The other victims of depression and suicide

This past August 11 comedian and actor Robin Williams committed suicide.  Most of us were shocked that someone who had such wealth, such an apparently happy family, such a full life would take his own life.  Most of us were shocked that someone who made so many others find joy apparently could not find enough joy within himself to sustain his own life.  Many knew that he battled with depression and with substance abuse, but his suicide came as a surprise to everyone.

Many comments were made in the news and ubiquitously on the internet about the joy his humor brought to their lives.  He had a way with words, with actions, with expressions, with his smile that just made us feel good.  Many expressed their sense of loss at his death.  Many expressed gratitude for his life, and many others expressed a sense of relief that his suffering from depression was now ended, and that he was at peace.

One of the positive things that came from his widely-publicized affliction with depression was the opportunity for people to urge others to seek help if they were battling with that horrible mental illness.  It seemed that the website of the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline was suddenly plainly in view (http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/), and people were urged to call the national 800 number for help:  (800) 273-TALK (273-8255).  I am grateful that such information became so readily available and visible.

Depression is largely an invisible illness.  People who so often seem intelligent, stable, productive, loving, compassionate, insightful, and emotionally "together" often struggle silently and in secret with depression.  If Robin Williams' suicide brought this to our attention, then I am grateful.

However, what was not made visible, and what remained unspoken and unpublished (at least in the press and online) was that there are victims when people commit suicide... beyond just the person who ended their own life.  Family members are affected in ways that are profound, and they are affected for the rest of their lives... and their unique "battle" often is also invisible, with suffering done in secret.

I know.  My Mom took her life when I was 10 years old.  My two older sisters had moved away from home to get married within 6 months of each other.  The one most recently married had written home to say that she had just gotten pregnant.  Mom had been hospitalized at least twice that I remember, with what I much later found out was severe depression.  I cannot begin to imagine even now, and I of course had no method or reason to comprehend when I was only 10, how greatly she must have suffered, how much pain she must have been in for her to conclude that death was preferable.  And I cannot help but think that if she would have been able to see beyond her own pain to see us, the members of her family, she would never have committed suicide.  The pain we suffered was excruciating, and was intense for years.  I still miss the fact that I didn't have my Mom when I was growing up... when I was in plays and concerts in high school... when I was graduated from college... when I was ordained... when I got married... when I had children... when I now have a grandson of my own.  If Mom only could have seen.  But, of course, she couldn't see any of that.  That is the nature of depression... and of many other mental illnesses.

If you are suffering from depression, take a risk.  Reach out.  Call someone: your pastor, a friend, a counselor, or the 800 number above.  If you are someone who lost a family member or close friend to suicide, then you reach out, too.  People care, more than you imagine.

I don't think Jesus was kidding...

"Blessed are the peacemakers," taught Jesus.

I don’t know about you, but to me those words seem sometime to be quaint or naïve at best, anachronistic or irrational at worst.  I mean, could peacemakers have stopped Adolph Hitler?  Could peacemakers stop Boko Haram extremists in Nigeria or Islamic State extremists in Iraq?

 

"Well, but it was a simpler time in Jesus' day," we might be tempted to say?  Really? Rome ruled Israel/Palestine with an iron fist in Jesus' day.  Anarchists and revolutionaries sought whatever means they could find to subvert Roman authority.  Public executions were horrific and commonplace.  Religious extremists encouraged public stonings for those they identified and labeled as "sinners."  People seen as collaborating with Romans were ridiculed and outcast from their communities.  People with leprosy were shunned and isolated, and people with mental illness were labeled as demoniacs.

"Blessed are the peacemakers," taught Jesus.

I confess I don't know what to do with this statement of the Lord's.  It stays with me.  It troubles my conscience.  It echoes in my head when I'm in church meetings that sometimes are less than cordial.  And I confess I don't know how to reconcile what often appears to be a conflict if one works for peace while at the same time advocating for justice.  It reminds me of one time when I was leading a training event for newly-elected ruling elders and deacons.  We were going through the questions for ordination/installation, and got to the seventh question:  "Do you promise to further the peace, unity, and purity of the Church?"  One of the candidates asked, "But what happens if working for the Church's purity disrupts its peace and threatens its unity?"  Good question.  I didn't have an answer then.  I guess I still don't.

"Blessed are the peacemakers," taught Jesus.

This coming Sunday is recognized in the Church as World Communion Sunday, reminding us of our Lord's prayer that we might all be one, be united, be at peace together.  Although I'm not sure all the ways this could/should be evidenced in the life of the Church and our witness in and to the world, what I know is that I'll be spending some time thinking, praying, reflecting about the need for peace:  in our congregations... in the Presbyterian Church... in the Church across the world... in places rocked by war and violence, whether in Mosul, Iraq or Ferguson, Missouri... in areas where Christians are persecuted... in my own life.

"Blessed are the peacemakers," taught Jesus.

And I don't believe he was kidding.

Thoughts from Two Ordinations

Within a matter of just about one month, our Presbytery will have the opportunity to celebrate the ordination of two individuals, and will have installed them to positions of pastoral leadership in two different congregations.  What a joy!

We talk about people "going into the ministry," "receiving a call," "becoming a Reverend," and many other things.  What does it really mean, though, to be a minister? Do you have to be "ordained" to do it?  Are only ministers "ministers"...what about ruling elders, deacons, Sunday School teachers, educators, health workers, youth leaders, plumbers, etc.?

Over the years I often have appreciated the pithy sayings that I've found in the writings of theologian and author, Frederick Buechner.  Here are some of his thoughts about what a "minister" is...from his wonderful book, Wishful Thinking: A Seeker's ABC (HarperSanFrancisco, 1993):

"There are three basic views (of what a Minister is):

1.     Ministers are Nice People. They preach good sermons, but they're not like those religious fanatics who think they've got to say a prayer every time they pay a call.

2.     Ministers have their heads in the clouds.  If you should ever happen to use bad language in their presence, you apologize.

3.     Ministers are as anachronistic as alchemists or chimney sweeps. Like Tiffany glass or the Queen of England, their function is primarily decorative.

"The first ministers were the twelve disciples... When Jesus sent the twelve out into the world, his instructions were simple. He told them to preach the kingdom of God and to heal (Luke 9:2), with the implication that to do either right was in effect to do both.  Fortunately for the world in general and the church in particular, the ability to do them is not dependent on either moral character or I.Q. To do them in the name of Christ is to be a minister."

Lorrie Cooney and Mario Bolivar didn't become "ministers" when we ordained them as teaching elders.  (Okay, Mario won't "count" until this Thursday afternoon... but you know what I mean.)  We simply recognized the gifts for particular forms of ministry that God already had entrusted to them, and we commissioned them to live out those ministries in Parish, NY and Skaneateles, NY respectively. We Presbyterian and Reformed folks believe the each of us and all of us have been "called" to "ministry," and the symbol of that call was our baptism.  What form(s) our particular ministries have taken are as varied as are each one of us.