The True Self

As one who is bipolar there is an underlying question of identity.  Its not dissimilar to the "I am" of Alcoholics Anonymous. "My name is Dave, and I am an alcoholic."  The honesty of claiming that identity, of stripping oneself of all pretense of denial, is key to healing.  Yet it raises a greater question of identity.  Are we to be defined by our disease.

I am bipolar.  A statement of identity.  To know me, is to know this.

Or not.  Perhaps to know the true me you must see beyond the disease.  

I have been open about my disease.  Part of that is to deny shame a place in my experience.  I should be no more ashamed of being bipolar than I am of having had to have my mitral valve repaired.  It is simply a medical condition that needs to be treated.  It has been.  It continues to be.  But it is not me.

Or maybe it is.  

One take on this condition is to understand being bipolar as being one who is capable of experiencing a broader range of moods from the norm.  We all experience highs and lows.  Its just that one who is bipolar experiences higher highs and lower lows.  Another aspect of being bipolar is that the transition between the highs and lows can be, for lack of a better word, violent.  And uncontrollable.  Not that we don't try to control it.  We do.  I self-medicated with alcohol for a decade or so, and that worked until it didn't.  Alcohol gave me some sense of control.  I knew how I would feel after one, two, and three drinks.  If I were depressed, a Scotch lifted my spirits.  During manic phases, it calmed me.  And then it didn't work anymore.  I was drinking myself to death in a vain effort to find the relief that now alluded me.

Thankfully, the crash that followed created the opportunity for diagnosis and treatment.  Better living through chemicals.  A more stable existence follows.  The goal is to achieve a functional stability. The problem with experiencing the highs and lows of manic and depressed phases is sustainability.  And durability. One could die.  That last point is important to remember.  One could die.  

But there remains the question of identity.  Who is the true self that the "I am" refers to?

My wife would tell you that she is thrilled to have me back again.  When my bipolar disorder was becoming increasingly pronounced life had become a rodeo.  One moment I was riding high on top of the beast, and the next moment at danger of being trampled.  Rodeos are entertaining unless of course you love the rider.  Two thousand pounds of bull crashing down on someone you care for is terrifying, not entertaining.  So it is with being bipolar.  

And yet there remains part of me that feels that with the stabilization of my moods there also came a diminishing of my capacity.

When I explore vocational options with my pastor, who tries very hard to understand my condition, his response is frequently to raise the flag of caution.  "Is this wise?"  Rightfully there is a reason for caution.  Accepting a challenging position could easily trigger a manic episode, and adversity is prone to trigger depression.  How much does one trust the safety net of the psychiatric meds?  

And yet the purpose of those meds is to enhance one's life, not deprive one of life.

Somewhere within the mystery of all this lies the true self.  The person God created me to be.  The person that is both loved, and capable of loving.  

Finally the "I am" is not a reflection of the disease, but of the divine.  And for now, it is best to simply leave it at that.

Sacred Vocation or a Fool's Pastime

There is a bipolar nature to ministry itself.  An ebb and flow from the heights to the depths.  At one end of the spectrum is a conviction that this vocation is a most sacred calling.  At the other end of the spectrum is a depressing thought that perhaps ministry itself is but a fool's pastime.  As a sacred calling ministry taps into the manic side of our existence.  As a fool's pastime there is nothing but despair and an overwhelming sense of irrelevance.

And it all hinges on the question of life, truth, and that which is of ultimate importance.  And it is a question of faith.

God either is, or is not.

The Gospel either is a matter of ultimate importance, or it is not.

These questions confront us more and more as the culture in which we live drifts toward an increasingly secular society where faith in God is either non-existent, or a matter of little importance.  "When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?"  (Luke 18:8)

Because of this many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him. So Jesus asked the twelve, "Do you also wish to go away?" Simon Peter answered him, "Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God."  (John 6:66-69)

This is the thing about ministry.  We are caught between these two poles.  At one end of the spectrum we are confronted with a world that increasingly has no faith.  At the other are those who cling to our words as the way of eternal life.  The ministry we share as the Church is either the highest of callings, or a pitiful excuse of a way to live.

