July 13, 2008
Tony Snow, 1955-2008
I first became acquainted with Tony Snow as the host of Fox News Sunday, where he subjected his guests to good-natured grillings, pushing for anwers, calling them on evasions, but never seeming mean-spirited, always with a sparkle in his eye and the sense that partisanship was no obstacle to friendship.
The roundtable discussion with political pundits was always fun, Snow moderating, his affection for liberal columnist Juan Williams (who often drives me to distraction) obvious to the most casual viewer, and the subject of a touching remembrance by Williams.
When Snow became Pres. Bush's press secretary, it seemed like a courageous pick for the president; after all, the TV host had been a vociferous critic of the administration, at one point referring to Bush as an "embarrassment" to conservatives.
But Snow proved an inspired choice, turning his press briefings into not-to-be-missed TV, sparring with his former colleagues -- usually in good humor -- deftly rejecting the premises of hostile questions, and giving eloquent and well-crafted answers that served his president well.
Many conservatives -- me included -- wish Snow had been brought on much earlier in the Bush presidency; the administration often allowed its political opponents and a hostile media to define the terms of the debate, and hence, the administration's policies, thanks to a combination of the president's reluctance to linger on past events and the incompetence of his previous press secretaries.
I particularly enjoyed it when Snow would scold, chide and spank Helen Thomas, the irascible and incandescently partisan writer whose distaste for Republicans was palpable. And yet, even here, Snow's innate decency shone through. When he once said that Thomas had delivered the Taliban's view of world events, he quickly offered an apology, and when he heard that she'd suffered some health problems, asked that a friend let her know that he loved her and prayed for a speedy and full recovery.
His bout with cancer was terrible, borne with an awe-inspiring grace; there are numerous accounts of Snow reaching out to other cancer patients, offering unsolicited words of encouragement. It was heartbreaking to see the physical toll the illness took on the man, his thick head of hair gone grey and whispy, his face gaunt.
Today's Fox News Sunday played a series of excerpts from Snow's end-of-the-show segment, where he shared his thoughts on various issues of the day; it was a moving tribute, one that showed what it was that made him so respected by his colleagues and liked by the viewing public.
Snow wrote about his illness and his faith last year for Christianity Today; you don't have to be a Christian to find something of value in what he had to say.
Blessings arrive in unexpected packages—in my case, cancer.
Those of us with potentially fatal diseases—and there are millions in America today—find ourselves in the odd position of coping with our mortality while trying to fathom God's will. Although it would be the height of presumption to declare with confidence What It All Means, Scripture provides powerful hints and consolations.
The first is that we shouldn't spend too much time trying to answer the why questions: Why me? Why must people suffer? Why can't someone else get sick? We can't answer such things, and the questions themselves often are designed more to express our anguish than to solicit an answer.
I don't know why I have cancer, and I don't much care. It is what it is—a plain and indisputable fact. Yet even while staring into a mirror darkly, great and stunning truths begin to take shape. Our maladies define a central feature of our existence: We are fallen. We are imperfect. Our bodies give out.
But despite this—because of it—God offers the possibility of salvation and grace. We don't know how the narrative of our lives will end, but we get to choose how to use the interval between now and the moment we meet our Creator face-to-face.Second, we need to get past the anxiety. The mere thought of dying can send adrenaline flooding through your system. A dizzy, unfocused panic seizes you. Your heart thumps; your head swims. You think of nothingness and swoon. You fear partings; you worry about the impact on family and friends. You fidget and get nowhere.
To regain footing, remember that we were born not into death, but into life—and that the journey continues after we have finished our days on this earth. We accept this on faith, but that faith is nourished by a conviction that stirs even within many nonbelieving hearts—an intuition that the gift of life, once given, cannot be taken away. Those who have been stricken enjoy the special privilege of being able to fight with their might, main, and faith to live—fully, richly, exuberantly—no matter how their days may be numbered.
Third, we can open our eyes and hearts. God relishes surprise. We want lives of simple, predictable ease—smooth, even trails as far as the eye can see—but God likes to go off-road. He provokes us with twists and turns. He places us in predicaments that seem to defy our endurance and comprehension—and yet don't. By his love and grace, we persevere. The challenges that make our hearts leap and stomachs churn invariably strengthen our faith and grant measures of wisdom and joy we would not experience otherwise.
'You Have Been Called'
Picture yourself in a hospital bed. The fog of anesthesia has begun to wear away. A doctor stands at your feet; a loved one holds your hand at the side. "It's cancer," the healer announces.
The natural reaction is to turn to God and ask him to serve as a cosmic Santa. "Dear God, make it all go away. Make everything simpler." But another voice whispers: "You have been called." Your quandary has drawn you closer to God, closer to those you love, closer to the issues that matter—and has dragged into insignificance the banal concerns that occupy our "normal time."
There's another kind of response, although usually short-lived—an inexplicable shudder of excitement, as if a clarifying moment of calamity has swept away everything trivial and tinny, and placed before us the challenge of important questions.
The moment you enter the Valley of the Shadow of Death, things change. You discover that Christianity is not something doughy, passive, pious, and soft. Faith may be the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. But it also draws you into a world shorn of fearful caution. The life of belief teems with thrills, boldness, danger, shocks, reversals, triumphs, and epiphanies. Think of Paul, traipsing though the known world and contemplating trips to what must have seemed the antipodes (Spain), shaking the dust from his sandals, worrying not about the morrow, but only about the moment.
There's nothing wilder than a life of humble virtue—for it is through selflessness and service that God wrings from our bodies and spirits the most we ever could give, the most we ever could offer, and the most we ever could do.
[...]
Most of us have watched friends as they drifted toward God's arms not with resignation, but with peace and hope. In so doing, they have taught us not how to die, but how to live. They have emulated Christ by transmitting the power and authority of love.
I sat by my best friend's bedside a few years ago as a wasting cancer took him away. He kept at his table a worn Bible and a 1928 edition of the Book of Common Prayer. A shattering grief disabled his family, many of his old friends, and at least one priest. Here was a humble and very good guy, someone who apologized when he winced with pain because he thought it made his guest uncomfortable. He retained his equanimity and good humor literally until his last conscious moment. "I'm going to try to beat [this cancer]," he told me several months before he died. "But if I don't, I'll see you on the other side."
His gift was to remind everyone around him that even though God doesn't promise us tomorrow, he does promise us eternity—filled with life and love we cannot comprehend—and that one can in the throes of sickness point the rest of us toward timeless truths that will help us weather future storms.
Through such trials, God bids us to choose: Do we believe, or do we not? Will we be bold enough to love, daring enough to serve, humble enough to submit, and strong enough to acknowledge our limitations? Can we surrender our concern in things that don't matter so that we might devote our remaining days to things that do?
I'm not a Christian, but I'd like to believe that there is an eternal reward for men like Tony Snow.
May God grant him peace and comfort his family and friends.
Requiescat in pace.
Posted by Mike Lief at July 13, 2008 02:45 PM
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