Killing the savior

"The Zen Master warns: “If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him!” This admonition points up that no meaning that comes from outside of ourselves is real. The Buddhahood of each of us has already been obtained. We need only recognize it."

I am not Buddhist.  But I heard this saying back when I was in seminary and I've remembered it.  I won't attempt to interpret this from a Buddhist perspective.  But it causes me to think of  my own situation and experience of being bipolar, and stimulates yet another thought.  Perhaps the opposite thought.

"If you meet a savior within yourself, kill him!"

If there is one word that best describes my manic side it would be 'savior'.  It's wrapped in a sense of a holy calling, a mission to make a difference, a conviction that "I can fix that", and a sense that many depend on my fulfilling this purpose.  If I don't do it, who will?

"Who will?"

There's an obvious answer to that.  As a person of faith I believe deeply in the one and only One who is the Savior of the World.  

Believing this leads me to the conviction that whenever that savior mentality enters my brain, I must kill it.  I relate to John the Baptist's statement, "I am not the Messiah."  That is a confession of faith in the one who is.

Christmas Eve services.  Always a highlight of the Church Year.  Typically the largest attendance, and this held true for us as well.  But there was disappointment.  I have been experimenting with using Facebook advertising to try and extend the outreach of our little congregation.  Our invitation to Christmas Eve services went out to 1241 households in the Otis Orchards area.  1241.  Our attendance was 41. That's approximately double our normal attendance, fairly typical for a Christmas Eve service, especially when we know that some of our regulars are attending elsewhere with their families and others probably stayed home because of the icy roads.  But I must confess I had hoped that my efforts at outreach would have netted a lot more.  Especially because my family alone accounted for nine of those in attendance.  I dreamed of a standing room only crowd.  

Kill the savior.

This morning I'm thinking of a strawberry patch.  The thing about strawberries is that you can plant and nourish those first starts, but it is the strawberries themselves that send out the shoots that grow the patch.  I would say that we sow the seeds, but the growth comes from God.  But even that is too much.  The seeds of faith are sown by the Holy Spirit.  Not us.

Kill the savior.

In the end, faced with the decline of the Church in our country, and the challenges of growing my own little congregation, perhaps the most faithful response is simply to recognize that the responsibility for revitalizing the Church is God's alone.  God's alone.

There is no reason to get depressed about 'our failures', cause it wasn't our responsibility in the first place.  I would like to counsel God about a reasonable direction forward, and the need for real growth in our Church and congregation, but alas, God does not need my counsel.  Whatever God is doing, God is doing.  

Kill the savior, and let the Savior live.  

The "Being" and the "Doing"

One of the hardest lessons I learned in my first parish was the difference between "being" the pastor, and "doing" pastoral ministry.  I was the first full time pastor in Thompson Falls.  They had built a parsonage for  us.  We received a joyous welcome.  And I set about my work.

I interpreted that their investments toward attaining a full time pastor were all about their desire to receive full time pastoral ministry.  And I set about trying to fulfill that goal.  My goal was to fill the church's calendar with programs and activities, and so to justify my position.

What I learned from them was that it was actually more important that I simply be seen around town, at the post office, in the grocery store, walking my dog.  As for all my  programmatic activity, it largely failed.  They were simply concerned that I would "be" their pastor.  They were not nearly so concerned about what I did.  Yes, there were moments of intense pastoral ministry.  But for the most part, I was paid to be there when needed, and the rest of the time simply to be the pastor.  

I realize now that after nearly three decades in ministry I'm in the same situation again.  The only things on our calendar are Sunday morning worship, and an adult ed class afterwards.  Aside from that, the boy scouts meet weekly, and the council meets monthly.  I do some visitation, but not a lot.  And this seems to be more my need than theirs.  We decorated the church for Christmas, and had a potluck.  We will go caroling.

But for hour after hour I sit in my office and wonder what am I doing to justify receiving a generous salary package.  The answer is, I am "being" their pastor.  Its as though they are saying to me "Do whatever you feel a need to do, that's fine with us, just be our pastor."

The manic side of me is just not content to master the art of "being".  I want a quest.  I'm a bit like a border collie in that regard.  Either give me work to do, or I'll make up my own.  

Two things I'm "doing".  First, I'm trying to see if I can get an AA meeting starting here in Otis Orchards.  There isn't one now.  The biggest challenge is where and how do you connect with people who are part of an organization that values above all else, anonymity.  Secondly, I am exploring how to use Facebook and my blogs as a means of evangelism, and an extension of my ministry here.

I've had 9,000 pageviews on this blog, and nearly 6,000 on my other blog, Wanderingsthroughtheword.com.  What amazes me is that I've had pageviews from every single continent, except Antartica.

Writing and posting is what satisfied my sense of calling while I was not in a parish.  Now, it fulfills my sense of call by giving me something to "do" in a parish whose primary need is for me to simply "be" their pastor.

That said, I find myself wrestling with the question of whether my drive to be doing something is symptomatic of my bipolar disease, or part of a genuine sense of call.  My bishop would probably say, "Well, yes, both."

