I had the great privilege of spending a day and a half with some of my fellow clergy folk over the weekend. We were on a retreat together that for me was very helpful and centering. But while we were focused on spiritual practices, what I want to write about is more the recurrent themes that I heard throughout the retreat of frustration, depression, and feelings of discouragement. I want to talk about the pervasive feelings of many (most?) pastors these days of insecurity, of being in a wilderness that seems to have no end, of not knowing the path, of feeling a bit lost in a turbulent and changing sea. As I've mentioned to my congregations both present and past on more than one occasion, the national Church is dying. Conservative estimates are that within 10-20 years the Church as we know it (across denominations, and even across different faiths in the United States) will no longer exist. 20 churches a day closed in 2013, and that number is on the rise. The estimate was that over 10,000 churches closed in 2015. In terms of members, 1.2 million people stopped going to church in 2015 alone. The reasons for this are numerous, and if you are a pastor, you know that there is another article written every day about why and who and how to reverse this trend, what successful churches look like, what the dying ones are doing wrong, what has worked and failed to work. Article after article and seminar after seminar tell us how to do it differently, what someone believes is the thing that will change this all around. AND, the reality is, none of it is working. What might work for one congregation seldom works for another. We have seen attempts to slow down the decline that have bumped attendance at particular individual congregations for a while, only for a dramatic loss to follow a few years later. Most successful churches currently center on a charismatic personality, until that person moves on, is caught in a scandal of some kind, or dies, at which point their church usually collapses. The reality is that our congregations are all aging. Church is not a priority for our younger families at all, if it is even on their radar. Church has become very suspect, in large part because the ultra conservative churches are the loudest and espouse an exclusive, judgmental world view that is a real turn off for most of us. Fighting among different faith beliefs and religions doesn't help. The bad things churches have done shout from our history books, the good we have done is often forgotten. Liberal churches don't believe in evangelizing so we allow the term "Christian" to be co-opted and we don't speak out about who we are. Progressives are afraid to ruffle feathers so we keep quiet, and often become irrelevant: country clubs rather than places that actually do the work of God. Or we do the work (feeding, housing, advocating, caring for the poor and oppressed), but again, quietly, without fanfare, and so go unnoticed and un-noted. But even without this, other priorities have taken our time and attention. Spirituality seems to be more individual and less rooted in community at the moment.
About every 500 years there is a reformation of sorts: things change, dramatically, as far as the religious scene. The Protestant Reformation began exactly 500 years ago this October, so we are due for another one. The clergy I talk to see this. We recognize that God will be doing a new thing, that we can't see it yet, but there will come a time when we know what that is, and that death is just a step towards a new life that looks different; that times in the wilderness often precede very fertile growth and change. It won't be the same. There is comfort in that, in the belief and hope that a new thing is coming.
When I can step outside of myself and sit in meditation or delight in the beauty of the creation that God has made; when I can look at my children and hear their ideas and hopes and dreams for the future, when I can do all of that, I am more than okay with where we are heading. I can be excited to see what is coming next, not seeing a new thing as a judgment on an old thing but as a step into something different for a different time. I can see the mistakes we've made and make, and I can hope that the new thing coming will be more loving, more giving, more true to what I believe is the intention towards Love and connection and community. The future of faith can look radically different and I am okay with that. I want a kinder, more understanding, gentler world where we do stand up for the hungry, for the poor, for the underprivileged. I want a world where people understand that we are all truly connected and that therefore it is in our best interest to make sure everyone has what they need: food, shelter, community, kindness, respect. I can and do hope for a more inclusive, uplifting, empowering sisterhood and brotherhood of love, hope and practice. I am okay with anything that moves us in that direction. I know it will be different, and I look towards the beauty in that.
