Pastoring with Two Cancers: Leading Your People While Fighting for Faith
May 6, 2026
May 6, 2026
This article is taken from Church Matters, the 9Marks journal for pastors, in the issue titled “The Pastor and Suffering.”
Abstract: Travis Rymer shares about the painful experience of pastoring while suffering with two forms of cancer. Rymer is honest about his own struggles, acknowledging that trusting God in this trial has often been difficult. He offers biblical and practical suggestions, as well as encouragement, to pastors who are seeking to persevere in faith and lead their people well amid their own suffering.
How do you get two cancers at the same time? I didn’t know it was possible. Neither my doctor nor I expected to find anything. However, the shock and worry on his face when he walked into the room indicated that he had found something—and it was serious.
On my 43rd birthday, I learned I had rectal cancer. Soon after, I would find out it was stage 3. I was scared, but the real kicker came when we met to review the scans and the doctor told me they had found another cancer—lymphoma. All I could think was, Game over.
I’ll spare you all the details of what happened next: a port in my chest, twelve rounds of chemo, surgery, and numerous humiliating situations that humbled me severely. And just for fun, I took a golf ball off my left eye at 100 mph during my first three rounds of chemo! I (literally) ended up flat on my face with blood pouring from my head. I cried out, “Are you serious right now?”
The physical circumstances were hard, and I pray I never have to go through that again. What was worse than that, though, was the fear of dying young and leaving my family behind.
Most people recognize that there are different kinds of suffering, but they might not realize that each kind of suffering has its own sharp edge. Suffering under injustice, for example, exposes our vulnerability, while suffering due to our own sinful mistakes often produces regret and shame.
Our theology also shapes our experience of suffering. For instance, those like me who hold to a “Big God” theology believe that God is in control of our suffering. Scripture teaches us that he uses trials to grow our faith and that he works all things according to his good pleasure (Eph. 1:11). Yet knowing that God decides what happens in our lives can itself become part of the trial.
In my experience, suffering has brought a sense of abandonment—a divine face-punch, if you will. It can leave you writhing in pain and looking for answers. God can seem distant at best and cruel at worst. Ultimately, he chose this trial at this time for you. Your walk with God becomes a personal fight to trust in him. “Shall we receive good from God, and shall we not receive evil?” (Job 2:10)
When the trial begins, you might think, Okay, here we go. It’s time to put my money where my mouth is. It’s an opportunity to see if your faith is real. You expect God to show up, and you anticipate growth. But as the trial goes on or the seriousness of it hits you in a fresh way, it gets harder. You start to wrestle with the deep things.
In your private prayers, you cry out, “Where are you, Lord? Why are you doing this? Why now? Are my kids really going to see me die? Will they learn that you don’t answer prayer? Don’t they need me? I need you to show up! Does this mean you’re done with me?”
Then, as time goes on, you begin to question whether God’s promises are true for this life or only for the future. Is Psalm 34:17 true? Does God really deliver the righteous from “all their troubles”? Paul was confident he would be delivered (2 Cor. 1:10). Can you have that same confidence? Sure, ultimate deliverance will come through death and all types of rescue in this life are only temporary precursors to the final rescue to come (2 Tim. 4:17–18). But what about when you need rescue here and now?
What’s worse is that when you pray, God doesn’t speak. Like Job, you cry out for answers, but nothing comes. Like so many psalms, you plead with God to come near. “God, do not be far from me; my God, hurry to help me!” (Ps. 71:12). And then you realize that there are countless passages just like this one. “Lord, do not abandon me; my God, do not be far from me” (Ps. 38:21).
It can get dark. Many times, I have wept with my face on the floor, begging God not to take my life. I have cried in bed in the darkness of night grieving my own death. While watching my son play basketball, I could only think about how I might not be here next year.
When you’re a pastor, there’s no place to hide. While you suffer, other sufferers are asking, “Where is God?” They’re watching to see how you make it through. It’s your role to help them answer these kinds of questions. The only thing is, you’re asking the same questions yourself! What they need is what you need.
So how are you supposed to help others when you need that same help?
And how do you fight while you feel beaten down?
Based on my own experience, I’ll offer some suggestions for how you can lead your people as a fellow sufferer.
The truth is, there’s no other way to suffer well and help others at the same time. Only Jesus has the words of life. And unless a grain of wheat falls and dies, it cannot bear fruit (John 12:24). At least part of the purpose of this trial is to refine your faith through fire (1 Pet. 1:7), and that too is part of God’s ministry to others through you (2 Cor. 1:6). As hard as it might be, when you let others into your trial to see you wrestling with these things, their faith benefits as well.