I leave it at that for today, and get back to the holy work of being.

The lion sleeps tonight

In the jungle, the mighty jungle

The lion sleeps tonight

In the jungle the quiet jungle

The lion sleeps tonight

Near the village the peaceful village

The lion sleeps tonight

Near the village the quiet village

The lion sleeps tonight

Hush my darling don't fear my darling

The lion sleeps tonight

Hush my darling don't fear my darling

The lion sleeps tonight.

(Songwriters: HUGO PERETTI, GEORGE DAVID WEISS, LUIGI CREATORE)

     There is no lion's roar waking the primordial fears within.  Just the silent solitude of a world wrapped in darkness.  And a glimmer of light in the nighttime skies.

     Daylight savings time.  And then the return to normal time.  And the darkness of winter.  Perhaps I need a sun lamp, a full spectrum light in which to bathe.  This much I know-- that my sleep disorder doesn't adapt very well to change.  The rest of the world may "fall back" as daylight savings time comes to an end, but my system seems to be locked in.  My 8 pm bedtime is now 7.  And where I used to wake about 2 am, it is now 1 am.  

     Sometimes I'm able to return to sleep, or on weekends, nap.  Saturdays, after my rather busy week, I'm talking real power napping.  Actually making up sleep from the week prior.  I may have two, two hour naps by the time breakfast rolls around at 8 am.  And then, another after breakfast.  But the hours of my falling asleep, and rising, appear to be locked in now at 7 and 1.  

     Yet the "lion sleeps tonight".  No primordial fear.  The desperation and despair of depression are not present.  Neither is the drive and passion of mania.  Just the sweet solitude of the early morning.  

     Time alone used to be feared.  I was not a safe companion for myself.  Rumination ruled the restless hours.  Reliving a thousand times the lion's roar.  The soul shaking, trembling.  Precariously perched on the precipice.  (Hows my alliteration doing. . .)

     Rumination has given way to contemplation.  I write as in a journal.  You, even in silence, are my therapists.  Sometimes the train seems to pick up steam.  My thoughts turn to the saving activity of my manic side.  Most recently I've been seeking to actively use Facebook to promote the congregation I serve.  A boosted post, over 300 people reached, a dozen or more 'likes', a five star rating.  And I wait to see if this activity will mean visitors in worship.  Grandiosity knocks at the door.  And then fades again.

     Dreams have been interesting.  I seem to get locked into repeating over and over again a task at work.  Remaking the same part, time after time.  I wake sometimes, just to get a break from the relentless task that my dream world has taken on that night.  Ironic that the dreams that fill my sleeping are so filled with working that I need to wake in order to rest.  

     Another random thought from the silence of the night.  I've experienced in recent years significant hearing loss.  I wear hearing aids.  Without them there is a constant ringing in my ears.  But with them, the ringing, the tinnitus, subsides.  I need my hearing aids to listen to the silence.  Strange, but true.  

     Amid it all, the waking at night, my wife is concerned.  "How are you doing, emotionally?"  "Don't get up."  "See if you can just fall back asleep."  There is an understandable fear that the insomnia is a symptom of the return of depression or mania.  Could be either.  Except for the peace.  Quiet peace within.  And so I sing,

Hush my darling don't fear my darling

The lion sleeps tonight.

Meeting my "John"

It was four years ago that I was in treatment for depression and alcoholism.  I was able to resume my ministry for a while, beginning with the third Sunday in Advent.  This is the sermon I preached on my first Sunday back.

This was preached prior to my diagnosis as being bipolar.  I find it interesting that within the sermon I speak about my experiences that would later be diagnosed as manic and depressive, though I didn't recognize them as such at the time.

Advent 3, 2012

Luke 3:7-18

Grace to you and Peace from God our Father and our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.  Amen

“Come, Lord Jesus!”

Come, Lord Jesus!           We pray.

But first, it is John that we must see.

First it is the Baptizing firebrand of a preacher,  

                Calling the nation of Israel,

                                That enters into our life.

And so it must be.

You see the Messiah cannot come,

                Until the prophet prepares the way.

John calls us to repentance.

His is a ministry of truth telling.

The truth telling that is repentance is not

                The harsh words of a wild haired preacher

                Declaring “you brood of vipers.”

The truth telling of repentance is what happens

                In that moment when we look into the mirror

                And we can no longer pretend.

It is that moment when we see ourselves

                For who we actually are,

                                Not for who we wish we might be.

Such truth telling is painful and frightening.

So much so that many of us spend our entire lives

                Running from the truth,

                And creating a virtual palace of lies

                                Within which we live,

                                And with which we will die.

Unless we come to meet, John.

I have been gone for awhile, now.

                Perhaps a few of you noticed!

My first reaction, coming back to preach today, and seeing that the Gospel lesson began with John’s exhortation “You brood of vipers!” was that there was no way in the world that I would return to preach on this text.

But then, on Friday I realized that there was no more appropriate text for me to wrestle with.

For me, these last two months were a wilderness experience.

Like the Jewish people in John’s day, I was led into the wilderness to encounter John,

                But more importantly to come face to face

                                With myself and with the truth.

