Fit Flopped? Strike a Pose!

Okay, so maybe yesterday wasn't a normal day for Elizabeth and Benjamin Neufeld.  Nobody's sure why, but somehow, the diminutive Honda Fit Elizabeth was driving ended up on its side at the curb outside of their tony Bel Air home in Los Angeles.  But as you can see, their neighbors seem more excited by the situation than the Neufeld's.

That's Elizabeth, unhurt and unfrazzled, still in the driver's seat, with a pink-and-white blouse, with Benjamin, standing outside - both posing for the camera.  According to their neighbors, one of whom can be seen on top of the car, with the passenger door open, Elizabeth took some selfies with her cell phone, and then passed her purse and her cell phone through to her husband, who asked a neighbor to take a few snapshots before the fire department arrived to extricate his wife.

Is this how you'd be handling the aftermath of your car having flipped onto its side?

"Calm as a cucumber" is now Benjamin described his wife, as he chatted amicably with reporters who were clearly surprised by such sanguinity.  Some reports say that the Neufelds were in the car together when it tipped over, but others have video of Benjamin quietly describing how he heard a noise like somebody moving a metal garbage can, him going outside to see what was going on, and then seeing a group of neighbors around his wife's car, socializing like they were at a backyard barbecue.

"I was concerned, of course," he recalled, "but everyone was just standing around and she was chatting with them, so I just joined the conversation.  I didn't do very much. There wasn't much to do."

After help arrived, Elizabeth was safely freed from their car, and it was towed away.  The couple then went inside and had dinner.

Remarkable, huh?

The Neufelds are both in their 80's, and have been married for over 60 years, so it's worth asking whether either one of them should be driving at their time of life.   And what about that Honda Fit, which while being a highly-rated economy car, obviously has a wonky center of gravity when it comes to curbs?

Nevertheless, there's something indomitable about the Neufelds, isn't there?  A "let's just make the best of things" type of attitude that seems scarce these days.  Granted, the affluent neighborhood in which they live - their street runs the crest of a ridge with stunning views of LA - could be easily enjoyed by any of us, since money can be a great insulator from discomforts.  But how many folks even in exclusive neighborhoods like Bel Air are as unflappable as this couple?

Maybe if the Neufelds owned a $200,000 hand-made Bentley, like stereotypical Bel Air residents, they'd be more upset.  But then again, as heavy as those British super-luxury cars are, the chances of one of them tipping over are probably nil.

So here's to Elizabeth and Benjamin Neufeld.  We'd have never have heard of you otherwise, but your fifteen minutes of fame has been one of the good kind:  endearing.

Keep calm, and carry on... and pose for a photo or two.

Eager for Peaceful Unity?

For what are you eager?

Do you eagerly await some desired event, like the birth of a child, or a job promotion, or the opportunity to purchase a new car?  Do you earnestly and enthusiastically strive to do your work well?  Do you look for ways to do things better, do things for others, or not do things that you know you shouldn't, but you find fun anyway?

For believers in Christ, the Apostle Paul says we are to be eager when it comes to maintaining unity amongst ourselves.  According to Ephesians 4:3, he urges you and me to be "eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace."  And sure, it's easy to bounce through an altruistic verse like that, acknowledge how nice it is when "brothers live together in unity," and agree that "pursuing all that makes for peace" is a noble task.

Yet how often do you and I then continue on our individualized, independent pathways, letting our culture frame our worldview, and our personalities customize our interpretation of what Paul is saying?

Perhaps unity is particularly elusive in a democratic republic, where, politically, voters are encouraged to speak their mind and make choices based on their opinions and knowledge.  Choices are valued, alternatives are explored, and opposition is seen as a civic benefit, within reason.  Somewhere along the way, a country as diverse as the United States is supposed to still be able to find common ground in a basic framework of identity, ideals, and values.  Even if our brand of unity is held in the balance more by tension than a shared foundation.

In Christ's communion of saints, however, there is to be both unity and peace.  Whereas we Americans have little peace in our society, as we advocate for different things, there is still a semblance of unity, at least in theory.  However, that is not the model Christ presents in His Gospel for His people.  In fact, Christ not only expects both unity and peace from us, He wants us to be eager as we maintain them!

My editor at Crosswalk.com, Debbie Holloway, recently posted an article entitled "When Did Christians Get So Mean?" exploring the phenomenon of personal attacks by self-professing Christ-followers in our modern culture, particularly online and in social media.  It seems like everybody wants to mimic Rush Limbaugh or Piers Morgan these days, bashing their opposition instead of simply offering different viewpoints.  It's cool to be derisive and demeaning, and sometimes funny, too.  We're sure to score a lot more Facebook "likes" with vitriol than we are with eager patience, aren't we?

Eager patience?  Well, consider it the opposite of righteous disunity.  After all, we each think we're right, and when it comes to being eager, we each strive to prove it.

Yet righteous disunity isn't as easy to resolve as a plethora of nasty texts, tweets, and posts online.  What about serious differences of theological opinion that may be discussed with quiet, academic propriety and professionalism, but still represent diametrically opposed beliefs?  Consider, for example, the recent concern over the Insider Movement, or the Federal Vision movement of Peter Leithart?  Just because the wider evangelical community may not be aware of these heady disagreements, they nonetheless represent serious affronts to the peace and unity Christ expects of us.

So, what happens when some Christ-follower gets really excited about something they think the church needs to know, or believe?  Or how do we respond when we see something happening that we don't support?  How do we distinguish between good things that risk destroying an unhealthy unity among God's people, and bad things that are destroying good unity?  After all, sometimes we can be unified around something that turns out to be incorrect.  Kinda like when most everybody assumed the world was flat.  Unity itself isn't worthwhile, unless we're unified around the right things.

First, of course, we need to determine what the Bible teaches about the divisive topic.  However, if scholars believe they can interpret what the Bible says in different ways, or that the Bible is "silent" on the particular topic, then in the interest of unity and peace, what's wrong with taking a practical approach?  Why not simply evaluate the party who benefits the most in the matter at hand?  If Christ is the Person who receives immediate benefit (and glory), then that is something around which we should be unified.  If any mere mortal, or denomination, or political party, or opinion receives immediate benefit, then we probably need to be careful about whether it's something over which unity should be risked.

Being stubborn about absolute truth is one thing.  Being stubborn about what we want to believe is another.

How interesting to note that while a form of unity can exist without peace, Christ wants both to exist among His people.  Which sounds impossible, doesn't it?  Fortunately, He's given each of us His Holy Spirit, Whose Fruit should be sufficient for guiding us through our individual desires, idiosyncrasies, convictions, and preferences.

But even if we have unity and peace, we're still supposed to be eager to maintain it!  Good grief - is God expecting us to be saints?  How perfect does He want us to be?  It's hard enough being eager to get to church every Sunday.  It's even harder to be eager to share our faith with hardened unbelievers.  And He expects us to be motivated towards unity and peace within our fellowship of faith?

In Ephesians 4, Paul says it can be done through humility, gentleness, and patience, "bearing with one another in love."

Obviously Christ had this in mind when He taught that the world will know whether or not we're a disciple of His by our love for one another.

So, what are we waiting for?  With eagerness?

What Christ Prayed for Us

Perhaps it was appropriate on this Friday, the unofficial start to a patriotic United States holiday, that my morning devotional took me to John 17, which has been called Christ's "high priestly prayer."  You'll recall that this chapter includes Christ's supplication not only for Himself, as He was facing imminent arrest, torture, and crucifixion, but also for His ragtag band of disciples.  And for you and me, as well.

Not long after this prayer, Christ is arrested and brought before Caiaphas who, ironically, was the Jews' official high priest that year.

