Holy Calling or Devil's Playground

One of the most difficult aspects of being diagnosed with Bipolar II is reconciling that with the ministry I've participated in since my ordination in 1988. When I became a pastor, one of the questions asked during the service of ordination was "Do you believe that the Church's call is God's call?"  Throughout the 25 years of active service in the Church I experienced a strong sense of being called by God to the particular task at hand.  Much of that ministry was a routine part of the pastoral office.  I was called to preach, to lead worship, to teach, to administer, to visit, to counsel, to baptize, confirm, marry, and bury.  And throughout my years in ministry I sought to be faithful in this calling.  So far, so good.  I can honestly say that I was a faithful pastor.

And then God called.  It might start innocently enough.  "Pastor, could you help our congregation?"  "Would you be willing to support the Church's mission work in Russia?"  "I think we should explore senior housing as a ministry for our congregation."  What happened to me is that an incredible sense of calling and purpose took over and would become an expansive, compulsive, driving force.  There was a sense of purpose.  There were no perceived limits.  All caution was thrown to the wind, and it was full steam ahead.  

It was in 2006 that a corporation had offered to buy some of our congregation's land, and due to the price offered, the proposal was turned down.  A member of our council said in response, I think we should do senior housing.  Game on.  Off to the races.  For me, the calling of God would not have been any clearer had God spoke to me out of a burning bush.  I now had a vision.

The congregation had 4 acres of undeveloped land, but no other resources to devote to the project.  Someone gave $15.  A small grant of $5,000 was applied for and received from our Synod.  Every step of the way I ran with the conviction that this was my/our special calling and God would provide.  God did. I managed to find a company that was part of our Church with the expertise to develop and manage senior housing.  Financing was secured to build Luther Park, an 87 unit senior housing project that cost 15 million dollars.  It opened in December of 2008.  But that burning bush experience wouldn't rest at that.  The voice of God was still calling.

I had the vision that instead of a congregation developing senior housing, the Synod could develop a senior housing project, and as a byproduct birth a new mega Church.  Plans were conceptualized for a twenty acre campus involving senior housing, daycare for children, and a new congregation.  The Synod spent a couple hundred thousand on the project.  The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America was sold on the program, and a piece of property was purchased for 3 1/2 million dollars.  And then the economy collapsed.  And with it, the possibility of financing anything.

Meanwhile, in addition to maintaining my duties as a pastor, leading the development of the congregation's senior housing, leading the development of the Synod's attempt at senior housing, I also felt called to assist other congregations across the country to do the same and was consulting with numerous congregations about that possibility.  

In all my life I had never felt so motivated, purposeful, productive, creative, and successful. There were no limits.  I would have done anything to ride that high even higher.  It was the most intoxicating thing I had ever experienced, and I wanted more and more of it.  The thought of transforming the entire church drove me.  And then I wanted to die.

What goes up, must come down.  And down I came.  It turns out that there were limits.  The economy collapsed.  The congregation's senior housing didn't fill up as fast as it should have.  We failed to get financing on the Synod project.  The new rules for financing that emerged after the economic collapse of 2008 made it next to impossible for congregations to finance senior housing as we had.  And I collapsed into a deep depression.  Every "Yes" turned into a "No".  As the depression deepened, the will to live left.  I had began drinking heavily.  I sought help.  Antidepressant drugs and anti-anxiety medications did little.  The downward spiral continued until a fifth of Scotch and an unknown amount of a Ativan almost killed me.  The cycle was complete.

And in the end I find myself wondering:  "Was it all a Holy Calling or the Devil's Playground?"  Did God use my mental illness to advance the mission of the Church?  (And for the record, after some rough years overcoming the challenges of the economic collapse, Luther Park is thriving.)  Or was the Church a victim of my hypo-manic episode?  A Holy Calling or the Devil's Playground.  Or both.