At times of deep depression, when faith eludes me, I sometimes view myself and my life as that of a modern day medicine man, leading the tribe in the ritual of the Ghost Dance, clothing them in the Ghost Shirts in the vain effort to protect them from all evil, and yet, unable to stop the bullets from penetrating.

At times of deep faith there is a sense of walking with my people from the cradle to the gates of heaven.  In these sacred moments there is a recognition that this ministry we share is an integral part of God's redemptive work for all creation.  That the Word we are called to proclaim has the same power as the Word God spoke at the beginning of time-- the power to call forth life itself.

What is truth?

It is either one or the other.  There is no in between.  The faith we hold dear is not just an icing on the cake, a sweet topping to make life more palatable.  Either God is or is not.  And that makes a difference.  It makes a difference in the way we live.  It makes a difference in what is of ultimate importance.  Or it is a fool's pastime.

What song shall we sing?

Living Icon

May it be found, when my time on earth is done, that in some way my life has made a difference.

And may that difference be a bit more substantial than, and perhaps even justify, the carbon footprint that my mere existence has left behind.

This quest to find purpose and meaning in life has captivated my soul for a long time.  It drove me into the study of theology and philosophy during my collegiate years.  It affected my decision to enter the seminary.  And it underlies every decision that I have made regarding call and vocation.  

One of the  struggles I've had with my 'alternative vocation', that of being a woodworker, is that I've rarely found the meaning and purpose that I crave.  This hasn't stopped me, mind you.  One of the lasting legacies I have left in many of the parishes I have served are the woodworking projects that I undertook while there.  

And yet that is unfulfilling.

In contrast to that are the words spoken to me by a parishioner that I did not previously know, that was cleaning St. Elizabeth's Lutheran Church in Ekalaka when my wife and I arrived there to deliver the chancel furnishings I made for their new building.  When I first served St. Elizabeth's they were a preaching point out of Plevna, and on a given Sunday there might be ten in worship.  One of the highlights of my ministry happened on Easter Sunday, when we baptized nine people, including three generations of one family.  I'm not sure what I did other than trying to faithfully preach the Word each Sunday.  Before I left we were able to organize St. Elizabeth's into a congregation of the ELCA.

It was over ten years later when Karla and I returned with the altar, baptismal font, credence table and pulpit.  But when we did, this woman, new to the congregation since I left, was there at the church when we arrived.

"You are a 'living icon' around here."

Those words touched me.  

I've thought about them since.  And what they must mean.  An icon.  A picture through which one looks to see the Divine.  In the truest sense of the word, a living icon is not simply one who is greatly admired, but one through whom people were able to see something greater beyond.

"Sir, we wish to see Jesus."

That is the hope, that somehow as people look not at us, but through us, they might see Jesus.  And in that, I, and I would imagine every pastor, find meaning and purpose.

At my current congregation in Otis Orchards I've been experimenting with using Facebook to reach out into the community and share the Message.  Boosting a post typically yields about a thousand page views, many likes, and even a few shares.  But with it also comes some interesting comments.

"F____ off!" was the comment.  I deleted it, and banned the sender (both to prohibit such comments on my post but also to prevent my posts from being sent to him, which he clearly didn't appreciate.)  But then this morning, he somehow was able to post another comment:  "Again I say, f____ off!"

I was taken aback by the comments.  I'm not here to offend.  Or maybe I am, if the Gospel so offends.

What I've been thinking about this morning is that perhaps my words that elicited such a response from this young man, had more of an impact on him than they do for a parishioner whose response is often a simple "Nice sermon, Pastor."  And perhaps banning him and his comments was not the right thing to do.  Perhaps attempting to engage him might have been better.

But in the end, it will not be my efforts that make a difference in this young man's life.  I can only pray that the Holy Spirit may use the message he heard which elicited such a strong response, to make a difference in that young man's life.  That would delight me.  But I'm not overly optimistic.  

"You are a living icon around here."  And  "F____ off!"  

Well, in the end I guess that is what we can expect.  Deep gratitude for our ministry and outright rejection, sometimes, at one and the same time.  

The Risk of Flying Solo

An opportunity has presented itself to me in my ministry at Peace in Otis Orchards.  Later this summer there will be a training event to equip pastors for redevelopment work, something my congregation is desperately in need of having happen.  This plays right into my goals and aspirations with respect to the ministry there.  The truth is that I am more committed to the redevelopment of that congregation that probably anyone else I've encountered, within the congregation or without.