In John 17, Christ asks God to glorify Him, because He had testified to God's reality, holiness, and truth before "the men you gave Me out of the world."  Christ vouches for the 11 disciples who had maintained faith in Him and God's Gospel, and testifies of their faithfulness, even though they are not perfect.  Then Christ expands His supplication to include everyone who at that time, and forever more, believes that He is the holy Son of God.

And do you remember what He asks God for us?  That we believers would be protected from Satan, sanctified in God's truth, and that we would be united.  In fact, Jesus repeatedly emphasizes unity in His prayer:

"As you sent me into the world, I have sent them into the world.  For them I sanctify myself, that they too may be truly sanctified.  My prayer is not for them alone.  I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you.  May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me.  I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one:  I in them and you in me.  May they be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me."  - John 17:18-23

Here He is, knowing what is about to unfold for Himself, and indeed, for the entire human race.  And what is His central theme in His high priestly prayer?  He prays for our unity.  Yours and mine.

Jesus doesn't mention His wishing that we would be able to argue forcefully for our viewpoint in the public square.  Nor that we would be able to vanquish all of the immorality that consumes our culture.  Nor that we would be economically prosperous, or politically free, or that our taxes would be low, or our government small, or that gay marriage would never be the law of any land, or that abortion wouldn't be tolerated by any civilization.

Instead, He asks for unity among the people who would follow His ways, and model their lives after what He taught about His Father, our Creator God.

On the one hand, doesn't it strike you as a bit bizarre?  When was the last time you or I asked God for unity among His chosen people?   But there it is.  Of all the things Christ could have prayed for us, He prayed for our unity, and He says our unified representation of the Gospel will be a testimony to the world that God sent Christ to us for our salvation.

In other words, our unity would, could, and will glorify God the Father and God the Son.

I don't know about you, but I'm somewhat ashamed for myself, that Christ prayed this prayer for me.  He knew full well when He prayed that for me - for me! And you! - that unity is not what I think about when I think about Christ's love for us.  Is it for you?  I think about myself, how my sanctification is working out - or isn't, as the case may seem.  I worry about whether I'm following Christ's teachings well, whether I'm modeling the Gospel appropriately, whether the Fruit of the Spirit is abundant in my life.  Then I worry about other self-professing Christ-followers, and how authentic and appropriate their testimonies are.

Don't you?  After all, it's human nature to be self-centered, isn't it?  To peg ourselves against what other people have and do, and who they are?  Our focus is lateral, instead of horizontal.  We don't bury hatchets, we keep them strapped to our waist, ready for use at a moment's notice.

Unity?  That's something for which new-age freaks and left-wing liberals advocate, so that everybody can do what is right in their own eyes.

That's not to say that Christ's followers should strive for unity at the expense of truth.  People who claim to believe that Christ is the Lord of their life damage the cause of Christ by pursuing teachings, viewpoints, and lifestyles that are not supported by God's Word.  Many people can find loopholes and gray areas in Scripture that either don't explicitly prohibit what they want to do or believe, or are open to some level of interpretation.  When we do so, however, are we honoring Christ, or are we satisfying personal desires for some form of self-aggrandizement?

Anything we do that doesn't put others before ourselves can jeopardize unity.

The history of the Church - not to mention the world in general - is littered with examples of Christian unity being marginalized in the interest of changing mores and morals, reinterpretations and misinterpretations of the Gospel, pride, arrogance, stubbornness, politics, and religiosity.  There have been times when things have gone so far off-course, that people like Martin Luther and William Wilberforce have had to step up to the plate and call the status-quo into account.  Indeed, it could be said that Luther was one of the most disruptive figures in the history of Christianity.  But was he at fault, or the people who had dragged the Gospel so far away from God's intended purposes?

When you and I look at our evangelical ghetto in modern-day America, we're encouraged to believe that advocating for people, policies, and perspectives that contribute to disunity within the Body of Christ is the price we pay for being standard-bearers of truth and righteousness.  Yet, according to John 17, how much might we be misleading ourselves, and shooting ourselves in our feet by so grossly misrepresenting Christ's desire for us and our testimony?

In terms of how American evangelicals wrap the Cross of Christ with the stars and stripes, it should be obvious that we're doing our testimony more harm than good when we bicker over politics that have no Biblical bearing on the lifestyle we should expect.  We incessantly confuse spiritual freedom with political freedom, which contributes to our love of money and individuality, and inevitably sows disunity when it comes to how we think our country should be run.  In such cases, the words of Christ in John 17 ring pretty clear, don't they?  Unity in Christ trumps our political and economic opinions.

So, when Christ prays for our unity, around what should we be unified?  Our ability to affect change, or preserve the things we want to preserve, as an influential voting block?  Our culture?  Our preferences, or the people we like, or what we're used to and comfortable with?

Um, no.

We're to be unified around God the Father, through Jesus Christ our Lord, as Christ has made God known to us.

Of course, this itself can be a fairly open-ended objective, especially if you're as cynical as I am.  St. Augustine of Hippo is known for saying, "in essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity."  But it's easy for us to argue about what is essential and non-essential, isn't it?

I propose that one way to clarify St. Augustine's perspective involves determining the person or entity who immediately benefits from deciding to do something one way or another.  If Christ is the Person who receives immediate benefit (and glory), then that is an "essential."  If you, I, a denomination, a political party, or a nationality receive immediate benefit, then we probably need to be careful about whether it's an essential or non-essential.

Interestingly, you'll notice that Christ didn't pray that we wouldn't have disagreements.  Might that be because disagreements don't necessarily create disunity?  Even in the Garden of Gethsemane, Christ implored God that if it was possible, would His Father please - please! - remove the impending cup of wrath from Him.  That indicates at least a measure of difference between God the Father and God the Son, yet we know that the Trinity is in perfect union.  Besides, if God intended for all of His people to be autotrons, why would He create each of us individually unique?  Isn't it ironic that we're each created by God with our specific talents and identities, yet Christ wants us to be unified?

But think about it:  How could He be glorified if we walked in lockstep with each other?  Doesn't any ruler receive greater honor when their constituents, as varied as they are, work in unison despite their differences, overcoming personal opinions for a common goal?  So how does this happen?  It happens through our reliance upon - and faith in - Christ.  Not in, on, or through ourselves.

After all, what causes the hindrances, deceptions, and unloving motives that incite disunity amongst us?  What keeps us from reasoning amongst ourselves to determine specific actions that will please God, and within which we can be unified?  Why can this be a tricky subject to explore?  What's the reason a lot of us Christians conveniently ignore this part of Christ's Passion?  And how can we ignore the significance of Christ being so concerned about our unity on the very night He'd be turned over to be crucified?

Our own lack of humility, perhaps?

Meanwhile, Christ had suffered the ultimate humiliation a deity could possibly suffer - becoming like the people He was going to save.  He is the One for all.

And He wants us to be all for One.

When, in Memory, a Little Rain Falls

Nostalgia can be a curious thing.

Reminiscing about times past usually doesn't take place when one is enjoying life in the present.  So when we get nostalgic, it can be an indication that our current circumstances merit particular enthusiasm.  We look back, and however accurately we may remember things, and however happy or sad those olden times may have been, we rarely cheer ourselves up with nostalgia.

Some people engage in it far more than others do, and I suspect that, the more successful people are in the present, the less they look back on their past.  The less, maybe, they feel they need to look back on their past.  Maybe we don't appreciate what we have in the present, or we haven't bothered to evaluate whatever progress we might have achieved between then and now, but the less successful, content, and confident we are, the more we ten to let memories be recycled as contemporary amusement.

I'm not sure how Biblical nostalgia is.  When the Israelites did it in the desert, God became frustrated with them.  Here He'd saved them from enslavement in Egypt, and His people were nevertheless grumbling about how good life seemed to be in captivity, compared with their temporary reality of homelessness and wandering.  They were not just nostalgic, but ungrateful as well.