I have struggled with depression since my youth.  The one symptom that has been continuous since my adolescence was insomnia.

15 years ago I was first diagnosed and entered into treatment.  I went through about four years of counseling, detailing about every experience of my life.

And yet, I realize that in a very profound way, none of that truth telling was in fact the truth telling that really makes a difference.

During that time we explored:

·         My childhood and the lack of affection shown by my parents;

·         A relationship with my band director and the affection that was abusive

·         The deep hurt experienced when a pastor and father figure was involved in sexual misconduct;

·         The feeling of betrayal and abuse that I have experienced from the Church itself;

·         And many other issues.

There was a lot of truth in all of that.

But John was not there.

There is no value whatsoever in confessing other people’s sins.  No redemptive value whatsoever.

It’s not that those things didn’t impact my life, they clearly did.  And, the truth is that

·         Children need to know they are loved

·         Young boys should never be abused

·         Pastor’s should not engage in sexual misconduct

·         The Church should be a place of love and forgiveness, not betrayal and abuse

These things, are in fact, all true.

True, but irrelevant. 

Recognizing past wrongs,

                Confessing other people’s sins,

Only creates a sense of being helpless victims

                Or a false sense of self righteousness.

And when we do that, we are merely adding to that palace of lies in which we live and with which we will die.

But then there is John,

                Calling us to a rigorous honesty,

                Calling us to repentance,

                Calling us to lives changed, and  renewed.

These last few months I have been in conversation with John.

My John the Baptist was not a first century prophet,

But a twenty first century Psychiatrist.

What they have in common though, is that sitting face to face with them, one can simply no longer lie.

One must finally, face the truth, not about others,

                But about ourselves.

The truth is not easy to acknowledge.

The hardest words that I have ever heard were:

“Dave, you are an alcoholic.”

And a thousand times harder than hearing those words, were saying to my wife, “I am an alcoholic.”

Back in ’97, when I began treatment for depression,

In addition to an anti-depressant, I was prescribed Ativan, an anti-anxiety medication that also helps one sleep.  And sleep I did.  For the first time since adolescence I was able to lie down, go to sleep, and remain asleep for 7 to 8 hours.

What I didn’t know then, was that Ativan is highly addictive and habituating; AND it works in the brain very similar to alcohol.

In 2003, I was feeling so good that I decided to go off all of my medications, including Ativan.

What happened was that those receptors in my brain that had become addicted to Ativan sent off an alarm, which basically said:

                “If you’re not going to give us Ativan, you better come up with another alternative.”

Al most immediately I went from an occasional drink to needing two Scotch doubles a night just to sleep.

Throughout the first twenty five years of our marriage I had drank alcohol only occasionally.  Most of the time we didn’t have any at all in our house.  I would have beer in the heat of the summer, and perhaps into the football season.  I never consumed hard alcohol.

This last spring as my depression worsened, a new psychiatrist changed the antidepresent and put me back on Ativan, despite knowing that I was still regularly consuming alcohol.  That is a potentially lethal combination and could have cost me my life on October 14^th.

The time had come and I had to face the truth.

I am an alcoholic.  I am powerless over alcohol and my life had become unmanageable.

John the Baptist calls us to such repentance.

And my John the Baptist is known as “Dr. C.”

Would that that truth was the only truth I had to acknowledge.  It has taken a life time to build a palace of lies, and such self deception doesn’t go away over night.

One of the reasons my depression has been worsening relates to my hopes, dreams, and sense of calling in ministry.

When I entered ministry, it was with the most deep seated hope and conviction that if I were a faithful pastor, hard working, creative and caring, and one with a heart for mission and ministry—then the Church would thrive and nothing would be impossible.

When I came to First Lutheran I shared with the council that though the worship attendance had been on the decline since 1986, I was absolutely committed to changing that, especially because Sandpoint was a growing community.

Growing it was, but not in worship attendance or Church membership.

That decline in worship attendance that I noted in 2000 has continued.  And the only thing that has changed is the color of our hair, or how much hair is left on some of our heads.

And so I found myself being quite jealous of my father’s generation of pastors.  Pastors such as Bob Nale who entered ministry after WWII and saw the Church thriving and growing during the post war years of the fifties, sixties, and seventies.

And the more I thought about it, the more depressed I got.

The truth that I must now face, is that my own grandiose thoughts about how far my faithfulness and hard work could take the Church were really delusional. 

And my depression is the dark side of that delusion.  To allow myself to feel responsible for the decline of the entirety of Christianity in our country, and to beat myself up for my failures, is in the end, to fanaticize that if I had just tried harder, I could have accomplished what in fact only God can accomplish.

In this John the Baptist gives us an example for living.

“I am not the Messiah,”  he says, “but there is one who is coming.”

And so we pray “Come, Lord Jesus!”

And Jesus will come.

But first we need to have a frank, honest, conversation with John the Baptist.

We need to acknowledge that we are powerless and in bondage.

Our confession of sin says it this way:

“I am in bondage to sin and cannot free myself.”