But for those of us who have made this our career, I have to be honest and tell you that however faithful we are, however hopeful and trusting and convicted of resurrection we may be, that there is fear that accompanies all of this. From a practical place, finding hope and joy is more challenging. First of all, people need someone to blame and the clergy are the obvious scapegoats for the anger felt by those who are losing their communities as churches close down and can no longer afford to continue. While there are arrogant clergy, most of the good folk I know err on the side of taking on more than is their due. We take it in, a sense of failure, a sense of not being good enough, and we take that in deeply. Depression is a very common experience among clergy these days as we work harder than ever, longer hours, lonelier hours, with less result, less return, less sense of accomplishment, community, growth. In the world outside of the church there is a huge mistrust of clergy. To have the constant experience of meeting others, and in conversation sharing what we do for a living only to see the walls come down and the judgments descend, to experience the distancing response of those around us, is disheartening at the least. We feel like pariahs, too often, and can end up isolated within our declining churches. Along with the depression comes anxiety as we face the questions of our own futures. I need to be able to work another 20 years at least. I am the sole support for three children. And not a week goes by now when I don't wonder how I will be able to get them to independence before my career is defunct, along with my ability to support them. I have had the experience of applying for different work, only to find that the distrust of clergy makes stepping into another career as difficult as remaining in this one. Some of you may say that sounds unfaithful. But my experience is that God gives us freewill, does not micromanage our lives. Bad things happen to good people, and yes, people are given more than they can handle on a regular basis. (Look at the folk around the world struggling with famine, lack of clean water, war, deportment, exile, and then tell me it is unfaithful to fear bad things coming. As scripture itself tells us, "the rain falls on the just and unjust alike.")
Fear can be a gift. It can motivate and move us to look ahead, to start the wondering, "what if..." and to try to plan accordingly. But in a world where the future is increasingly unclear, where each day brings new uncertainties and new concerns, the future that we fear is very dim. The "what ifs" are unreal glimpses at what is very cloudy. We stand at the entrance to a cave. What is beyond is anyone's guess, and the way through is not marked.
So we wait. And we watch. And we listen. And we try to hold each other up as we walk forward, reminding one another that we are beloved children of a gracious Divinity. We search our dreams and our meditations for meaning and direction. We study and read and attend conferences. We pray. But we see what is coming. It is the end of the Church as we know it. And we feel all sorts of things in response to that: hope, joy, excitement; also fear, anxiety, depression and worry.
Each day is a gift. And I rest in that reality as well. It helps to know we do not walk this alone, even as we often feel alone in our individual faith communities. And it helps to trust that we have been called to the places we currently serve. We are called here for now. This time in the desert is meaningful. We will wait and look for the next summons, the next beckoning forward. And until then we will be faithful in our work, striving to do what God would have us do, striving to serve as the people call us to serve, stepping forward on the journey even as we wait for the next turn in the road to come.
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 24, 2017
Wednesday, January 11, 2017
A Different Kind of Grief
I've been thinking lately about the very different kinds of grieving that people do. We tend to lump all grief together, we identify stages and experiences that people go through, no matter what kind of grieving they are doing, and while we "rank" grief (death of a spouse is worse, for example, in our minds than death of a acquaintance or perhaps a pet), that ranking shows in many ways how little we understand about grief.
Each person grieves differently, and each loss for each person is experienced differently. Yes, there are some similarities: most people experience some form of denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance (others identify different stages which can include guilt, pain, loneliness, reconstruction and hope in addition to the others mentioned). Most people revisit other times of grief, other losses, as they go through whatever current loss they are facing. For most, the order of these feelings and stages varies and there is a bit of "cycling" where you may pass to one stage then back to one you've experienced before then onto another and back again. This can happen rapidly or slowly. Sometimes, regardless of the kind of loss, people can get stuck, mostly when they are unwilling or unable to actually feel all the feelings that arise with a particular loss, or when the loss continues to cause other problems for them.