The dynamic Apostle Paul encourages the church at Philippi to forget what is behind them, and to press on ahead for the cause of Christ.  Indeed, Paul was all about progress and focusing forward.

Yet the Psalmist almost constantly rhapsodizes over the faithfulness of God, proven time and time again, and remembered as proofs for why continuing to trust in our Lord is not a fruitless endeavor.

Undoubtedly, what we hope to get out of nostalgia likely determines whether it can be beneficial to us or not.  Wallowing in a nostalgia for days we can no way recreate in our present reality likely dishonors God, Who desires that we mature in our faith.  However, fond memories in and of themselves can be healthy, can't they?  They can serve as a form of encouragement, and even help to put our present reality in context.

Maybe it's my chronic clinical depression, or maybe it's my age as a late-forties guy about to embark on his midlife crisis, but I find that I'm exploring my past with a greater interest than I think I probably lived it.

When I was a child growing up in upstate New York, for example, I didn't think those days were all that special.  I realize that many kids don't appreciate their growing-up years, no matter how good or privileged they may have been.  My brother is a year younger than me, and he's never been a nostalgic person.  And a few years ago, I wouldn't have described myself as one, either.  But lately, I'm surprised at how often I'm on nostalgic trips down memory lane.

Well, actually, nostalgic trips down Beach Road, the rural country lane bisecting our old farm.  And that century-old farmhouse in which we lived for the first twelve years of my life.

Sometimes, I worry that reliving memories from the past is unhelpful for a person in my condition, and an unhealthy waste of time, recollection, and emotions.  However, I also wonder if the stories I relive, and the experiences I unearth from my mind's dusty archives - particularly memories of benign or positive events - aren't still on deposit in my memory for some beneficial purpose.  I've had psychotherapists over the years warn me not to blame my depression on my past, or my parents, or try to derive profound meanings out of them.  Our past can help explain how we've gotten to where we are today, but even if somebody is on trial in a court of law, blame based on memory is tricky to prove.

I've wondered if traveling back and spending mental time on the north shore of Oneida Lake, where I grew up, might help me make sense of why I am where I am today.  I can't afford to travel back there physically, even for a visit, and hardly anybody's left up there that would remember me, or my family; we've no relatives there.  Besides, that area's economy has pretty much evaporated over the decades we've been away.  Whereas here in Arlington, Texas, where I currently live, when we'd go away for a month or so to Maine, returning was always an adventure in discovery, as some new restaurant would have opened while we were away, or some new housing development begun.  But when my parents and I drove through central New York and visited our old house back in the early 2000's, it was like we'd stepped into a time warp, when the towns and villages of my childhood appeared to have seen no progressive economic activity of any kind since we left.

In fact, the narrow main street in our old little village, Cleveland, perched right on the lake, had been razed of virtually every commercial building.  They were ancient, rickety structures even when we left.  It was never a wildly prosperous town; what fortunes it had enjoyed came early, as a glass-making center after the Civil War.  By the time my parents moved there, transferred by my father's company from New York City, it was mostly a bedroom community for Syracuse, with a few hundred hardy souls, and some light industry, including lumber companies and a family-owned wire making firm.

Today, even the lumber companies are gone, despite all of the forests surrounding the village.  The glass works were long gone before we ever arrived.  What was once merely a dumpy community when we lived there has become a downright impoverished one.  So many people have moved away because of the area's miserable economy, the little elementary school I attended, from Kindergarten through the Sixth Grade, is closing permanently after this current school year ends.

It was the village's last major employer.

I have never liked school, and I hated my time at Cleveland Elementary.  When I talk about nostalgia, I have absolutely none regarding that brick prison on the hill with views of the lake.  I liked recess, when we got to run around the playground that had been situated under a couple of huge old trees - something most modern school administrations would probably prohibit for the liability factor.  I thought gym class was organized torture, and the one big shower room that all of us boys shared communally haunted me like some sort of twisted, perverted punishment.  I'm scrupulously adamant about my personal cleanliness, but I only showered after gym class once or twice - I could tolerate my sticky clothes and smelly skin better than the misery of that shower.

Can you remember all of your elementary teachers?  I can, from Mrs. Arnold in Kindergarten, to Miss Wells in First Grade, Mrs. Parker in second, Miss Marzinski in third, Mrs. Marsh in fourth, Mr. Archambeau in fifth, and Mrs. Wolfe in sixth.

Summers in Cleveland, New York, were frustratingly short, yet blissfully carefree.  Our vintage, overgrown farm featured a wonderfully broad yard, plus forests with old lumber trails offering plenty of ways for my brother and me to run around and use our imaginations.

Some friends gave us a pure-bred collie named Felice, and I don't think she ever wore a collar during her life with us.  She certainly never was on a leash.  She ran around with my brother and me, even out into the sparsely-trafficked road when we learned how to ride bicycles.  She'd spring alongside of us, playfully barking at us, or huffing and panting, with her long tongue flapping from her open mouth.

Dad built her a modern doghouse, complete with a little entry room, a wall, and then another back room for her to escape the howling winds of winter.  It was on our back porch, so it was protected from the rain and snow, and she never seemed to get too cold out there.

Summers, though, were a bit different, since upstate New York can get suffocatingly steamy and humid.  One summer, when Dad's sister and mother were visiting from Brooklyn, we were having a good old summer thunderstorm, replete with blinding lightening and crashing thunder, and buckets and buckets of rain.  Like many dogs, Felice was petrified by thunder, and she refused to stay in her doggie house while it sounded like the entire planet was crashing down around her.  Despite the pouring rain, she'd run in circles around our big old farmhouse, faster and faster at each clap of thunder.  It was sad and funny at the same time to see her so spooked, yet so swift and agile around the turns.

My aunt, Helena, took pity on poor Felice during that particular storm, and convinced Mom to let her inside to calm down.  My brother and I were already upstairs in bed, and I can't remember if Dad was away on business or not, but he wasn't home at that hour of the evening.  My grandmother, whom we called "Mummo," which is "grandmother" in Finnish, had gone to bed as well, in a guest bedroom on the first floor, that had a big bed.

As the storm raged louder and louder, although we rarely let Felice into the house, Mom caved and let her inside at Helena's insistence, into our laundry room.  It had tile floors where she could dry the dog, and doors to the rest of the house to keep her confined after everybody went to bed.

If the storm lasted that long.

But Felice wasn't going to wait and find out.

After she'd been closed up in the laundry room, at the next huge clap of thunder, Felice burst open a door to the rest of the house - she charged through the living room, and into the bedroom where Mummo had just settled in for the night!  Panicked, wet, smelly, and whimpering, Felice dove under the bed, initially frightening Mummo, who had no idea what had just happened, or what was now very much under her bed.

So Mummo began hollering for Helena, and Mom was trying to figure out where Felice had gone - it was pandemonium!  It woke up my brother and me, and we raced downstairs to find Mummo sitting up in her bed - having figured out herself by then what had happened - and she was laughing so hard, she was crying!  Here she was, a hardened city dweller from Brooklyn, having come to the country for some peace and quiet, and her son's wet, stinking, freaked-out dog was cowering under her bed!

Helena and Mom were on their hands and knees, on either side of the bed, trying to coax Felice out from underneath it.  I looked under the bed myself, and Felice was definitely NOT about to leave her little cave!

Poor dog.  I can still remember that evening like it was yesterday.  But it didn't happen yesterday.  It happened decades ago.

Why is it that some of our memories can remain so vivid, especially memories that don't seem to have a moral, or a life lesson, or even any particularly searing emotion attached to them?

In the oddest times, however, I find myself nostalgic for those days when an ordinary summer thunderstorm could invigorate an otherwise soggy, ordinary evening.  Those summer evenings in upstate New York when the sweet smells of pine trees, grass, flowers, tree bark, and rain coalesced.  And only during three precious months out of otherwise chilly and crisp northern years.