Part of my drive stems from my experience early in my adult years when my wife and I were part of the development of a  new congregation in Gig Harbor, WA.  Agnus Dei Lutheran Church was just the right place at just the right time for my wife and I.  When I entered seminary one of my major goals was to be a mission developer pastor and perhaps recreate that experience for others.

And so an opportunity presents itself late in my career to do redevelopment work in Otis Orchards.  

One of the struggles is that there is little if any support available to cover the cost of the training event.  The congregation has limited means.  There is no support available from the national Church.  And our Synod is dealing with the reality of limited resources as well.  The question put forward to me last night was whether I had the personal commitment level to fund the training myself.  This would involve the cost of the training, airfare to Denver, lodging and some of the meals while there, and losing a week's salary from  my secular employment.  All this taken into consideration, there remains a cost/benefit analysis to do regarding the opportunity.  If having the training does in fact give me the tools to successfully redevelop the congregation, then its all worth it.  If  not, it's merely throwing money at the wind.

What I struggle most with, as a bipolar person, is evaluating such an opportunity and discerning whether this is an opportunity and call coming from the Holy Spirit, or whether it simply plays into the symptoms of my disease.

Manic thought patterns make one prone to careless spending habits, grandiose schemes, and high risk business ventures, just to name a few.  And this is the thing, any consideration of such an 'investment' has to be tempered with serious caution as to whether this is a good as it seems.  When I'm in a full blown manic episode I can make a good case for selling ice to an Eskimo.  Personal discernment is not a strong suit for a bipolar person.  That's the problem.

It is especially a problem when I'm left to my own discernment.  

One of my most successful efforts in ministry was also the result of one of my most manic episodes, the development of Luther Park at Sandpoint, an 87 unit senior housing project.  When the dust settled on that one my biggest disappointment was that in the end the congregation did not see Luther Park as its ministry, but rather as my baby.  That's the danger of flying solo.  It can all be about fulfilling personal dreams and aspirations with little buy in from the larger community.

Where I'm at in my discernment and thought processes this morning is that pursuing this opportunity cannot be simply a individual quest of my own.  There has to be some buy in from the Church, the local congregation, the Synod, and/or the national Church.  If those three do not see the value of such an endeavor, then I must seriously question whether the value I see is genuine, or fantasy.  

This is what I'm learning as I continue to work on managing my disease.  Every aspect of discernment has to be, simply has to be, confirmed by others.  

Carpe Cogitatio

Carpe Cogitatio.

Don't know for  sure that is correct, but it seemed like a good title.  Seize the thoughts.

I attended the Synod Assembly this last week.  We had a bishop's election.  Six years ago I was a candidate for bishop, though with the current bishop up for reelection there was not a significant chance of getting elected at that time.  

"Are you happy not to be experiencing the anxiety of being a candidate today?"  It was a question that was harder to answer than I imagined.  I'm delighted that in the end we elected a younger, energetic, and vibrant pastor to that position.  Given the state of my health every rational thought I have, is that my being a candidate for that position would not be a good thing.  Gratitude.  And yet disappointment.

I realized later that the most honest response would have been "I wish I was well enough to have been considered."

"Are you well, David?"  I struggled to answer that question throughout the weekend.  "Yes, I'm doing well."  Sometimes the opportunity was there to go through a more extensive answer.  I thought about that question a lot.  I was reminded of the words of a young man during the early days of my ministry.  He had AIDS.  "I have a very serious disease, but right now I'm not sick."

Carpe Cogitatio.  For lack of a better term, this is what I experience even now during the good times.  My thought patterns remain subject to being seized by this disease.  I know not to act on them.  I recognize them for what they are.  But they are there, and uncontrollable.  

I'm sitting in worship.  Trying to focus on the liturgy, the sermon, and to relish to be able to worship without being the leader.  Hymns are sung.  Lessons are read.

And then in the midst of it my thoughts are seized, and I'm carried away.  One of the most frequent and curious thought cycles I go through is that I'm the President. POTUS.  The focus is not on the drudgery of that most demanding position, but rather on some peripherals.  I imagined returning to our Synod Assembly as President.  