In Alcoholics Anonimous this truth is reflected on page 60 of the big book, words that are read at the beginning of each meeting:

            (a)    That we were alcoholic and could not manage our own lives.

            (b)   That probably no human power could have relieved our alcoholism.

And then, comes the promise:

            (c)    That God could and would if He were sought.

Personally, I wish John the Baptist were not part of the picture.

I would prefer to simply have Jesus, a child lying in a manger, and one to save me from my sins without having to face the demands of John  the Baptist for repentance.

I would prefer not to have to face the truth about myself.

But it is only in truth, rigorous, painful, truth, that we are prepared to receive the Messiah.

If we confess our sins, God who is faithful and just will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.

God could and would if he were sought.

The bad news none of us wants to admit is that we need a savior.

The good news is that he was, he is, and he is to come.

And so with the Church of every time and every place we pray

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come.

Do Not, I repeat, NOT, engage. . .

It happens so quickly.  

A simple request was made.  I said, "Sure."

And I stepped on someone else's toes.  Feelings were hurt.  Offense was taken.

Nothing was intended.

Ah, but then the cogs start turning within me.  Defensiveness.  Anger.  Despairing over the reality of dealing with people in the Church.  Questions of "Why?"  "Why this?  Why now?"  "Is this really necessary?"

And all too quickly there may be two of us constructing mountains out of molehills.  

For one who is bipolar, the instinctive responses of fight or flight take on manic/depressive tendencies.  The fighter in me goes manic.  The depressed side of me just flees into that cavern of woe.  

And then the Voice cries out in warning.

Do not engage! 

Just because someone has a problem doesn't mean you have a problem.  Let them own their own problems.  

Do not be baited into an engagement in a battle that need not be fought.

We have limited resources for warfare.  Don't bankrupt those resources on meaningless battles.  

Would that I'd learned that lesson years ago.  

There would have been a lot less bloodshed.  A lot more would have been left in the tank for dealing with issues that really matter.  

Do not engage!  Do not let others take control of your psyche.  Do not empty your soul over that which doesn't matter.  

Let them be.  Move on.  

Tomorrow someone else will make a request.  A response will follow.  And perhaps yet another persons nose will get bent out of shape.  But that's their nose, not yours.  And its not your job to straighten other people's noses.  Nope.  Not at all.

Do not engage.  

Election 2016, Good Medicine

No use belaboring the point.

No need for a well thought out argument.

Sometimes things are just intuitively obvious.

For those such as myself, who have been diagnosed with a mental illness such as bipolar disorder, this election is good medicine.

"Heavens!" you say,  "Pray tell, what could you possibly mean?"

Given the insanity that has been paraded before us throughout this election, I'm convinced that my own insanity is minor.

And a little bit of medicine takes care of my condition.

Would that the country could just take a pill and be restored to sanity.

Alas, that's just wishful thinking.

The first step in the healing process for a bipolar person is the recognition that the condition exists.  

And then, taking the pill, doing the therapy, being cautious and aware of the moods one is experiencing.

And though life continues to have its challenges, it levels out.

A nation that is bipolar.  At one point convinced it can solve every world problem.  At another point, depressed about whether even one problem can be solved.

Would that we could see this.

Would that there was a pill.

A little balance would be good.

Yup, there is a solution to my malady.  

Not so sure about the nation's.

Where can I flee from your presence?

Psalm 139:7-12

Where can I go from your spirit?

Or where can I flee from your presence?

If I ascend to heaven, you are there;

if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

If I take the wings of the morning

and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,

even there your hand shall lead me,

and your right hand shall hold me fast.

If I say, "Surely the darkness shall cover me,

and the light around me become night,"

even the darkness is not dark to you;

the night is as bright as the day,

for darkness is as light to you.

Would that we might always have the perspective that time's passage affords.  There would be less despair, little doubt, more comfort, and the assurance that God is there.  Yet such an awareness awaits the morning sun.  When one is in the thick of it, one's perspective is obscured.

As one who is bipolar one learns to loathe both the height and the depth  of our experience.  Soaring with a manic euphoria is to be feared.  And the descent into the depths brings despair and a sense of abandonment.  In the name of a healthy balance these are shunned as an aberration of a disease.

And in doing so major segments of our lives are dismissed as symptoms.  Successful treatment is measured in the degree to which one maintains the healthy balance of the center.  Yet I would not be who I am were it not for the highs and the lows that have defined my existence.  This is the other balancing act.  On the one hand we yearn for that blessed normalcy that health brings.  Yet on the other, there is a recognition of the presence of God in both the heights and depths of life's experiences.

When I have been in the midst of a manic phase the presence of God was palpable.  Too much.  A delusion?  Neurons misfiring in the old noggin.  

And as darkness covered me like the night a powerful sense of being forsaken by God took over.  Where was he?  And how could he just let me descend to such depths?  And how long could I endure the awful silence of God?

It is only with time that the Psalmist sings of God's ever present love.

As those who have come out of the abyss, who have ascended to the heights and leaned over the precipice, yet survived, there is a holy calling to bear witness to the loving hand of God that sustained them.  And so, today, I'm at a place that I can sing the song.