I don't want to go back and re-live my childhood.  But at least I think I'm appreciating its good times more.

And what is that worth?

Palette of a Spring Tableau

Yellow, green, and blue.

Yes, I know yellow and blue make green!  But looking out my window on this Friday afternoon, the dominant colors I see are the yellow sunshine glowing through rustling, green leaves on the nine towering trees gracing our front yard.  With a beautiful light blue sky peeking around them, as the background.

Spring days in Texas can be wonderful.  This season's temperate weather comes early for us here, but if you live up north, just know that summer's scorching heat comes early, too!  This weekend, meteorologists are predicting strong and possibly dangerous thunderstorms, with large hail and maybe even tornadoes.  But when we're not being belted with balls of ice, or cowering in our closets while warning sires wail outside, we residents of north Texas have little to complain about until June.

Weatherwise, that is.

The younger daughter of the older couple who used to live next door to us is having a garage sale, cleaning out stuff that her late mother had collected.  They're moving into the house this summer, and bringing their own furniture with them, naturally.  So the street out front has been busy all day, with people stopping by the sale.  And she's got stuff not just in the two-car garage, but the driveway, the walkway leading to the front door, and across the lawn.  Under a huge tree, she's arranged upholstered furniture like it was still in a living room.  I glanced over there briefly earlier today, and it looks like a spread for one of those high-society picnics England's country house bluebloods throw on PBS's Masterpiece Theater.

When the other next-door neighbor's kids got home from school, the neighborhood mom who'd brought them, along with her own two kiddos, all went across our sun-dappled yard, under our trees, to the other side of our home, where the garage sale is probably winding up for the day.  The kids are all blondes, and their yellow hair fluttered in the breeze. 

After a little while, all the kids - they're elementary-aged - came back across our yard, slowly this time, each one preoccupied by some prized purchase they'd made at the sale.  One person's trash is indeed another person's treasure.  More parents followed behind - the moms, waiting for dads to come home from work.

Across the street, the lawn service guys have shown up to mow and edge.  We're fortunate to have a homeowner in the neighborhood who takes so much pride in her property, her yard crew comes out about twice a week to maintain it.  Unfortunately for her, she doesn't have neighbors across from her who are as wealthy, or as immaculate!

Manicured yards are nice, but I think tidy yards are nice, too.  And a lot less hassle.  Especially when I don't have a lawn service.

Still, it all seems to fit into the late afternoon's mellow tableau.  In my mind, it's pretty close to what a sunny, mild, Friday afternoon is supposed to look like in suburban America.  We don't live in the wealthiest part of town, but our neighborhood isn't exactly deprived of its pleasures, either.  Sometimes, counting our blessings doesn't require advanced arithmetic. 

They say life is what happens when you're waiting for big, exciting events to take place.  And afternoons like this give us a good opportunity to enjoy life that isn't big or exciting.

Hey;  if those storms crash on through tomorrow and Sunday, as predicted, that big weather will be excitement enough.  Besides, we'll need the blue rain to help keep everything nice and green for a while longer.

 

Happy Pills: Overmedicated or Overly Cynical?

Prozac people.

I thought I knew about them.  They were the timid folks who wanted to live in a chemical haze to insulate themselves from anxiety and pressure.  Either that, or they were so crazy that if they didn't take their medication, they'd have to be fitted for a straitjacket.

When my Greenwich Village psychotherapist, and then my Upper West Side psychologist, both told me I needed to go on Prozac, I resisted.  The stigma of having to take a happy pill seemed almost as unbearable to me as the mental darkness that was cascading over me like unending buckets of black paint.  But my therapist - at the time, the only practicing evangelical mental health professional on the entire island of Manhattan - had already told me that if I didn't agree to be medicated, her further work with me as her patient would be pretty futile.  She'd notify my parents that she was absolving herself of any liability for my safety.  I'd been on a suicide watch, but while I didn't take that very seriously, how was she to know that I didn't?  Or wouldn't?
 
So I jumped on the happy pill bandwagon, and I've been there ever since.  I wasn't on Prozac for very long, however, before my doctors found some better medications to which I've responded more successfully.  A couple of people have asked me what I'm currently taking, and for privacy reasons, I'm won't provide that information on the Internet.  But I'll allow that I'm on a fairly high dosage, partly because I'm overweight.

And yes, I'm overweight partly because antidepressants usually prevent people from losing weight.  I stay on them, however, because I'm living proof - literally - that they can work.

Nevertheless, when critics of antidepressants respond to testimonies like mine, I can't disagree with at least part of their argument.

The pervasiveness of clinical depression in our society has indeed become a cause for legitimate concern, and not just for people who question whether medically-related depression really exists.  Just today, a remarkably candid article came out in the New York Times by Dr. Doris Iarovicia, a Duke University psychiatrist who's troubled by the fact that nearly a quarter of all incoming college students are taking prescription antidepressants.  And she believes many of these young people are being overmedicated.

To their own detriment, and to our society's.

Should all these people being diagnosed with clinical depression really be getting that diagnosis, or are doctors and therapists creating a huge market for their services to justify their own professional existence?  Has our health insurance industry, as Dr. Iarovicia suggests, inadvertently created an artificial dependency on antidepressants because pharmaceuticals are cheaper to insure than psychotherapist visits?  Are we all simply being enablers, allowing validation for somebody else's weaknesses because of our own weaknesses?  Are we more eager to hand-hold, instead of butt-kick?  Or has our society become so complex and complicated that some of us have discovered the limits of our endurance, tenacity, and persistence, and are unprepared to cope with not being able to compete with people boasting a greater tolerance for problems?

Personally, I believe that a little bit of all of that is at play in this discussion.  However, I also suspect that all of the man-made chemicals we've been pumping into our environment over the past century or so have had a negative impact on our physical and mental health.  I also suspect that as North Americans have become so sophisticated, and the nuclear family has fragmented so much through divorce, cross-country relocations, and our unique opportunities for social mobility, that the community structures God designed to help people cope with stressors have disintegrated.  Social scientists have already tried to prove as much, on both counts of ecology and community, but their results have never met with much approval from skeptics - most of whom are conservative, and consider themselves religious.

The very people who say they believe in a Deity they can't see or measure.

Hmm...

Meanwhile, the physical sciences have yet to prove that clinical depression is as real as broken arms are.  And if they ever do, it will be after overcoming a big credibility gap that exists between what patients should be able to handle, what they actually can handle, and the reasons why they can't.  After all, some people really are just wimps.  Some people really are simply lazy.  Some people truly believe they're entitled to a fun-filled, stress-free existence.  Some people live in denial regarding the fact that nobody can "have it all."  Some people are enablers.  Some of us need to make ourselves feel and look better by helping people we perceive as being more helpless than we are.  Yes!  I'm sure all of this is part of North America's depression saga.  But how does it get measured and quantified?

Hey, I'm a cynic, and I was a big cynic about antidepressants.  It took my going on them myself for me to begrudgingly admit that they can actually work.  However, if personal experience is going to be the only way to justify the efficacy of antidepressants, then people who don't need them will likely never understand why other people may.

Instead, it's much easier to deride North America's recent, widespread, and indelible embrace of mental health advocacy as so much humanistic pablum.  Too much coddling, and not enough personal responsibility.  Too much faith in feelings, instead of faith in God.  Just another way for pharmacy companies to make money.  All this medicine to treat something invisible!  Aren't we creating a society full of people who simply don't want to face reality?  Life can be hard, sad, painful, confusing, and unfair.  So what?  Buck up, force a smile on your face, and carpe diem!  That's the rest of us have to do sometimes.

So:  we have all of this doubt and ambiguity.  And the best way to respond to this doubt and ambiguity is flatly assume that clinical depression isn't real?  Or, if it is, that it's inherently a sin issue?

Now who's being unrealistic?

