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James Van Der Beek's realization about his identity after cancer has people pondering

"I had to look my own mortality in the eye," said the Dawson's Creek alum. "I had to come nose to nose with death."

Photo credits: SANSIERRASTUDIO (left) Super Festivals from Ft. Lauderdale, USA (right)

James Van Der Beek in 2010 and 2023

There's nothing like a brush with death to make you reflect on your life. It's so easy for all of us to get caught up in the day-to-day details of living and not take the time to ponder the deeper elements of existence, from the nature of the universe to the meaning of life to our own individual role in the big picture.

Existential questions can sometimes feel overwhelming, but actor James Van Der Beek shared a thoughtful 48th birthday message with his own life reflection after facing cancer, and it distills a lot of the angst of those questions into a simple yet profound answer that's hitting home with people.

Van Der Beek, who starred in the millennial favorite Dawson's Creek, announced he'd been diagnosed with stage 3 colorectal cancer in 2024 at age 47. He and his wife, Kimberly, have six children, and in a video shared on social media, Van Der Beek shared the progression from his somewhat unfulfilling identity as an actor to "the ultimate" identity as a husband and father prior to his cancer diagnosis.

"I could define myself as a loving, capable, strong, supportive husband, father, provider, steward of the land that we're so lucky to live on," he said. "And for a long time, that felt like a really good definition of the question, 'Who am I? What am I?'"

"And then this year, I had to look my own mortality in the eye," he continued. "I had to come nose to nose with death. And all of those definitions that I cared so deeply about were stripped from me. I was away for treatment, so I could no longer be a husband who is helpful to my wife. I could no longer be a father who could pick up his kids and put them to bed and be there for them. I could not be a provider because I wasn't working. I couldn't even be a steward of the land because at times I was too weak to prune all the trees during the window that you're supposed to prune them."

He found himself facing the question: "If I am just a too-skinny, weak guy, alone in an apartment, with cancer, what am I?"

So often we define ourselves by our roles in life or by what we do, but what if those things change? Who are we when it's just us, alone, with nothing external to anchor us to a particular identity?

"And I meditated and the answer came through," Van Der Beek shared. "I am worthy of God's love, simply because I exist. And if I'm worthy of God's love, shouldn't I also be worthy of my own? And the same is true for you."

I offer that to you however it sits in your consciousness. However it resonates, run with it," he said. "And if the word God trips you up, I certainly don't know or claim to know what God is or explain God. My efforts to connect to God are an ongoing process that is a constant unfolding mystery to me. But if it's a trigger or if it feels too religious you can take the word 'God' out and your mantra can simply be 'I am worthy of love.' Because you are."


Van Der Beek's sincere, warm delivery and universal message of love and worth hit home for a lot of people. Fellow celebrities and fans alike praised and thanked him for it:

"Happy birthday brother. This was absolutely beautiful 💜🙏🏻💜," wrote singer Chris Daughtry.

"You’re a gift to this earth and I’m grateful to know you even if it’s just through IG. Greatly admire the graceful way you share and happy you made it around the Sun again," wrote New Kids on the Block's Joey McIntyre.

The Sopranos' Jamie-Lynn Sigler wrote, "That is it James. That is it. And you my friend are love. A steward of love. A teacher of love !❤️. We love you !!"

"I watched this with Bodhi with tears in our eyes and Bodhi said 'that was really touching' thanks for being love James and sharing that with everyone, ❤️" added actor Teresa Palmer.

Battlestar Galactica reboot's Katee Sackhoff wrote, "Thank you for your vulnerability and wisdom ❤️ Amen!'

"You are such a special soul. You are pure love my friend," added actor Nikki Reed. "Worthy of it all… hoping to hug all of you soon. Happy birthday❤️❤️❤️"

Some people took issue with Van Der Beek saying people could remove the word "God" from the message if they wanted to, but the reality is that not everyone has positive feelings about God or religion, and some have even been deeply hurt by people weaponizing them. Van Der Beek making a message of love more universal so that everyone can take it in and benefit from it without barriers or hang-ups is part of what makes it so beautiful. He was able to express his own religious/spiritual experience without shying away from the terminology that was true for him, while also making sure that his message was accessible to everyone regardless of faith or belief.

Perhaps we can all take a lesson from Van Der Beek's sincere, open, and balanced approach as well.

Desmond Tutu and the Dalai Lama had a delightful friendship.

Occasionally a religious leader comes long who garners universal love and respect from people of all faiths. Anglican Archbishop Desmond Tutu was one of those leaders, and the world is mourning his passing at age 90.

Tutu will be remembered for his fierce passion for justice combined with his humble, humorous manner. He courageously took on the injustice of apartheid in his home country of South Africa, advocating for nonviolent protest against the white supremacist system. He was appointed the head of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission after apartheid ended, which provided a model for the world of restorative justice. He won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1984 for his work on human rights. He gave speeches and wrote books about hope, faith, forgiveness and joy, including one cowritten with the Dalai Lama.