But regardless of these similarities, there are also so many differences. I've been thinking in particular about the difference between a death and a 'break up' of any kind of relationship, be it friendship, a schism in a family or a partnership. The stage names may be similar, but they look very different. For example, the "bargaining and denial" stages after a death usually don't last too terribly long because the reality is you can't bring someone back. Once they are gone, they are gone. But after the ending of a relationship where both people are still alive, the denial and bargaining can go on for years. We've all heard of people who still hold a torch for their exes years and sometimes even decades after the relationship has ended. I find that within those stages there are also different aspects than perhaps occur after someone has died. One sub-stage is a vilifying of the other, which may not always happen but often does. In this aspect or sub-stage of denial, the end of the relationship occurred because the other is just wrong, evil, messed up. We deny our own part in the ending because we can't face it. We exaggerate the others' part in the ending because it hurts too much to think we would be "left" or that the relationship would fail because of anything other than our partner or friend or family member just being an awful human being. Another aspect which combines the denial and bargaining stages is a continual hope that somehow things will be resolved or that reconciliation of some kind will be possible, especially if things ended with animosity. Most of us don't like the idea that someone out there hates us, or feels negatively about us. And I think most of us would wish for that to resolve, for the other to see through whatever our issues and behaviors have been and to desire healing and good will in the end. Even when we know this is an impossibility, even when we know it is not best for either of us, even when our smartest, most mature selves would balk against any renewed interaction that might look like the potential for reconciliation because we know it would lead to other problems, be unhealthy, or cause more damage, we still hope for it in our hearts as part of our grieving process.
The point of all this? While it has been a huge step forward that we now recognize that grief is a process that takes time and that there are different and normal stages that most people experience through grief, we still have a ways to go in understanding how every grief is different. While models of grieving initially are helpful so that we have a framework for understanding grief as a natural and healthy process, failing to see each grief as the unique experience that it is can damage our ability to be truly empathetic with what another person is feeling. Each grief is its own. Each loss will be handled and experienced differently by each person. Trying to box a person into a particular stage, and scheduling out how long or in what way that stage should be "mastered" won't help. The more we can simply be with one another through whatever the other is experiencing, the more we can support each other in moving through grief. The worst thing we can do is to tell someone else to get over it, or to feel something other than what they are feeling in the moment. The best we can do is allow another to go deeper into whatever the feelings are so that they may emerge on the other side. That means we have to let go of our preconceived ideas about what each grief should look like. There just isn't a right way to grieve. And there certainly isn't a map through the grief process. There isn't a "one size fits all" way to walk through our losses. I say it again: each grief is unique and the process through each loss will therefore be unique. There isn't a right or wrong, and there isn't even a "better" or "worse" way through. It will be what it will be. And the best we can do is hold hands as we walk our journeys.
Each person grieves differently, and each loss for each person is experienced differently. Yes, there are some similarities: most people experience some form of denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance (others identify different stages which can include guilt, pain, loneliness, reconstruction and hope in addition to the others mentioned). Most people revisit other times of grief, other losses, as they go through whatever current loss they are facing. For most, the order of these feelings and stages varies and there is a bit of "cycling" where you may pass to one stage then back to one you've experienced before then onto another and back again. This can happen rapidly or slowly. Sometimes, regardless of the kind of loss, people can get stuck, mostly when they are unwilling or unable to actually feel all the feelings that arise with a particular loss, or when the loss continues to cause other problems for them.
But regardless of these similarities, there are also so many differences. I've been thinking in particular about the difference between a death and a 'break up' of any kind of relationship, be it friendship, a schism in a family or a partnership. The stage names may be similar, but they look very different. For example, the "bargaining and denial" stages after a death usually don't last too terribly long because the reality is you can't bring someone back. Once they are gone, they are gone. But after the ending of a relationship where both people are still alive, the denial and bargaining can go on for years. We've all heard of people who still hold a torch for their exes years and sometimes even decades after the relationship has ended. I find that within those stages there are also different aspects than perhaps occur after someone has died. One sub-stage is a vilifying of the other, which may not always happen but often does. In this aspect or sub-stage of denial, the end of the relationship occurred because the other is just wrong, evil, messed up. We deny our own part in the ending because we can't face it. We exaggerate the others' part in the ending because it hurts too much to think we would be "left" or that the relationship would fail because of anything other than our partner or friend or family member just being an awful human being. Another aspect which combines the denial and bargaining stages is a continual hope that somehow things will be resolved or that reconciliation of some kind will be possible, especially if things ended with animosity. Most of us don't like the idea that someone out there hates us, or feels negatively about us. And I think most of us would wish for that to resolve, for the other to see through whatever our issues and behaviors have been and to desire healing and good will in the end. Even when we know this is an impossibility, even when we know it is not best for either of us, even when our smartest, most mature selves would balk against any renewed interaction that might look like the potential for reconciliation because we know it would lead to other problems, be unhealthy, or cause more damage, we still hope for it in our hearts as part of our grieving process.