Jesus DOES Care How We Serve Him

"Jesus didn't care about being nice or tolerant, and neither should you."

That's the title of a recent blog entry by the popular Christian blogger Matt Walsh.

He opens his article by commenting about there being lots of heresies in our modern world.  Yet he seems blind to the fact that he's almost committing one in his own title!  Jesus didn't care about being nice or tolerant?  You better believe He did!

Walsh's provocative title is an introduction to his discussion of Christ's righteous anger displayed when He overturned the moneychangers' tables in the temple.  Walsh allows that this is the only act of violence and "intolerance" committed by Christ that appears in the Bible, but he suggests there may have been others that God merely omitted.

Now, to be fair, part of Walsh's essay is spent trying to explain why believers in Christ need to stand for truth and righteousness, and not capitulate to worldly dogma and unBiblical lifestyles.  And he's right:  We do not honor God by bending with every breeze and welcoming clever lies.  God doesn't expect us to "go along to get along."  To the extent that Walsh is saying that Christians should not be vacuous, timid, hands-off, or duplicitous, he's right.

There is a "theology of nice" out there that is not Biblical.  There is a brand of tolerance beyond the Golden Rule out there that, as Walsh puts it, says "be nice to me, I’ll be nice to you, and we’ll all be happy."  And that's not Biblical, either.

Yet Walsh wants to go further and justify belligerence, arrogance, and in-your-face rudeness by the fact that Christ once displayed righteous anger.  However, there's a difference between righteous anger, and not being nice or tolerant.

Yes, Christ chastised the religious leaders of His day.  Yes, He made them nervous, uncomfortable, unsettled, and angry.  However, was it Christ's demeanor, attitude, tone, and physical gestures that intimidated them?  Or what He said?

You'll also notice that almost everybody who was angry at Christ, who was offended by what He said, and who eventually were so hateful of Him that they killed Him, were Jewish religious leaders, and the people they were able to foment against Him.  When He interacted with those crowds, Christ usually had pity for them, not "intolerance."  Christ preached the Kingdom of God, and His message threatened them.  And it wasn't a message of socioeconomics, or politics, or even morality, as much as it was a message of God's holiness, mankind's lostness, and our need for redemption.

Indeed, doesn't the Bible speak volumes by providing only the one account of Christ really being "intolerant?"  It's that big, violent scene in the temple during what we now call Holy Week.  But what about the rich young hedonistic rulers?  Slavery?  Woefully unfair taxes?  Child labor?  No voting rights for Jews?  Political corruption?  Prostitution?  Surely homosexuality existed during that time, and may have even been part of the indulgence racket in the temple.  Yet He "tolerated" it all during His earthly ministry, never once speaking out directly against them to advocate for social change.  It was only when people made a mockery of His holy Father's sanctuary that He overturned tables.  The crass exploitation of money for religious purposes is what made Him indignant.

It's not even that being "nice" is as bad as Walsh wants to think it is.  We're supposed to "make every effort to live in peace with everyone" (Hebrews 12:14).  Again in Romans, we're to "make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification."  We're to "seek peace, and pursue it" (Psalm 34:14)

Nevertheless, Walsh reaches a disturbing conclusion.

"I think it’s time that Christianity regain its fighting spirit; the spirit of Christ," he writes, almost salivating at the opportunities such a viewpoint would afford him to be reckless in his speech and attitude.  "I think it’s time we ask that question: ‘What would Jesus do?’"

Walsh then postulates that "Jesus would flip tables and yell."

Um, no; not exactly.  Instead, Christ would expect us to model the Fruit of the Spirit, right?  Just as He did, in the temple:

• Love:  For His holy Father
• Joy:  He was about His Father's business
• Peace:  To restore order to the temple's function as a house of true worship
• Patience:  He'd already waited 33 years to do this, and His death on the cross was imminent, so time was running short
• Kindness:  He focused his righteous fury on both the buyers and sellers, not making allowances for either group, since they were both sinning (punishment can be considered a form of kindness, as a correction for an improper pattern of behavior)
• Goodness:  He was interested in preserving His Father's holy virtue
• Faithfulness:  He was remaining true to God's holiness
• Gentleness:   His anger at the moneychangers stemmed in part from His concern about the temple being open and available to all who would come and worship, not just those who could afford to participate in this financial abomination ("My house will be called a house of prayer for people from all nations")
• Self-Control:  In His anger, He did not sin, even as "zeal for His Father's house consumed Him" (Psalm 69:9)

Let's not let people like Matt Walsh badger us into presuming a false narrative of combative, antagonistic, and pugnacious bravado when it comes to interacting with other sinners in our society.  We're not here to change hearts and minds; only the Holy Spirit can do that.  We're here to live out the Gospel of Christ, so that people may see our testimony, and give praise to God.

Yes, there is a lot of immorality all around us, and lots of blasphemies and heresies.  But how much worse are times now than when Christ walked this same Earth?  Besides, He told us that we'd have troubles, but that He'd already overcome them.  So let's not put words in His mouth, and panic about the plight we see for our society.

We can stand for truth and model the Gospel of Christ at the same time.  Or, we can stand for truth, and mock the Gospel by assuming things it doesn't teach.  And frankly, no matter which strategy we choose to follow, lots of people may become hostile towards us.

But if they're really hostile towards Christ, and not us, we know we're serving Him well.

Lay Aside Each Earthly Thing

Some children see Him lily white, The baby Jesus born this night.
Some children see Him lily white, With tresses soft and fair.
Some children see Him bronzed and brown, The Lord of heav'n to earth come down.
Some children see Him bronzed and brown, With dark and heavy hair.

Some children see Him almond-eyed, This Savior whom we kneel beside.
Some children see Him almond-eyed, With skin of yellow hue.
Some children see Him dark as they, Sweet Mary's Son to whom we pray.
Some children see him dark as they, And, ah! they love Him, too!

The children in each different place Will see the baby Jesus' face
Like theirs, but bright with heavenly grace, And filled with holy light.
O lay aside each earthly thing, And with thy heart as offering,
Come worship now the infant King. 'Tis love that's born tonight!


Have you ever heard this unpretentious Christmas carol?  Years ago, my parents had a record with this song on it, and they played it often when I was a kid, back in upstate New York.  I haven't heard it since.

Which, apparently, proves I'm not a James Taylor fan, because when I went searching online for this carol's lyrics, his version of it is all over the Internet.  Originally, however, musician Alfred Burt, the son of an Episcopalian minister, composed it in 1951.

From all of those Christmases as a child, I still remember this carol today, because it reminds me about the dangers of ethnocentrism, even though I had no idea what "ethnocentrism" was when I was little.  It's the song that was running through my head when I commiserated about Son of God, that troublesome movie by Roma Downey.

We white evangelicals of European descent presume that our Savior looked mostly like us.  But aren't our presumptions based more on ethnocentrism than literal reality?  How likely is it that, like Burt's carol, Christ-followers of every ethnicity tend to mentally compose their presumptions of Christ's appearance upon their own?

Obviously, even though He's immortal, Christ is alive, which means his skin color and ethnicity is fixed, real, and biological.  Being Jewish, with a mother from the southern shores of the Mediterranean, Christ's human characteristics likely tilt towards an olive-toned complexion, with skin a bit darker that an ordinary Caucasian's, and hair more black than brown.  Conventional Asians and Africans probably wouldn't see obvious resemblances to themselves in Christ's appearance, but then again, most whitey-whites like me wouldn't, either.

As I've grown up and matured - well, theoretically, anyway! - I don't really think much about what Christ looks like anymore.  When we're kids, we spend much more time processing such things in our little brains, developing an ability to differentiate between various characteristics, shapes, colors, and such.  We're discovering how we fit into the social environment around us.  Recognizing different ways different people look and act is part of our socialization.