This train of thought gets oddly particular.  I imagine holding a town hall meeting, a time of conversation at 5:00 am.  (So as not to conflict with the business of the day.)  I imagine being asked to be the guest preacher.  I imagine mundane things like going and coming from the event.

A door is open.  I see the back hallways of the convention center.  And then a horrific thought.  I imagine being ushered through these back corridors in the building for security reasons.  And then I remember that photo of Robert Kennedy lying on the kitchen floor, his head held by the dish boy. . .  I wonder how often President's think about such things.

I'm preaching.  The most powerful man in the world preaching at a Synod Assembly.  First there are the Presidential words, and then, "Grace to you and peace. . ."  "We are in the presence  of greatness, of the most powerful force in the world.  With one word everything changes.  This power, present in a little bread, a little wine, stands in contrast to all the nuclear bombs.  For this is a power to create, not destroy."

I shake myself.  "What is Bishop Wells preaching about?"  I want to listen.  

Grandiosity is a symptom of bipolar disorder.  Sometimes psychotic episodes as well.  I comfort myself with the fact that I've never actually shown up at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue expecting to be let in.  Underlying these thought patterns is a desire for a global pulpit.  On a more reasonable level, this blog gives me an outlet for that desire, though the numbers are modest, I do have readers from around the world.  

I withdraw to the designated smoking area outside of the building.  Reality returns.  I'm in control once again of the thoughts within my head.  And yet at the same time I am struck by how out of control these thought patterns can be.  I can't imagine ever, EVER, being a politician.  Not my cup of tea.  But then I am the President.

One of the reasons to write about these secret thoughts, is to bring them out into the day light.  Perhaps such honesty will cause them to dissipate.  The burden of being President is too much for me to bear right now.  I'm content to be a parish pastor and woodworker.  

And so for today, that is what I shall be.  

Pre-existing conditions

When Karla and I were first married we made the choice to be insured by Group Health of Washington.  The rates were higher than a regular major medical policy (a little over $200 a month for our  whole family) but in exchange for the higher premiums we had no copay, no deductible, and enjoyed the care of the medical staff at our local clinic.  Our first two children were delivered under this policy.  No additional cost.  Katie was hospitalized for asthma.  No additional cost.  We were well cared for.

Then when we went to seminary we learned about the way insurance works.  Though we were insured now by the church's insurance plan, they were quick to inform us that there would be no coverage for our daughter's asthma for 18 months.  We were on our own.  We managed thanks to the good fortune of her not requiring any subsequent hospitalizations.

For the next twenty five years we were covered under the Church's policy, and in general we were satisfied.  As compassionate as the Church is supposed to be, though, insurance is insurance and we eventually came to realize what that meant.  During my first bout with depression, I discovered that mental health benefits were not covered like other medical issues.  I ended up thousands of dollars in debt, and there wasn't even any hospitalization.  The Synod even helped out with thousands of dollars of support during that time.  Still, I went into significant debt.

In my last major period of need, two major things had changed because of Obama Care.  First of all, mental health benefits were the same as any other claims.  And second of all, chemical dependency treatment was also covered.  This continued throughout the time of my disability as well.

Then, out of the blue, I was terminated from disability.  With that health benefits ended.  I was offered the option of continuing my coverage through COBRA.  The cost of basic health care would be almost $3,000 per month, pricing way beyond our means.  Insurance companies, even the Church's insurance (they are self insured), will do whatever they can legally do to maximize their profits and minimize their expenses.

And now we are at the point that Congress is attempting to repeal and replace Obama Care.  What will that mean?

One of the things that is reported about the current legislation that just passed the House, is that though insurance companies will be required to cover pre-existing conditions, they may charge more for them.  I fear that will simply open the door for insurance companies to do what they have always tended to do, which is maximize their profits and minimize our benefits.  So you have a pre-existing condition?  Yes, we will cover it, but your premiums will be so expensive that most of you won't be able to afford it.  This amounts to no insurance at all.  Its like Portico Benefits offering me COBRA insurance for $3,000 a month, knowing full well I couldn't afford it.