The point of all this? While it has been a huge step forward that we now recognize that grief is a process that takes time and that there are different and normal stages that most people experience through grief, we still have a ways to go in understanding how every grief is different. While models of grieving initially are helpful so that we have a framework for understanding grief as a natural and healthy process, failing to see each grief as the unique experience that it is can damage our ability to be truly empathetic with what another person is feeling. Each grief is its own. Each loss will be handled and experienced differently by each person. Trying to box a person into a particular stage, and scheduling out how long or in what way that stage should be "mastered" won't help. The more we can simply be with one another through whatever the other is experiencing, the more we can support each other in moving through grief. The worst thing we can do is to tell someone else to get over it, or to feel something other than what they are feeling in the moment. The best we can do is allow another to go deeper into whatever the feelings are so that they may emerge on the other side. That means we have to let go of our preconceived ideas about what each grief should look like. There just isn't a right way to grieve. And there certainly isn't a map through the grief process. There isn't a "one size fits all" way to walk through our losses. I say it again: each grief is unique and the process through each loss will therefore be unique. There isn't a right or wrong, and there isn't even a "better" or "worse" way through. It will be what it will be. And the best we can do is hold hands as we walk our journeys.
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
The strength of those dealing with chronic depression
I just saw a post on Facebook about a pastor who has committed suicide. I didn't know the man personally and I don't know if his struggle was a long term struggle with depression or if something had happened that led to this decision. But I know that depression is much more common than we acknowledge, as is other mental illness. More, the stigma around mental illnesses is so great that it is difficult for people, especially people in high profile and leadership positions, to share their struggles with it. They fear the judgments, they fear being discounted, they fear being misunderstood. And the reality is that all three of those are likely to happen to people who struggle with depression. But again, the particular misconception I want to focus on today has to do with the belief that those who struggle with depression are somehow weak.
Let me be very clear: I think that people who struggle with mental illness are often some of the strongest people I have ever met.
Imagine a life in which you struggle daily with chronic pain. By chronic pain, I mean the kind that makes it difficult to walk, difficult to get up, difficult to breathe. It weighs on you, is present in every cell of your body. There is no cure, no help for it. And you don't just struggle with this once in awhile, but every day, every hour, every minute. Now imagine that accompanying that pain is a constant voice following you around telling you you are no good, that you are worthless, that you are wrong about everything. Still, with that pain, and with this loud voice (that voice of depression) in your ear, you are expected to "be normal", "snap out of it", "be positive", to work, care for others, especially your children and your family. You are expected to put a smile on your face, to be positive and upbeat, to interact in a meaningful way with those around you. You are expected to behave as if nothing is wrong and to have ears to hear the pain and struggles of others, while that voice continually tells you you are unlovable and not worth the air you breathe, while the chronic pain eats at your cells and your mind.
That is a glimpse of what it can be like for people suffering from chronic depression. Every day that they get up, every day that they go to work, feed their kids, interact with others, offer a smile or an ear - every day that they do this, they are acting with an amazing strength, the kind of strength that people with chronic depression often show every single day. It is not a sign of weakness that some commit suicide. It is a sign of unimagined strength that more don't.