But how much of that process really gets left behind as we mature?  As adults, maybe we Christ-followers care less about what Christ looks like, but again, like Burt's carol, might we mistakenly apply other characteristics to Him that the Bible never tells us He has?

For example, a recent disagreement has broken out on a couple of popular evangelical websites about Christ being a "friend of sinners," and the extent to which Christ would endorse certain lifestyles, habits, and versions of morality.  Some adults see Him reaching out to gays in a way that affirms their desire to marry somebody of the same sex.  But other adults see Him loving sinners, but not their sins, and encouraging the former to abandon the latter.

Some adults see Him as a great social welfare advocate, preaching wealth redistribution and the evils of moneymaking, while some adults see Him as encouraging the hoarding of profits people earn as the result of honest work.  After all, it's the love of money that's the root of all sorts of evil, not money itself.

Some adults see Him as a red-blooded American right-wing Republican, a swashbuckling champion of individuality, freedom, and fun.  Meanwhile, however, some adults see Him as an apolitical moralist who created the institution of government, and told His followers to "render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's."  And that Biblical freedom is not political freedom.

Some adults see Him as a pop culture icon, readily adaptable to changing styles and fashions, and totally fine with going with the flow.  Other adults see Him as rigidly ascribing to His Father's holy decrees, some out of legalism, and others simply because we're called to be separate; "in the world, but not of it."

And then, of course, there are all of the other adults who see the nuanced degrees of differences, exceptions, and interpretations between these more popular visions of Christ.  We believe that since the Christ in Whom we're to believe isn't explicitly described for us in the Bible, that we're entitled to a certain degree of flexibility when it comes to envisioning how and why we believe in, trust in, and serve the Son of God.

Meanwhile, I keep being drawn to the last few lines of this carol by Alfred Burt.  Not as a universalistic panacea for all that ails Christ's Earthly body, but as a refrain of authentic worship that is more profound that we normally expect in such songs:

O lay aside each earthly thing, And with thy heart as offering,
Come worship now the infant King. 'Tis love that's born tonight!

Do we love Christ more than we love ourselves?  Do we love others more than we love ourselves?  Do we love our ideas, preferences, lifestyles, money, skills, interpretations, idols, and even our fears more than we love Christ?

Yes, how we "mature" Christians see Him should have a lot more to do with His truth than His skin color.  Unfortunately, the way some Christians want to see Christ seems to have less to do with unpopular morality, His relationship with our holy Father, and the penalty of our raw sins from which His death frees us, and more to do with easy, rationalized, sophomoric trendiness.

Let's not forget that God looks at our hears, and knows the degree of our allegiance to His Word.  So Whom are we fooling?  The more that Christ is "King" of our lives, and not simply a pawn of our myopic worldview, how we see Him will probably bear less resemblance to the world around us.  And it'll probably show, when contrasted to the world around us.

The apostle Paul put it rather succinctly in Colossians 2:8:  "See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the basic principles of this world rather than on Christ."

It's not just little children who need to lay aside each Earthly thing!

My Theology of Chronic Clinical Depression

Part 1 - I've a Confession to Make
Part 2 - Not Your Everyday Depression

_____


How do they fit?

How can a person who claims to be a Christ-follower also claim to have chronic clinical depression?

Isn't the one supposed to cancel out the other?  Isn't faith in Christ supposed to be the all-encompassing happy stuff that cures whatever ails you?  Or, alternatively, shouldn't chronic clinical depression corrupt enough of your soul with despair to convince you that God isn't so loving after all?

Or am I simply pursuing some vain hope that a belief in Christ can be a panacea for my problems?  Is my faith merely a crutch to help me deal with chronic clinical depression?

I'll be straight-up honest with you about this, so you won't go reading any further, expecting me reach a conclusion of profound insight that nobody else in the history of humankind has ever had.  No, I don't have a lot of answers for you.  Especially if you're not already convinced that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and that He died on the cross to take away the guilt of your sins.  Neither am I at complete peace simply accepting that God allows stuff to happen to us purely for His glory and our good, which the Bible teaches are the two basic reasons why anything happens to any of us.

I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not a mighty Christian.  Hey - I'm a red-blooded, self-indulgent, 21st Century American.  Which means I'm spoiled.  I'm also skeptical, iconoclastic, and cynical, which means I've looked high and low for the easy exits, and discovered there aren't any.  There are no magic beans, and there is no tantric bliss.

However, there is the Holy Spirit, and He has assured me of eternal life in Heaven with God through Christ.  I trust in God because the Holy Spirit enables me to, just as He enables me to endure, day by day - and often, hour by hour - whatever troubles, anxiety, pleasures, and accomplishments He allows.  For His glory, and my good.

If you think this makes me a dim-witted humanoid weakling who needs to hope in a Deity to make some sense out of life, then you'll probably not find anything helpful in my perspective of how my faith and my depression fit into my body and brain.  I invite you to read on, of course, perhaps only as an experiment in having an open mind.  However, if you yourself have been convinced by the Holy Spirit that God exists, and that He loves you, and you've invited Christ to be the Lord of your life, then hopefully my rough-hewn theology of clinical depression can be helpful to you.

Because I do think there is a theology of clinical depression, and I think God is teaching me about it and Himself through this experience.

Spiritual, Physical, Emotional

Admittedly, I don't know as much about the different types of serious problems other people face.

However, my theology of clinical depression probably follows along the same lines as most other perspectives of suffering, sickness, and pain that take place in the life of every born-again follower of Christ.  God never promises anybody a life of ease and carefree, pain-free idyll.  If your life seems like one big festival for you, then the cynic in me would wonder if your faith is as genuine as you think it is.  Why?  Because the Devil, our enemy, is real, and one of his vile tasks involves trying to corrupt your faith to the point where you're willing to deny your Savior because you can't make sense of what He's allowing to happen to you.

The book of Job in the Old Testament is one massive parable about how Satan went to God and proposed that he could destroy Job's faith.  God allowed Satan to try, but even after Satan caused everything that Job had to be taken from him, with the exception of an unhelpful wife and unhelpful friends, Job remained faithful to God.  Today, some Christians think that the problems they face are cataclysmic meteors direct from Satan, like Job's were.  Or they wonder if maybe God is secretly testing them, to see how genuine their faith is.

I don't necessarily hold myself in such high regard to presume that either God or Satan have chosen me to be some pawn or allegory.  Satan may have devised my chronic clinical depression to see if my faith will collapse, which is his singular modus operandi, but I'm pretty sure God is letting this happen to me to build my faith.  And part of building my faith is trusting in God's sovereignty.  My personal sin nature did not directly cause my depression, although it certainly plays a role in how I deal with it.  If medical science is correct, and my allocation of the neurotransmitter serotonin is wonky, then I was likely born with a predisposition to clinical depression, and it won't be my fault if I have it the rest of my life.  My parents and I, as we've worked backward from my diagnosis, now suspect that some of my oddities as a child and a teen stemmed from clinical depression, only back then, hardly anybody knew what clinical depression was.  The diagnosis, after all, is relatively recent.  Nevertheless, suffice it to say, whether this is a direct test, from God or Satan, it's something that God has allowed, and something that I may overcome with His help here in this life.  And if not in this life, then most assuredly in the one to come.

Maybe that sounds like fatalism to you.  To me, it's more like hope.

Two Views for Treatment

Unfortunately, for those of us in the Christian community, even everything I've just written is not enthusiastically embraced by Christ-followers who try to treat people like me.  You see, there are two general schools of thought within evangelicalism regarding treatment methods for chronic clinical depression.  The conventional method is the one in which I've been treated, and am still being treated.  It involves traditional Christian counseling that looks similar to secular psychotherapy, except it's conducted by therapists trained in Bible-based approaches to emotional disorders.  It can include a liberal reliance on psychiatric theory and medicine, as a mixture of science and spirituality.

