Charles Lewis

Charles Lewis

Charles Lewis is a freelance writer and former religion editor at the National Post.

I recently learned my liver cancer had gotten more aggressive. “Aggressive” is not descriptor you want to hear with cancer. Something like your cancer has gotten “nicer” or more “considerate” would have been great.

I went to a baseball game a few weeks ago at the Rogers Centre in Toronto. The play on the field was great as the Blue Jays destroyed the Minnesota Twins 12-3. Our starting pitcher, Jose Berrios, who has been inconsistent this year, struck out 13 opposing players. For those who are not aficionados of pitching, that was a work of art.

We hear and read a lot about critical race theory (CRT). Most of it is raises serious concerns. The idea of CRT, as I understand it, is to teach young children that white people have always had a privileged place in society and that people of colour have paid the price for that supposed racial supremacy.

The apparent defeat of Roe v. Wade in the United States Supreme Court has unleashed a wave of optimism for pro-life activists. It is a battle that’s been waged for nearly half a century in the U.S. and so for its opponents this is a sparkling moment.

Each new cancer treatment has become a door to walk through. On the other side of the door is a new room. The door to the old room closes never to be opened again.

In some corners of this country there are people for whom the fight over euthanasia will never end. They are in a minority but they are tough and courageous and determined.

Tyrants commit many sins. They strip away individual freedom, unleash fear and terror, displace people from their homes and they murder indiscriminately. If you don’t believe me, turn on your television or find news reports from Kyiv and Mariupol, places that are looking more and more like Berlin at the end of the Second World War.

A close friend of mine had a friend who was dying of cancer. When this man got his diagnosis his wife left him. She had never envisioned a life in which she would have to care for a dying husband. I have no idea whether she was incredibly shallow or had some severe phobia about disease and death.

In February I decided to read Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy. It was written 702 years ago and remains an exhausting, thrilling ride of the imagination. In essence, it’s one long poem that reads like an adventure novel, though few novelists have ever written a story so rich and holy.

The one thing all should hold dear is their freedom of conscience. It may be our most effective tool in combatting oppression and ensuring religious freedom. It’s there for everyone to use but to employ it sometimes takes courage. But when put to work it can feel liberating.