I don’t know who said it, but it’s good advice: Do the next thing in front of you. Today has enough troubles of its own (Matt. 6:34). You don’t know if the Lord will let you survive this, but today you have an opportunity to serve. Take it.
Pastoring while suffering forces you to pastor by faith. Sure, this should always be our prerogative. Unfortunately, suffering forces the issue when we are otherwise all too prone to rely on ourselves. The hardest part is helping others fight for faith during their own trials by pointing them to promises that you are praying for yourself—promises that seem unanswered thus far. In the back of your mind, you may be reserving judgment on whether or not the promise is true for you, which can make you feel like a hypocrite. But isn’t this how we fight for faith? We listen to the Scriptures speak that which our eyes cannot see.
This too is a gift because being a pastor forces you to face questions you might otherwise avoid or respond to superficially. When you have to get up and preach next week, you don’t have the luxury of spiritual lethargy. Admittedly, it can feel like a burden. Am I faking it? Is there anything real in me? I don’t feel like doing this. Yet this is another grace. As you exhort the person in your office to trust in God and wait on his timing, you are exhorting yourself. You are living by faith while pastoring by faith. Faith is working overtime in you and through you.
I have tried to be honest with people during this trial, and most people have been surprised by my struggles. That surprises me. How can I not struggle? This is an aspect of genuine faith, and it’s all over the Bible. But some people don’t seem to understand this.
Obviously, if you are struggling to put one foot in front of the other, you may need to take a step back from at least some of your pastoral responsibilities. Such decisions should be made with the counsel and prayer of your fellow elders, your wife, and those who know you well. But the fact that you are fighting to trust God’s promises is important. People need to see that you’re wrestling. So be as transparent as you can in appropriate ways. This will help you avoid feeling like a hypocrite.
I have written Psalm 25:16–18 and Isaiah 30:20–21 on my wall. I also grabbed Psalm 71 along the way, in addition to 2 Corinthians 1:8–11. Like a young child picking up shells at the beach, I’ve collected an armful of such verses. They are written there as open prayers. More than once, I’ve pointed to these and said to someone, “The Lord hasn’t yet answered these passages for me, but they are promises. So I’m calling on God to answer them. Let’s pray them together for us both.”
There are passages I “knew” but had no experiential knowledge of. I have become aware of an entire category of passages that express what I’ve called “the divine face-punch.” While these passages might seem discouraging at first glance, they will help you in the long run. More than that, they’re really helpful for your people. Think about it. How many places in Scripture are asking “Why?” or “How long?” How many are pleading with God to arise and do something? How many lament God’s silence? I had heard of these passages, but now I truly know them!
I don’t have space to elaborate fully here, but one thing God has been teaching me is that trials are largely about learning to believe in the resurrection. Paul said that he and his co-workers felt that they had received the sentence of death, but this sense of despair had a particular purpose: “to make us rely not on ourselves, but on God who raises the dead” (2 Cor. 1:9).
Brother pastor, there’s rich nourishment in the connection between the promises of rescue and the realities of affliction. As you work out how these two things relate, you will be strengthened and your people will be helped. This is an important way to watch your life and doctrine during a season of suffering.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but it has been encouraging to hear from people about how my suffering has helped them. Perhaps these examples can encourage you too.
Toward the end of last year, a friend wrote, “I want you to know you’re one of the main reasons my faith is strong.” A sister afflicted by many troubles told me after one sermon, with tears, “I believe you now. I believe you.” Another brother was comforted to hear that I had felt abandoned at times because that’s how he felt too. Someone else told me that when he first heard about my cancer, he became angry at God. However, it forced him to rethink his understanding of God’s sovereignty. I received an unexpected note after counseling a young couple about their second miscarriage. They shared about how they had experienced firsthand how someone can offer comfort with the comfort that they had received from God.
My trial isn’t over yet, but I am doing better. I will never be the same. I am still finding my way forward and praying the verses on my wall. When I experience noticeable “chemo brain,” neuropic aches and pains, hurting feet, or when I deal with the side effects of surgery, I am reminded of my frailty. As I approach the next scan, I fear I’m about to be thrown right back into the fire.
I walk with this daily, but so do many of my people. In all of it, God is teaching us not to rely on ourselves but on him who raises the dead.