I have done quite a bit of pastoral care and counseling for people with depression. But there is one person's story I want to share in particular who is a very dear friend who struggles deeply with depression. It is incurable in her case, and not really even treatable, so she struggles. The fact that those around her knows she struggles with depression but have always seen it as a sign of weakness has only increased her sense of pain, isolation and alienation. My friend went through a huge family crisis, very different from my own, but of a similar magnitude. And those around her kept saying how strong she seemed, how amazing she was that she kept going. But her private response to me? "If I could get up every day with the kind of pain that I feel with the depression, then getting up every day during a crisis like this was not the challenge that many imagined it to be. It was just one more place of pain, like all the others, that had to be lived through, walked through, survived. I had to do it for my family. There wasn't a choice. People do what they have to do when they love their kids." Yes, she is a woman of amazing strength. But not just because of what she has survived, but because of how she lives every single day of her life.
Because the truth is that sometimes people can't do what is best for their families. And again, I don't see that as weakness. Sometimes that voice inside tells those with depression that the kids and family would be better off without them. Sometimes, no matter how much we think they should know better, they can become convinced by the voices of depression, by the strength of their own pain, by the chronic struggle every day that suicide is the only option, that the world really would be better off without them and/or that they simply cannot continue another moment with that kind of pain. When that happens we lose someone to suicide or addiction or in some other way. It is tragic.
But that tragedy would much more easily be avoided if people were not so judgmental about depression, if they realized it is not something someone can "snap out of", and it is not a choice that a person makes, if they realized the strength that it takes for folk with depression to live each day, and if they honored the experiences of those people for what they really are.
I will say again what I said at the beginning of this post. Many of the strongest people I know are those who live with depression and who carry on. They are among us, often hidden, often unseen. And they live, despite what our culture says, despite the misunderstandings and despite the battle they have to wage each and every day within themselves. If we want to be part of preventing more suicides like the pastor I read about this morning, we have to start by educating ourselves about the disease depression. We have to find compassion and understanding. And we have to understand that it is strength not weakness that enables people to walk through their lives despite the depression.
Let me be very clear: I think that people who struggle with mental illness are often some of the strongest people I have ever met.
Imagine a life in which you struggle daily with chronic pain. By chronic pain, I mean the kind that makes it difficult to walk, difficult to get up, difficult to breathe. It weighs on you, is present in every cell of your body. There is no cure, no help for it. And you don't just struggle with this once in awhile, but every day, every hour, every minute. Now imagine that accompanying that pain is a constant voice following you around telling you you are no good, that you are worthless, that you are wrong about everything. Still, with that pain, and with this loud voice (that voice of depression) in your ear, you are expected to "be normal", "snap out of it", "be positive", to work, care for others, especially your children and your family. You are expected to put a smile on your face, to be positive and upbeat, to interact in a meaningful way with those around you. You are expected to behave as if nothing is wrong and to have ears to hear the pain and struggles of others, while that voice continually tells you you are unlovable and not worth the air you breathe, while the chronic pain eats at your cells and your mind.
That is a glimpse of what it can be like for people suffering from chronic depression. Every day that they get up, every day that they go to work, feed their kids, interact with others, offer a smile or an ear - every day that they do this, they are acting with an amazing strength, the kind of strength that people with chronic depression often show every single day. It is not a sign of weakness that some commit suicide. It is a sign of unimagined strength that more don't.
I have done quite a bit of pastoral care and counseling for people with depression. But there is one person's story I want to share in particular who is a very dear friend who struggles deeply with depression. It is incurable in her case, and not really even treatable, so she struggles. The fact that those around her knows she struggles with depression but have always seen it as a sign of weakness has only increased her sense of pain, isolation and alienation. My friend went through a huge family crisis, very different from my own, but of a similar magnitude. And those around her kept saying how strong she seemed, how amazing she was that she kept going. But her private response to me? "If I could get up every day with the kind of pain that I feel with the depression, then getting up every day during a crisis like this was not the challenge that many imagined it to be. It was just one more place of pain, like all the others, that had to be lived through, walked through, survived. I had to do it for my family. There wasn't a choice. People do what they have to do when they love their kids." Yes, she is a woman of amazing strength. But not just because of what she has survived, but because of how she lives every single day of her life.