However, a newer school of thought has developed as a reaction to the conventional Christian counseling model, and its practitioners call themselves Nouthetic, or “Biblical,” counselors.  This isn't entirely helpful for a couple of reasons, the first and most obvious one being that by calling themselves "Biblical" counselors, advocates of this school of thought are insinuating that their approach is theologically superior, and that traditional counseling methods, by contrast, are not Biblical.

This is no mistake on the part of Nouthetic practitioners, because many of them dismiss traditional counseling, no matter the clinician's evangelical devoutness, as too corrupted by worldly science and fuzzy psychiatry.  Nouthetic counselors tend to emphasize theological discipline to the exclusion of medical considerations.  They theorize that their patient's sin is the dominant problem, and believe that helping their patients confront their sin is more effective than considering biological contributing factors to clinical depression.

Understandably, conventional Christian counselors caution that Nouthetic/Biblical counseling risks being too simplistic, aggressive, and medically dangerous.  For their part, Nouthetic/Biblical advocates contend that Christian counseling flirts too much with secular theory, and it's too generous to the patient when sin issues comprise only one of several aspects to be addressed by Christian counselors - whereas Nouthetic counselors focus mostly on their patient's sin.  In other words, if I allowed myself to be treated by a Nouthetic counselor, I would likely be directed to simply confront my fears, lack of trust, selfishness, and pride - all components of my chronic clinical depression, I admit; and all sins.  And I would likely be strongly discouraged from continuing my medication regimen.

Perhaps for people who are merely wallowing in self-pity over something, such an approach is appropriate.

Meanwhile, I don't see why considering certain biological factors and medical treatments - such as prescription drugs - for clinical depression is being unBiblical.  I'm willing to explore aspects of my sin nature that likely contribute to my problems, but is science so wrong that it should be excluded from a treatment plan?  From what I've read about the Nouthetic approach, most of its advocates have never been to medical school, and seem annoyed that traditional counselors put as much faith in science as they do, as if science in general - and psychiatry in particular - is utterly unGodly.

Much of this discrepancy likely stems from continuing confusion over what "depression" really is, and the degrees of severity it can involve.  Personally, I suspect that too few Nouthetic advocates have actually ever had chronic clinical depression, and they have no idea what their patients are going through.  I had several therapists who admitted to being recovered depression patients themselves, and I could tell that they had a good handle on what I was experiencing.

Sin

Having said all of that, I am grateful to have had (with the exception of my first psychiatrist) born-again evangelical therapists to help counsel me, and they incorporated both science and scripture.  If you or somebody you know is in psychotherapy for chronic clinical depression, and your therapist is not discussing your sin patterns with you, then you need to get a new therapist.  It's possible that Nouthetic counselors have deemed some traditional Christian therapists to be inadequately incorporating difficult discussions about their patients' sin patterns in the treatment mix.  In my opinion, if you're wanting help, everything needs to be on the table.

You see, sin does not cause chronic clinical depression, but it can exacerbate it, prolong it, and even deny a patient their recovery from it.  With an illness as individualized as chronic clinical depression, even if medical science ultimately confirms that serotonin plays a causal factor in the brain, nobody can assert that sin isn't lurking somewhere deep in the soul.  No matter how physical chronic clinical depression may be proven to be, there is still an emotional component to it, and to varying degrees, I believe that our emotions can be brought under the Lordship of Christ.  Not completely, of course - even people who do not suffer from depression have imperfect emotions.  But anxiety is a form of fear, and God commands us dozens of times in His Word not to fear.  If He commands us to do something, or not to do something, shouldn't that imply that He provides us a way to do it - even if it's solely through our imperfect reliance on the Holy Spirit?

As I've struggled with my depression, I've actually been able to identify some fears that I can indeed place in His hands, and from which I can walk away.  I doubt that there's a born-again, evangelical Christian therapist out there who believes that not one fear a patient of theirs may have can be brought under the Lordship of Christ.  Any good Christian therapist's job involves helping their patients trust in God, instead of being fearful.  Even if progress in that trust is incremental.

So, why am I not cured?  I've had this diagnosis for 21 years.  Shouldn't that be long enough?

Actually, thanks to the Lord's working in my life, plus the medication I'm on, I've been able to plateau at a point that is considerably higher than where I was when my treatments began, way back in New York City.  So I count that as progress, even though it's not what anybody would call "normal."  Part of this experience is learning what I can do, what I shouldn't do, and what I can't do.  Most of all, however, the Lord has given me an all-new appreciation for the Fruit of the Spirit:  love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.  Some therapists have their patients do breathing exercises when they feel panic attacks coming on.  One of the best ways I've found to short-circuit a panic attack is to slowly recite the Fruit of the Spirit.  And speaking of panic attacks, I'm thankful to God that I can't recall the last one I had!

This is my version of the theology of chronic clinical depression.  I can't say it's cured me of my problem, but then again, no theology can, can it?  God is the sovereign Creator and Healer; not any scientific or religious theory, no matter how accurate they may be.

So, how can a Christ-follower like me also have chronic clinical depression?  Through God's sovereignty, and with the relief of His sustaining grace.

I told you it wouldn't be a fancy answer, but at least I can testify to it now, and thank Him that it's true.

Not Your Everyday Depression

Nobody wants to hear they have it.  A lot of people don't even believe it exists.

"Chronic clinical depression."

Technically, the "chronic" part means it's recurring.  "Clinical" means that it's been identified as something that exists.  And we all know what "depression" means - or, at least, we think we do.  The folks who say we're talking about simply having a bad day are the ones who think the whole idea is bogus.

But is it?  I'm one of those people who's been diagnosed with chronic clinical depression, and I've come to understand that the more we understand how these three words represent the problem they're trying to name, then the whole concept of medically treating long-term depression becomes less abstract.

Why?  Well, for starters, I don't just have the blues.  When I was diagnosed, I wasn't upset over the loss of something, like a relationship, a job, or my health.  At the time, I wasn't facing imminent financial peril, although I certainly am now.  Everybody has stressors in their life, and everybody responds to them in different ways, and in various intensities.  We grieve, we fret, we hate, we complain, we worry, we become sad, we become ambivalent.  Sometimes we panic.  Yet "normal" people rarely become crippled by these emotions for long periods of time.  "Normal" people don't dwell on the idea of killing themselves as a way out of these persistent emotions.  These are the differences between having a bad day - or a bad year - and having chronic clinical depression.

When two different evangelical psychiatrists here in the Dallas area both independently confirmed over a several-year period that I indeed have chronic clinical depression, they based their diagnoses on a broader set of quantifiable emotional disorders.  These disorders exhibit deviations from what could be expected from ordinary reactions to ordinary stressors.  For example, these doctors evaluated my history of crippling panic attacks, my pervasive fear of being physically alone, the fact that I used to be on a suicide watch, and several other personal factors which I still want to keep private.  Frankly, I've been such a reluctant patient over the years, I don't recall everything they did to render their diagnoses, but I do remember being satisfied with their explanations, even if I didn't particularly welcome the idea of having chemical problems inside my brain.

Chronic clinical depression, after all, is widely believed to be a medical problem.  Not just an emotional one.  Studies suggest that it involves levels of a chemical called serotonin, a neurotransmitter that helps send messages throughout our brain.  Unfortunately, the fact that science has yet to discover irrefutable proof of this causal factor simply lends more credence to skeptics who deny the reality of chronic clinical depression.

My fears of being physically alone, ironically, coexist with my preference for solitude, and although I've had periods in my life where I'm more socially active than at other times, I have to force myself to work harder at my people skills than is normal.

Which brings us to another problem with having this diagnosis.  What is "normal" for you might not be normal for me, and vice-versa.  To an astonishing degree, we are all unique individuals, and "normalcy" is a state of being that is shaped not only by biology and DNA, but also culture, and social expectations.  Skeptics could claim that people like me are simply being too hard on ourselves - or, not hard enough.  Conformity is one thing, but celebrating our individuality shouldn't be punitive.  Just snap out of it and get on with life!