His inclusivity and open-hearted approach to all people was an inspiration to all.

Desmond Tutu in his own words: ‘He loved, he laughed, he cried.'

He was a man who endured severe racist oppression, then wrote: "When we see others as the enemy, we risk becoming what we hate. When we oppress others, we end up oppressing ourselves. All of our humanity is dependent upon recognising the humanity in others."

He offered wisdom to those who have suffered: “We are not responsible for what breaks us, but we can be responsible for what puts us back together again. Naming the hurt is how we begin to repair our broken parts.”

He called for justice and true equality for all: "I am not interested in picking up crumbs of compassion thrown from the table of someone who considers himself my master," he said. "I want the full menu of rights."

And called us all to action on that front: "If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse, and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality."

He was a deeply religious Christian cleric who embraced people of all faiths, famously writing, "God is not a Christian" and telling Real Leaders:

"It doesn’t matter where we worship or what we call God; there is only one, inter-dependent human family. We are born for goodness, to love – free of prejudice. All of us, without exception. There is greater commonality in our belief systems than we tend to credit, a golden thread expressed in the maxim that one should treat others as one would like others to treat oneself. I don’t believe in the notion of 'opposing belief systems.' It would be more accurate to say that human beings have a long history of rationalizing acts of inhumanity on the basis of their own interpretations of the will of God."

He wasn't about the noise. In his address at the Nelson Mandela Foundation in 2004, Tutu said: "My father always used to say, 'Don't raise your voice. Improve your argument.' Good sense does not always lie with the loudest shouters, nor can we say that a large, unruly crowd is always the best arbiter of what is right."

And he was funny. His playful friendship with the Dalai Lama is one for the ages.

His ready, warm smile and the ever-present twinkle in his eye were emblems of what Desmond Tutu offered to the world—universal kindness, genuine forgiveness, a deep well of joy and an unshakeable belief in people's potential for change.

He shared his faith by continually showering his gifts on all of humanity. May we remember and use them well.

via Joshua Harris / Instagram

In 1997, at just 21 years old, Joshua Harris wrote the Christian book, "I Kissed Dating Goodbye," which instantly made him a leader in the "purity" movement.

At the time, he was a virgin who had been home-schooled his entire life.

His book claimed that dating was a "training ground for divorce" and discouraged teenage relationships in favor of "courting." It also encouraged parental involvement in relationships and forbade any kind of physical intimacy.

The book instilled suspicion about relationships in young people and caused many to marry the first person they "courted." It also promoted the idea that sex was wrong and impure.


He would go on to become a megachurch pastor at Covenant Life Church in Gaithersburg, Maryland.

However, four years ago, Harris began to publicly distance himself from his Christian faith. In 2015, he left Covenant Life Church to broaden his views.

In a 2017 Ted Talk, he renounced his book, saying that it was inspired by fear. "Fear is never a good motive," he admitted. "Fear of messing up, fear of getting your heart broken, fear of hurting somebody else, fear of sex…"

Recently, he's dropped more bombshells. He announced he's leaving his wife after two decades together and has renounced his faith. He also apologized to women and the LGBTQ community for the views he spread in his books and from the pulpit.

RELATED: Barack Obama celebrates pride month by tweeting an amazing photo of a Sikh man in a special turban

"I have lived in repentance for the past several years," Harris wrote on Instagram, "repenting of my self-righteousness, my fear-based approach to life, the teaching of my books, my views of women in the church, and my approach to parenting to name a few."

"But I specifically want to add to this list now: to the LGBTQ+ community, I want to say that I am sorry for the views that I taught in my books and as a pastor regarding sexuality," he continued. "I regret standing against marriage equality, for not affirming you and your place in the church, and for any ways that my writing and speaking contributed to a culture of exclusion and bigotry. I hope you can forgive me."

Harris drove the point home by posting photos of himself marching at Vancouver Pride. In one of the photos, he posed with gay singer Trey Pearson and the host of the "Queerology" podcast, Matthias Roberts. Both photos have since been deleted.

via Joshua Harris / Instagram


via Joshua Harris / Instagram

His renunciation of his faith, divorce from his wife — whose role was prominent in his ministry — and embrace of the LGBTQ community caused controversy in the Evangelical movement.

RELATED: Her son came out. She called a gay bar for advice. The delightful convo went viral.

His former church was disappointed by the news.

"These updates are hard to hear. We love Josh and Shannon. For most of us, Josh isn't just some distant public figure," wrote Covenant Life Interim Senior Pastor Kevin Rogers in a letter to his congregation.

"He's a beloved former pastor and friend. So this news isn't just a lot to process theoretically. It hits home personally."

Regardless of one's religious views, Harris' decision to move away from being a leader in his faith because of a change of heart is brave to say the least. How many of us would walk away from a lucrative, high-status career because of a change of conscience?

