God became flesh, but he never had breast cancer
I was diagnosed just after Christmas. It changed my perspective on the incarnation.
On the second day of Christmas, during a painful biopsy on my left breast, I realized that I wasn’t fully on board with the incarnation. In the Episcopal Church’s lectionary, the Gospel reading on the first Sunday in Christmas is John’s prologue: “the Word became flesh and lived among us.” It’s one of the most beautiful doctrines of the church: God became one of us, with a body. I preached on that reading, about God becoming flesh and living among us, but I didn’t want my parishioners to know that I have flesh—specifically, breasts.
Clergy wear long, flowing robes over our clothes so people won’t focus on our bodies. The only thing harder to contemplate than telling my congregation that I might have cancer was that it was breast cancer. When God became flesh and lived among us, God didn’t have breasts.
I’m not the only female pastor who doesn’t want my congregation to think about my body. My friend Samantha has a rule that parishioners can’t ever see her in a swimsuit. But Samantha thinks I take this to extremes: I went years and years without even owning a swimsuit. My husband, Gary, and I belong to a gym with a pool and a hot tub that I won’t use. What if a random parishioner comes by? Or really, anyone—I don’t want anyone to see me in a swimsuit.