And perhaps it will be that song that sustains a fellow traveler on this  bipolar journey until they too, can hum the melody.

It's not just that God brought us through the heights and the depths of our existence, it is that God was present in those experiences.  Would that we could only see it at the time.  

Dare to lead

Karla and  I were charter members of a new mission congregation during the early years of our marriage.  Agnus Dei Lutheran Church was where we began our adult lives as active participants in the life of the Church.  It was there that I was led into Church leadership, and eventually decided to enter the ordained ministry.  As I entered ordained ministry there was a deep desire, cultivated during my time at Agnus Dei, to become a mission developer and to lead in the development of a new congregation such as Agnus Dei.

At about the same time, Peace Lutheran in Otis Orchards was being organized.  Like Agnus Dei, Peace Lutheran thrived during those early years.  To this day, hanging on the wall in the entry are photos of the relatively large confirmation classes that Peace Lutheran conducted.  Those photos bear witness to a vibrant young congregation.  

I discovered something new the other night.  These two congregations had something else in common.  Each of the organizing pastors was engaged in sexual misconduct.  Both of them fell in love with and married members of their congregations.  Each of the congregations was thrown into crisis.  And that early vibrancy of the new mission congregations was interrupted.  Decades have passed and Peace Lutheran has never fully recovered from the effects of that, hard as that may seem to believe.  

To be called to redevelop Peace Lutheran is a dream come true for me.  And though it is not a 'new mission start', it will require the same sort of development that goes into starting a new mission.  We will have the advantage, though, of a dedicated core group already in place, as well as a building that is paid for.  

One of the observations of some experts in dealing with clergy misconduct is that it can take two full pastorates for a congregation to recover.  In Peace's case, one of those pastorates lasted 22 years.  During that time, trust was restored in the pastoral office.  The congregation has now been free of conflict throughout most of those years.  What is left to do is to rekindle the missionary spirit and vibrancy of the early years.  

The challenges that this brings awakens within me the kind of drive and energy that I have experienced before during my best times in pastoral ministry.  The concern is that it also may awaken within me the manic impulses.  A "savior mentality" is one of those impulses that is almost always present when I'm in a manic phase.  And I am well aware that the circumstances of Peace Lutheran could call for a savior.  

The trick will be to lead the congregation in mission, without getting caught up in a savior mentality and role.  And to have the courage to walk that fine line.  

One of the dynamics of Agnus Dei's early years was that the congregation was developed around the personal charisma of the pastor, to a certain extent.  This made the congregation even more vulnerable when things went sour.  

It's a reminder to me that though leadership will be required of me, I'm not to be the glue that holds everything together.  I'm not to be a savior, nor the focus of the ministry.  Another has that role.  

But on the other hand, the caution that being bipolar requires in order to maintain balance should not be allowed to undermine what are the legitimate and measured needs for pastoral leadership in this new endeavor.  Part of maintaining that balance will be to see that leadership more in terms of a 'coming alongside' and a 'walking with', rather than a 'going where no man has ever gone before.'  

I pray for guidance.  And a continuing balance in my moods.  And I ask your prayers as well.

Meanwhile, I get to be a mission developer.  Yeah.  

Health Insurance, again!

I'm officially enrolled now, with benefits beginning tomorrow.  After losing my disability benefits last year at this time I also lost the health benefits associated with them.  We were forced by circumstances to go onto my wife's employer's health benefit plan, which had no mental health benefits.  Needless to say, it was a bit of a worry for someone who has an active mental health diagnosis to be without mental health coverage.  That changes tomorrow.

I received a call to serve half time as a "transitional minister" at Peace Lutheran in Otis Orchards, and my package does include participation once again in the Church's insurance program.  Quite a relief.

There will be a few hassles.  For example, today I began the process of getting my meds cleared for coverage.  I will have to get pre-authorization for them, and my physicians will have to go through the step procedure protocol, explaining to them that I've already been on all the cheaper meds and they didn't work.  Hopefully this will all sort out in short order.  But the good news is I do have coverage once again.

We are particularly grateful for the timing of all this.  After quite a few years with her employer, a change in management and concerns regarding her own health led Karla to the tough decision of having to resign her position.  The health benefits we were receiving terminated Sept 30.  There will be no gap in coverage, as my benefits resume Oct. 1.  There are times in life that I'm overwhelmed with the conviction that God is taking care of us.

And then there are also moments when I'm filled with a certain fiendish delight.  Having had my disability benefits terminated in an abrupt and disconcerting fashion there is part of me that feels a bit like "I'll show you, I'll take a call, and then you'll have to cover me again!"  Yup.  Now they can pay for the meds, and psychiatric bills, etc., etc., that they stopped paying for when they terminated my benefits.  "Hello!, Remember Me!  I'm back."

Those moments are short lived.  

Mostly, I'm just grateful for health, and insurance to pay for maintaining that health.  Were it not for insurance I wouldn't be able to afford the meds, and who knows what would take place.  I think of the homeless and recognize that many of the homeless are homeless because they are mentally ill, and not able to receive proper treatment.  Could a similar fate have befallen me were I not so fortunate to have been covered by insurance throughout this journey????  I have a family I could have leaned on, but would I have?  And without insurance could they have offered enough help?