In June 2010, 14 people were murdered on the same day on public buses in El Salvador.

It is from that frightening environment that 19-year-old Araceli Velasquez fled to the United States.

"El Salvador has the highest rate of femicide in the world, and miscarriage is punishable by 30 years in prison," according to the American Friends Service Committee petition made on behalf of Velasquez. Finding safety was imperative.


But when Velasquez arrived at the United States border, she was detained.

"And then in detention, I learned I could apply for asylum because of the violence I was fleeing, so that's what I did," Velasquez said. She was denied asylum but stayed in the U.S. out of concern for her safety.

It wasn't until members of Park Hill United Methodist Church and Temple Micah in Denver got involved that Velasquez was able to live safely in the United States. The two congregations, along with the larger faith community, decided to offer Velasquez's family sanctuary among their own.

For Velasquez, sanctuary "means that I don't have to be fearful that I'll be separated from my family and that I can continue to fight my deportation in order to keep my family together."

In the United States, faith communities are able to provide sanctuary for immigrants because of a 2011 memo.

The U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) document ensures "enforcement actions do not occur at nor are focused on sensitive locations such as schools and churches." It's not a foolproof solution — the Trump administration so far has adhered to the policy but has been known to post ICE agents near sensitive locations. But for the most part, it provides much needed safety to vulnerable community members.

Steve Holz-Russell, coordinator of the sanctuary task force, recalled starting the conversation practically. "Compared to other things we've done as a church, [deciding to become a sanctuary site] went lightning fast," Holz-Russell said. The church took a vote in June 2017, and more than 80% of the congregation favored sanctuary.

Araceli Velasquez and her son, Christopher, attend a welcoming ceremony at Park Hill United Methodist Church and Temple Micah. Photo courtesy of American Friends Service Committee.

There's a history of faith communities sheltering immigrants that reaches back centuries.

Faith leaders and activists helped people immigrate from El Salvador and Guatemala to the U.S. to flee the political violence the U.S. initially refused to recognize as human rights violations. Dating much further back, the tradition of sanctuary can be found in the Hebrew Bible and the Torah, though with a different application.

Today, claiming sanctuary in a faith community means the individual or family and the faith community decide to have a relationship that includes providing the person or people in sanctuary a place to live.

While there is precedent for claiming and providing sanctuary, there is no law keeping ICE agents from entering faith communities to carry out deportation actions. Thus, providing sanctuary is considered an act of civil disobedience.

Velasquez and her family moved in shortly after her interview with the church and temple.

The apartment where the family would be living wasn't complete right away. For about five weeks, they stayed in the youth room until remodeling was finished.

The two faith communities have worked together to make Velasquez and her family comfortable and cared for. Park Hill United Methodist Church's lead pastor, Rev. Nathan Adams, described the ongoing work as very pragmatic. Community members, he said, have been asking themselves, "What needs to get done, and who can do it?"

Temple Micah Rabbi Adam Morris agrees. From his perspective, the two faith communities have found that "we're doing good, and we're pursuing justice and compassion, but the other great part has been … deepening our relationship."

From left: Jorge Jr. Jorge, Kevin, Araceli, and Christopher. Photo courtesy of Ric Urrutia.

One unforeseen outcome of housing Velasquez in sanctuary? The upswell of support from the broader community.

More than 90 people regularly give their time as either door monitors or overnight volunteers. They have come not just from the faith community but also from the broader neighborhood and throughout Denver.

ICE is known for conducting raids early in the morning or late at night. Park Hill United Methodist Church and Temple Micah have protocols in place should agents show up at their building.

"We had a scare where ICE went to Jorge's place of work," said Rev. Angie Kotzmoyer, an associate pastor. Holz-Russell received the call from Velasquez saying she thought ICE was on their way.

Recalling that frightening day, Holz-Russell said, "I called everybody," and Adams added, "And everybody came."

Sanctuary has given Velasquez the ability to keep her family together. It has also shown her that change is possible.

"I really believe that if more churches had the experience that Temple Micah, Park Hill [UMC], and I have had, where we learn to trust one another and share with one another deeply, that that would change the politics and the laws that we have," she said.

Park Hill United Methodist Church and its board are considering sponsoring legislation around shifts in immigration policy as well as declaring support for those living in sanctuary in Colorado. Adams knows that providing sanctuary and considering legislation is just the beginning.

"We see a neighbor in Araceli and her family that are in need," he said. "I think God is providing volunteers, people who are interested and care about this, to make it possible. So, we gotta do it. We gotta put our faith into action."

Ultimately, the hopes of Velasquez and Park Hill United Methodist Church and Temple Micah are the same: that she and her family will be able to return to their own home.

Furthermore, Adams said, "we really want to live in a place where the idea of sanctuary isn't even needed."

To learn more, visit www.sanctuary-phumc-micah.com.

This story originally appeared on Greater Park Hill News and is reprinted here with permission.