But if that were as easy as it sounds, wouldn't most of us with this diagnosis already be doing that?  You think this is fun, or rewarding?

Believe me, this isn't a good way to get my ego stroked, or my fretful half-baked brain cosseted with attention.  I may have to work hard at interpersonal relationships, but I seriously doubt that paying a therapist or a psychiatrist to listen to your problems serves as a suitable substitute to having people befriend you without being paid to do so.  I can't remember how many years I spent in therapy, but those were not happy hours that I spent struggling to come to terms with my problems in front of somebody watching the clock.  In fact, finally, my last therapist, an earnest fellow who plied me with scripture during every session, literally threw up his hands and told me I could answer all his questions, and even come up with applicable scripture for my problems as well as he could.  Therapy wasn't helping me, he admitted, and I needed to spend my rapidly-dwindling financial resources on medications we knew worked.  And most of all - we needed to trust God for His sustaining - and hopefully, healing - grace.

I haven't been back to therapy since.

That's another problem with having this diagnosis.  It doesn't have the immediate impact like "you have cancer" can.  With a cancer diagnosis, you may want a second opinion, but not only is there usually no social stigma with it, you can ask all of your friends to pray for you.  You don't need to hide it.  And even if you get a second opinion, you need to act quickly, and decisively, to get the cancer treated.  With clinical depression, things can go on for years - and that's why they call my form of it "chronic."

Yet another problem is that a diagnosis of chronic clinical depression isn't nearly as objective as "you have a broken arm."  With a broken arm, there are x-rays and other obvious diagnostic tests to help confirm why your doctor is saying your arm is broken.  So you have an operation, or your arm gets put in a cast, and as it heals, you can watch its progress.  With clinical depression, unless you have the money to pay for expensive brain scans and high-priced specialists, very little of one's problem is ever visible.

Currently, my prescriptions are being monitored by the family practice doctor I've had since I was a teenager.  He monitors my vital signs through regular check-ups, and he's willing to give me the benefit of the doubt as I trust in my "Higher Power" for help.  So far, this arrangement has established a plateau of sorts that, while not optimal for the sort of productive "normalcy" I'd like to have, has lifted me above what I used to endure.  After all, sometimes progress has to be measured not in what you've done, but what you haven't done.  Like suicide.  Some days I struggle with it more than others, but as time has gone on, I believe God has taught me more about trusting in Him, rather than in my emotions.

Suicide is one of those elephants in the depression room that none of us likes to talk about.  And I'm not going to get too personal here, either, except to give you a little background about how it plays into my diagnosis.  Suffice it to say that I began suffering from bleak, life-ending desires after some particularly troubling emotions were triggered by an unstable domestic situation while I lived in New York City.  I'd never entertained such thoughts before, but they were pervasive, and almost tangible.  I'd stand in the street, a foot or so away from the sidewalk, and marvel at how closely - and how fast! - those lumbering city buses would shoot past the tip of my nose.  Just one more step...!

When I eventually caved, and admitted I needed some sort of help, it was my first therapist - at the time, the only born-again psychotherapist in the entire city of New York - who put me on suicide watch.  I had to call her message service and check-in every morning and every evening for about two weeks.  That was when she told me she would either contact my parents in Texas, saying she was absolving herself of my personal safety, or I would have to go on Prozac.

I'd been fighting her on the Prozac thing - until her ultimatum.  At the time, I thought taking Prozac was akin to admitting I was a heathen unbeliever, because I didn't trust God to deliver me from the sin of panicked fear.  For my prescription, my therapist sent me to a secular psychiatrist on Central Park West, who officed out of the swanky lobby of the building where Arnold Schwarzenegger and Maria Shriver used to own an apartment.  Like most expensive Manhattan apartment buildings, its exterior was drab and unimpressive, while its exclusivity was best conferred to those granted access inside.  In this buildings' case, its lobby reeked of affluence, with spacious hallways lined by glossy brass paneling - I kid you not.  Walking among those panels almost made up for the doormen who looked me up and down whenever I entered and left, knowing looks plastered on their faces:  yeah, that's one of those nut jobs going to see the quack at the other end of the lobby.

I don't know, maybe that doctor was a quack.  He was Jewish, and a self-professing Freud scholar, who kept asking me if I was sexually frustrated, gay, or mourning some unrequited love.  New York City, after all, can wreak havoc on a young person's love life.  Especially if I was gay, he kept hinting?

I'd relay my conversations with this high-dollar shrink to my Christian therapist, back down in her rickety Greenwich Village walk-up, and she'd roll her eyes and apologize - he was the only doctor she could find in the city who was willing to give Bible-based psychotherapy any sort of chance.  Oh well.  I enjoyed those floor-to-ceiling walls of brass panels.  I have to say that I sure felt important entering and exiting that luxury building across from Central Park, even if it was only tourists on the sidewalks along the park who thought I might be somebody!

These days, I understand that Manhattan is oozing with Christian psychiatrists and psychotherapists, thanks in no small part to Tim Keller's Redeemer Presbyterian Church, and the emphasis they've placed on servicing the legions of Millennials and Gen-X'ers who've flocked to Gotham.  That's likely one of the reasons skeptics of clinical depression are skeptical:  it seems as though a cottage industry has sprung up over the past twenty years to treat what appears to be an offshoot of "affluenza," as more and more urban young people want to talk out their fears and frustrations, instead of grinning and bearing them like their forefathers and foremothers had to do.  After all, is clinical depression suddenly some new disease?  Why does it seem like Baby Boomers discovered it, and their kids are the ones suffering the most from it?  Maybe we're all too spoiled rotten for our own good by all of our First-World problems.  It's just the ones who need to blame something - or somebody - else for their personality issues who are trying to validate clinical depression as something genuine.

Believe me - I've had all of those doubts, and more.  Regular readers of mine know that I can be excruciatingly cynical.  How do I know for sure that the Devil isn't just trying to make me some lazy, dithering, good-for-nothing spoiled brat who'd rather worry about his problems than find a good-paying job and working so much that he doesn't have time to worry?

Because I have to admit:  chronic clinical depression is surprisingly debilitating.  And a lot of people - church-goers in particular - think I'm just being lazy.  They peg me as one of those man-boys we're hearing so much about these days, who doesn't want to leave his Mommy and Daddy's comfortable home, and have to try and make his own way in this big, bad world.  I need a swift kick in the seat of my pants so I don't end up as a drain on society.  I say I'm a man of faith?  Well, put your big-boy pants on and just trust in God.  I say I got sick when I lived in New York City?  Well, there's your problem!  You can't make it there!  No big deal; Texas should be right up your sniveling little alley! 

Right?

Since I know all the things people are likely saying about me and people like me, where's my incentive to actually prove them right?  I have my pride; otherwise, why would I be concerned about what other people think?  If I couldn't care less if other people think I'm simply lazy, would I care that something seems to be malfunctioning somewhere inside of me that makes people think I'm lazy?  Since I say I'm a born-again follower of Christ, who believes that God loves me and invites me to trust Him implicitly for everything, why don't I just do it, like the Nike commercial says?

That's probably the biggest reason why I don't like having chronic clinical depression.  Nobody can really answer all of those questions.  There is no 12-step recovery process.  There is no magic pill.  Moving away from the big, bad city doesn't cure it.  In fact, living in a place like New York, I could find plenty of compelling diversions to help dull the pain in my brain, and those diversions don't exist in suburbia.  New York City wasn't my main problem.  Something in my brain was - and is.

You can tell me I'm not sick, and I could tell a cancer patient they're not sick, but how does that change anything?

Like they say, some things you simply have to experience for yourself.  Only I hope you won't have to.
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Part 3 - My Theology of Chronic Clinical Depression