This is one of the reasons that I believe that there should be universal health coverage in our country.  Sick people can become an incredible burden on society.  Keeping them well, and able to work, is much better.  At anyrate, I'm delighted to sing "Hi Ho, Hi Ho, and off to work I go."

694

I was blown out of the water this morning.  As I opened up my other blog page, wanderingsthroughtheword.com the statistics on the home page surprised me.  Over 700 page views this week.  A little research and I discovered that 694 of those were from the nation of Israel.  

I had written a post about Psalm 137.  Perhaps that's what stimulated the surge in readers.  I don't know.  I wonder though.  My mind races.  And I am ever conscious of my own manic tendency toward a 'savior' mentality, and/or 'grandiose' thoughts.  

This is the way that works.  A simple fact that there were 694 page views from Israel.  It could be that something I wrote simply was picked up by the Google search engine, and resulted in the hits.  Did 694 people in Israel do a Google search on Psalm 137 and my post came up?  Could be that simple.  

But then I begin to wonder who those 694 people are.  Are they Christians, Jewish, or Muslim?  And is what I'm writing resonating with them.  From that my mind moves toward the question of ministry.  Have I stumbled into a new calling?  Has my blog become a platform for my own foreign missionary work?  Most of my page views come from the USA.  A sizable amount have come from Israel, and almost as many have come from the Ukraine.  
And then I wonder how I might make a significant difference.  My mind races. . .

Rein it in, Dave, rein it in.

I am not Israel's savior.  I am not destined to be the next Billy Graham.  

And then the verses come to mind, shared with me many years ago by a patient I came to know when I was serving as a hospital chaplain:

So shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;

it shall not return to me empty,

but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,

and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.

Isaiah 55:11

This is the thing.  Amid all the concerns that I might be headed in the direction of mania, there is this hope that to the extent I am a minister of the Gospel, God's Word, not mine, might have an impact in the lives of those who hear it.  I am not the savior (as my manic side would like to believe), but at the same time there is a Savior, and of him we bear witness.  

One final thought:  Could it be that God harnesses and uses the gifts of bipolar people for the sake of a bold witness to the world?  Can it be that this disease that could destroy me, might also be a gift to empower me?

A second 'final' thought:  Coming out of depression does not necessarily mean that a manic episode is imminent.  It's quite possible that an extended period of mood stability and a healthy balance is actually what is being experienced.  That would be alright.

Daring to have Joy

When mood swings are the problem, then one's tendency is to be concerned when one experiences either the highs or the lows associated with this disease, bipolar disorder.  Treating depression is a no brainer.  No one wants to feel that way.

But the struggle is what do you do at the other end of the spectrum?  

Currently, I am not depressed.  There is part of me that believes that thanks to the effectiveness of my medications I am at a point of a healthy balance.  I feel joy, yes joy, pure joy, in a way I haven't for years.  I catch myself smiling.  And wonder what's up.  Its been a while.  

Our lives are changing.  Over the last few years I've been limited in my ability to work and earn a livable wage.  We've been dependent on my wife's paycheck and my disability benefits.  Those stopped last year at this time, and a job opportunity opened up for me at a cabinet shop.  Today, I am anticipating resuming my pastoral ministry.  In addition to my work as a cabinet maker I will be serving a small congregation on a half time basis.  

This is a Godsend for us for it comes at a time when due to a variety of circumstances my wife chose to resign her position and is now unemployed.  For the time being I am the sole breadwinner in the house-- and it feels good for my ego.  Not that I delight in my wife's situation, but just to be here, once again, where I am earning enough to support my family is a good feeling.  Joyful, even.  

Energy is bubbling up inside of me.  I am planning on working close to full time at the cabinet shop, and half time in ministry.  Sounds like a lot, but the actual hours will be similar to what I often worked in ministry alone.  Most notably, as opposed to when I was disabled by depression, unable to even shower without effort, I now am quite convinced that I can do this.  And enjoy this.

The problem is that highs can be too high.  I have to be careful.  I have to monitor myself.  The call to return to ministry is neither a call to be a savior, nor to grandiose endeavors and quests.  Mania feels good,  too good, and one must guard against it and be wary of it.  

But what becomes of joy in living?

Exuberance.  Can we experience that without fear that it will give way to mania?  

One of the concerns I have is that fear of mania will deprive me of the opportunity to enjoy normal states of joy and delight.  I am convinced that I need to overcome that fear.  There are things that one can enjoy, without reservation, even if one is bipolar.  

And so I will march onward.  One day at a time.  And simply be thankful that the clouds of depression have lifted.  And pray that the other extreme is not looming near on the horizon.

Journey into the Bottle

Its a very common problem that many people simply do not understand.  Why do people become dependent on alcohol, lose control of their lives, often coming face to face with death, and then, in spite of everything that would shout out "Stop!", find themselves quite incapable of stopping.  