Because the truth is that sometimes people can't do what is best for their families. And again, I don't see that as weakness. Sometimes that voice inside tells those with depression that the kids and family would be better off without them. Sometimes, no matter how much we think they should know better, they can become convinced by the voices of depression, by the strength of their own pain, by the chronic struggle every day that suicide is the only option, that the world really would be better off without them and/or that they simply cannot continue another moment with that kind of pain. When that happens we lose someone to suicide or addiction or in some other way. It is tragic.
But that tragedy would much more easily be avoided if people were not so judgmental about depression, if they realized it is not something someone can "snap out of", and it is not a choice that a person makes, if they realized the strength that it takes for folk with depression to live each day, and if they honored the experiences of those people for what they really are.
I will say again what I said at the beginning of this post. Many of the strongest people I know are those who live with depression and who carry on. They are among us, often hidden, often unseen. And they live, despite what our culture says, despite the misunderstandings and despite the battle they have to wage each and every day within themselves. If we want to be part of preventing more suicides like the pastor I read about this morning, we have to start by educating ourselves about the disease depression. We have to find compassion and understanding. And we have to understand that it is strength not weakness that enables people to walk through their lives despite the depression.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Living Each Day
A couple days back was World Suicide Prevention day. And I saw this video posted on Facebook:
I have found myself thinking about depression and what it means to live ever since. Many people do suffer depression in this country. And there is a stigma about it. People are generally uneasy admitting that they are affected by depression for fear of being seen as weak, or mentally "broken" somehow. It almost feels like people with depression are somehow held responsible for that condition whereas people with physical maladies no longer are. (Remember that in Biblical times, many diseases were considered to be just punishment either for something you did or something an ancestor did. Thanks be to God we no longer believe that!) This stigma and fear of being judged can keep people from getting the help they need when they are affected by depression. And in some cases, medicines don't help, are unable to effectively help. It is hard, really hard, to fully live when every day is a struggle and life feels pointless, meaningless, and devoid of joy.
But I also think about the rest of us. Because you don't have to kill yourself to fail to really live. Or to put it another way, many people who are alive in body are not really alive in spirit. Paul Pearsall, in his book, The Beethoven Factor, says that languishing is actually a worse problem in the United States even than depression, and that up to 75% of Americans may experience this languishing or failure to thrive. He describes languishing as a day to day walking through the motions, again without real joy or a sense of meaning or direction. It is a "shell" living rather than a real engagement in life. It doesn't mean we aren't busy. We are - horribly so. But how many of us go through life checking off days as if they were simply something else on our to do lists? "Get through today" - check. And then one day we wake up and we are 45 or 65 or 85 and we wonder where the time has gone, what we have done with our lives, and whether or not it was worth it.
We are called to live. REALLY live. To engage life with all of it's ups and downs, it's joys and its challenges, both of which are blessings and gifts. Thornton Wilder has his character Emily in the play, Our Town, put it this way, "Oh, Mama, look at me one minute as though you really saw me. .... Just for a moment now we're all together. Mama, just for a moment we're happy. Let's really look at one another!....It goes so fast. We don't have time to look at one another. I didn't realize. So all that was going on and we never noticed. ... Wait! One more look. Good-bye , Good-bye world. Good-bye, Grover's Corners....Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking....and Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new ironed dresses and hot baths....and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth,you are too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it--every,every minute?"
Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? Some do. Probably not every minute, but some live life pretty fully. That is one of the things our faith can give us if we let it. God calls us into a life that is willing to sacrifice itself out of love for others. That fragility of life, that realization that love is deeper than life, can move us into real living. Looking for God in everything around us can help us to realize life. Being aware of the many, many ways in which we are blessed - again, by both the wonderfully good, and by the challenges - this can lead us into life. When we are suffering from languishing, even being aware of each breath - Ruach, Spirit, Wind, Breath (all the same word in Hebrew) - can help us be present and fully alive in this moment, in each moment. Taking a walk and looking at the trees, flowers, squirrels can help us to live life more fully. Taking time to say "I love you" not just flippantly but with real meaning can help us live life. Even crying, real true grief, can be experienced as real living.
