CNN, to have the doubt be planted, it was really humiliating. And all along I feared that if this were not cleared up, my credibility and, therefore, my ministry would be ruined."

By contrast, he says, being told he had cancer did not isolate him. He explains this way: "Cancer is simply part of the human condition. It is a disease and many contract it. It's really part of life. All kinds of people get it." As for confronting the thought of a life cut short, Bernardin says that for some reason he has never been especially fearful or anxious. He said his faith helped him look at death.

What he had never expected, he said, was the thought of dying sooner than his mother. She now lives in a nursing home, cared for by a community of women religious. So Bernardin found it necessary to receive assurances from the nuns that they would continue to care for his mother in the event of his own death. Of course, he realized their answer would be in the affirmative -- but, he said, he had to ask and felt relieved and grateful for their response.

One month after his operation, while still undergoing chemotherapy, something "very important" happened to him, he says. Fr. Henri Nouwen came to Chicago to speak. He phoned Bernardin and asked to visit. Nouwen, Bernardin recalls, shared with him a book he had written on death.