My views on alcoholism, or as I prefer to call it, a chemical dependency on alcohol, are rooted in my own personal experience.  As opposed to some, who from the first drink on were out of control, I drank moderately, and sporadically for most of my adult life.  Specifically, I could have a beer or two at times when it seemed appropriate, and then not have any for significant periods of time.  Football season was a time I liked a beer.  Beer and pizza was good.  But then as the weather turned cold, I had no interest in a cold one.  It might be months before I'd have another.

I might drink heavily when I was away at the pastor's conference.  And then nothing.  I could take it or leave it.  This was my story from the first drink I took when I was 18, through about my 45th birthday.  

And then things changed.  

Two things, actually, impacted my journey into the bottle.  First, I was prescribed Ativan as part of my medication in treatment of my depression and anxiety.  Ativan (lorazipam) is a drug that works in your brain in a similar way as alcohol, same receptors, so I am told.  It is highly addictive.  I decided to go off of Ativan and did so, virtually cold turkey.  Almost to the day, without realizing what I was doing, I substituted a couple of drinks a day for the Ativan I was taking.  This is classic "cross addiction".  I simply changed substances.

The second major contributing factor in my drinking, was that I began to drink for effect.  I needed it to sleep, to ease my tension and anxiety, and to relax from a day's work and stress.

The net result is that I went from an average of one or two drinks per week, to consuming 6 to 7 fluid ounces of Scotch a night, and this change happened almost immediately.  It didn't happen over the course of years, or months, but within days.  

There are three stages of addiction.  

When one first introduces alcohol into your system the body reacts negatively to it as a foreign substance.  Intoxication is the result.  This negative reaction of the body is found to be repulsive by some, and enjoyable by others.  My wife has never been able to tolerate even the smallest amount of intoxication.  I rather enjoyed the "buzz".  But whether one finds intoxication to be repulsive or enjoyable, it is the body's profoundly negative reaction to alcohol in the system.

When alcohol is consumed regularly, in sufficient quantities, the body does its best to adapt.  This is called "habituation" or building up a tolerance to alcohol..  The body re-regulates itself to adjust to the presence of alcohol, with the net result that alcohol begins to lose its intoxicating properties.  For those who desire the effect of intoxication, they must drink more to achieve the same results.  And the body continues to adapt, and more is still needed.  An advanced alcoholic can consume an incredible amount of alcohol, and still function normally.  If you have to ride in a car with a driver that has been drinking, pick the alcoholic.  

The third phase of alcoholism is that it becomes necessary to maintain a level of alcohol in the system to feel "normal".  I used to joke that it took two Scotch doubles just to feel sober.  It was no joke.  It actually did.  At this point in an alcoholic's life intoxication is no longer the problem.  The problem is detoxification.  The body has so adjusted to a constant presence of alcohol in the system that it now reacts negatively to the lack of alcohol.  Case in point:  As my drinking reached significant levels, I began to worry about my congregation smelling liquor on me Sunday morning, and so I decided not to drink on Saturday nights.  The result, which I did not recognize, was that Sunday mornings I began to shake uncontrollably, enough that I could not pour the wine during communion distribution anymore.  I thought to myself that this had nothing to do with drinking, because I hadn't had anything to drink.  My body, however, was detoxing.  It was having an adverse reaction to the lack of alcohol.  At this point, the addiction to alcohol is at its strongest.  One MUST drink to avoid the negative effects of detoxification.  Its a simple matter of pain avoidance.

But there are limits.  An alcoholic desires to feel that pleasant buzz, but now doesn't.  And so they drink more.  The "buzz" is gone.  On my last night drinking, I consumed over a fifth of Scotch, plus took Ativan, to calm my nerves and hopefully, experience the 'positive' feeling of intoxication.  It eluded me.  I nearly drank myself to death in the attempt.  

I believe that this cycle of intoxication, habituation, and detoxification is a pattern that anyone will experience given the consumption of enough alcohol on a regular basis.  No one is immune.  Some  people may be more prone to alcoholism than others, for a variety of reasons.  But I believe that no one is immune.  No, not even one.  Be aware of that the next time you think to yourself that you can really 'handle your booze'.  That may be a sign that you've just advanced to the second stage of alcoholism, and what I can tell you from personal experience is that it does not get better from there.

Sifting through Advice

Having received the report of the psychologist that recently evaluated me, I find myself seeking discernment.  What do I make of it all, and how can I best utilize the advice offered there.  I've already shared that there are some things that came out of this process that I am, oh shall I say, humored by.  That my number one vocational choice, according to one test, is to be a librarian floored me.  Not on the radar screen.  Nope, no way, no how.  

There are other suggestions within the final report that seem good on the surface but which are easier said than done.  Re-evaluate the condition of my knees, considering a second opinion, to the end that I might pursue an intentional exercise program to reduce stress.  OK, so that sounds good enough, but a psychologist's opinion about the state of my knees pales in comparison to the agreement of two orthopedic surgeons, one of whom operated on me.  I have a degenerative condition.  The old knees are going to continue to get worse.  The menisci are wasting away.  Eventually it will be bone on bone.  In the mean time I've been told to hold off as long as possible, and then will come the process of injections, followed by knee replacement.  It makes extensive exercise a challenge.