I am glad that conversations around depression and languishing are becoming more acceptable. I believe that talking about these things is one of the important steps in trying to heal, grow, move through pain, depression and languishing into life. Opening our hearts to God's presence in and around us is also an important step. Looking for life, and committing to live - not just for ourselves but for our loved ones and to honor the God who gives us this life - these are necessary ways of answering God's call to be God's people in this place.
Thanks be to God for the life we are given, this day and every day.
I have found myself thinking about depression and what it means to live ever since. Many people do suffer depression in this country. And there is a stigma about it. People are generally uneasy admitting that they are affected by depression for fear of being seen as weak, or mentally "broken" somehow. It almost feels like people with depression are somehow held responsible for that condition whereas people with physical maladies no longer are. (Remember that in Biblical times, many diseases were considered to be just punishment either for something you did or something an ancestor did. Thanks be to God we no longer believe that!) This stigma and fear of being judged can keep people from getting the help they need when they are affected by depression. And in some cases, medicines don't help, are unable to effectively help. It is hard, really hard, to fully live when every day is a struggle and life feels pointless, meaningless, and devoid of joy.
But I also think about the rest of us. Because you don't have to kill yourself to fail to really live. Or to put it another way, many people who are alive in body are not really alive in spirit. Paul Pearsall, in his book, The Beethoven Factor, says that languishing is actually a worse problem in the United States even than depression, and that up to 75% of Americans may experience this languishing or failure to thrive. He describes languishing as a day to day walking through the motions, again without real joy or a sense of meaning or direction. It is a "shell" living rather than a real engagement in life. It doesn't mean we aren't busy. We are - horribly so. But how many of us go through life checking off days as if they were simply something else on our to do lists? "Get through today" - check. And then one day we wake up and we are 45 or 65 or 85 and we wonder where the time has gone, what we have done with our lives, and whether or not it was worth it.
We are called to live. REALLY live. To engage life with all of it's ups and downs, it's joys and its challenges, both of which are blessings and gifts. Thornton Wilder has his character Emily in the play, Our Town, put it this way, "Oh, Mama, look at me one minute as though you really saw me. .... Just for a moment now we're all together. Mama, just for a moment we're happy. Let's really look at one another!....It goes so fast. We don't have time to look at one another. I didn't realize. So all that was going on and we never noticed. ... Wait! One more look. Good-bye , Good-bye world. Good-bye, Grover's Corners....Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking....and Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new ironed dresses and hot baths....and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth,you are too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it--every,every minute?"
Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? Some do. Probably not every minute, but some live life pretty fully. That is one of the things our faith can give us if we let it. God calls us into a life that is willing to sacrifice itself out of love for others. That fragility of life, that realization that love is deeper than life, can move us into real living. Looking for God in everything around us can help us to realize life. Being aware of the many, many ways in which we are blessed - again, by both the wonderfully good, and by the challenges - this can lead us into life. When we are suffering from languishing, even being aware of each breath - Ruach, Spirit, Wind, Breath (all the same word in Hebrew) - can help us be present and fully alive in this moment, in each moment. Taking a walk and looking at the trees, flowers, squirrels can help us to live life more fully. Taking time to say "I love you" not just flippantly but with real meaning can help us live life. Even crying, real true grief, can be experienced as real living.
I am glad that conversations around depression and languishing are becoming more acceptable. I believe that talking about these things is one of the important steps in trying to heal, grow, move through pain, depression and languishing into life. Opening our hearts to God's presence in and around us is also an important step. Looking for life, and committing to live - not just for ourselves but for our loved ones and to honor the God who gives us this life - these are necessary ways of answering God's call to be God's people in this place.
Thanks be to God for the life we are given, this day and every day.
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