I have been insured my entire life, but life circumstances have resulted in a few changes in insurance carriers.  And after 60 years of living I have numerous preexisting conditions.  It angers me to no end that insurance companies may now be allowed to do things such as charge older people as much as five times the normal rate for insurance, or likewise, charge high enough premiums to exclude those of us with preexisting conditions from coverage.

I cannot for the life of me understand Republicans in this regard.

I had a colleague and friend who worked in the medical field.  She was highly critical of Obama Care.  It was such a bad thing.  I couldn't believe it.  She has a son who has all sorts of medical issues, enough to fill filing cabinets with his charts.  He is the very definition of preexisting conditions.  Not only did Obama Care allow for him, with all his major medical concerns to remain on his parents policies til he was 26, but it also allowed for him to be insured when he becomes independent, in spite of the preexisting conditions.  Is that such a bad thing?

Insurance that actually covers us when we need  it may be more expensive than insurance that does not cover us when we are sick.  But then why have insurance?  If you can only get coverage when you are well, you don't need it.

I personally don't think Obama Care is the best solution.  I loved Group Health.  Their philosophy was to focus on preventative care, catching things before they got serious, and managing costs in a patient friendly manner.  Loved it.

I also look forward to five  years from now when we will experience a single payer system, called Medicare.  Then the only question will be what kind of supplement we will have.

I personally believe that Medicare for all should be an option.  Of course, I also believe that everyone should be able to access appropriate health care.   Apparently Republicans don't feel that way.  At least they don't vote that way.

Give insurance companies an inch and they will take a mile.  That's their nature.

For now, I will simply try to work my way through my anger at the House Republicans and all who support them.  And hope that the Senate saves the day.

An Easter Faith in a Bipolar World

It was four years ago on Easter that I wrote my letter of resignation from First Lutheran in Sandpoint, ID.  It was an exhilarating experience, actually, as I shed the weight of the burden that my ministry there had become.  It was as if I had died, and now was made alive.

My life changed course.  What I determined was that I would now apply myself wholeheartedly to my next enterprise, Olsons WoodWorks.  Optimism overflowed.  I  had been in business before, back in the 80's in Gig Harbor, WA.  Only this time would be different.  I would have the courage to make the investments needed to be successful.  I immediately set out to purchase a CNC router, at a cost of over $50,000, as well as upgrading some of my other equipment.  Furthermore, I invited my son to enter the business with me.  Together we'd make a killing.

I had not yet been diagnosed as being bipolar.  That would come shortly.

And what I certainly didn't realize was that the resurgence of my activity, and renewal of my spirit was not a 'resurrection' experience, where one who was once in the grip of death, in my case having nearly died, was now made alive.  I was simply cycling into a full blown manic phase.  Depression set back in in short order, though.  First some neighbors complained about the noise being generated by my CNC.  And second, the phone didn't ring off the hook with orders.

The depression and lack of work became debilitating.  There were days I could do little else than lay on the couch.  My productivity in the shop was greatly compromised.  The business in the end was a failure, though I was able to create some great pieces.  We simply couldn't generate enough income to pay wages, let alone realize a profit.  Thankfully, at that time I remained on disability so that we had enough to survive on.  

Another Easter dawns this morning.  And life has changed.

There was not a resounding clap of thunder, and a wild swing from the depths of depression into a manic high that marked my regaining my life.  Rather, having been medicated with Lamictal, my climb out of depression was a long and arduous journey, one day at a time.  I had my disability benefits abruptly terminated, and that forced me to seek employment which I found in a cabinet shop.  At times the work was shear drudgery.  But that discipline, combined with plenty of therapy and medication resulted in the end with achieving a balanced mood, not too high, not too low.

I'm now able to resume my ministry.  A highlight for me these last two weeks was being able once again to preach extemporaneously.  No notes.  No 'safety net'.  Just me and the Word, guided by the Spirit.  And with it a feeling that "I'm Back!"

Such is my Easter Faith in this Bipolar World.  The powers of death have been defeated.  Life is victorious.  Faith is restored.

Its not just about keeping the manic and depressed cycles at bay, it is that these powers of darkness and death have been overcome by the gift of life.

For this I am deeply grateful.  

Christ is Risen, he is risen indeed!  Alleluia!

And we whose lives are hidden in Christ in God, are also raised with him.  Alleluia.  Amen.