Its not that I'm adverse to exercise as a means of dealing with stress, cardiovascular health, or even my depression and insomnia.  I used to walk hours at night to unwind.  Just ask the people in Baker and Thompson Falls, some of whom called the police to report the "prowler" walking the streets late at night.  I probably logged ten miles a night during those times, even in the dead of winter.  

The struggle now is that I have a choice.  If I exert myself with exercise, my knees are so sore that it is difficult to make it through the next day's work.  One activity pays the bills, the other doesn't.  You choose. . .

I will have to admit that I also take the importance of intentional exercise with a grain of salt.  You see, when I was working a desk job, the importance of physical exercise was pretty straight forward.  Today, I'm putting in 10 hour days doing physically demanding labor.  I may not be "exercising" but I'm quite physically active.  

The importance of reducing stress is not lost on me though.  Its just that there is more than one way to skin a cat.  Walking may help cope with it, but I've found getting at the root of it is even more important.

One development that I wouldn't have predicted is the effect of "diversifying my portfolio", to coin a phrase.  Necessity required that following my resignation from my last call, I find ways to survive financially.  For a while I had disability benefits, I was working at my own business, and thankfully, Karla had a good job.  When disability benefits stopped, I was able to find a job in a cabinet shop, which together with the business and Karla's work, met our needs.  And currently, I have also received an offer to re-enter ministry on a part time basis.

The net result is that our livelihood is no longer dependent on any one thing.  Our eggs are no longer all in one basket.  I am amazed at how much that has reduced the stress that I experience.  There will be something to fall back on if changes should occur.  

All this is to say, that some very good goals came out of the evaluation (being a librarian, excepted!!), but how I pursue those goals may be different than suggested.  But then, that's what discernment is all about.

Resilience

"Well, Dave, you certainly get the "land on your feet" award for the year!"

These were the words of my colleague back in '99 when having been just terminated from a call in SE Montana, I received a call to serve in Sandpoint, ID.  It could have been so much worse.  And over the next 13 years I was to experience what will likely be the highlight of my career in the ministry, though I hesitate to say that because who knows what is yet to come.

More recently, my bishop said "I continue to be amazed at your resilience."  I like that word, resilience.  Life presents no small amount of challenges.  In the midst of those challenges we are invited to live by faith, believing that God will deliver us.  We will not be spared difficult times-- into every life there will come challenges, many of which might defeat us, if we let them.  What God promises, though, is to deliver us, not spare us.  Resilience is a gift of the Spirit I believe.  And it is  rooted in the promises of God.

When the prophets speak about the remnant that shall return, they speak about the resilience of God's people.  That though the nation was destroyed, nevertheless, God will preserve a remnant, and from that remnant a renewed and restored nation will arise.  A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse.  Resilience.

I mentioned in my last post that the congregation where I've been serving as a supply pastor was voting on offering me the position of interim/transitional minister.  Yet to be determined is whether the position will be an interim, or transitional ministry, the difference being that a transitional pastor may in time be offered a regular call to serve the congregation.  But that's a question for tomorrow.  

What I am well aware of today is that it's been nearly four years since my health required that I leave the ministry, and now today, I have been asked once again to serve under call.  There have been times in the last four years that I thought this day would never come.  I imagined that my being bipolar would make it all but impossible to serve again.  But today, the people of Peace Lutheran will call me "Pastor Dave".  Bouncing back, resilience, a spiritual gift.

I have been amazed at how this has happened.  Sometimes, God's timing is impeccable.  When I was being terminated from my call in eastern Montana, back in 1999, there were two council meetings that were pivotal.  At the first, a report was received from the Synod that stated that I should not be terminated.  The next night, the council rejected that report, and voted to move forward with the termination process.  In between those two meetings, I received a phone call, out of the blue, from a woman in Sandpoint asking if she could nominate me to be their next pastor.  I subsequently received that call.  

Over the last few years, we have been deeply dependent on my wife's job, and those benefits.  Currently, there is a change of leadership at her place of employment, and with that changing of the guard there are new expectations and there is significant uncertainty how she will fit into the new leadership team.  The security blanket which has sustained us throughout these last four years is now in question.  The only thing that is certain is that things are changing.

What amazes me is that even before those matters are resolved plan "B" (or is it plan C, D, or E) is in place.  I have been asked to serve Peace Lutheran on a half time basis, and my employer at the cabinet shop has consented to the change of schedule necessary so that I might work there as well, with the net result that my income will now be sufficient to maintain our household.  Resilience.

Again, I am convinced that resilience is not a personal ability, but a gift of the Spirit.  It is by the grace of God that we are able to come out on the other side of life's challenges, living to see another day.  And as the old adage says, "if it doesn't kill you, it will make you stronger."

Having said that, there is one thing I would like to say to God.  I think I'm strong enough, now.  Let's take a break from all the adversity for a while and settle into a stable new "normal".  It would be appreciated.

"And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us."

Resilience.