I recently picked up the original Star Wars triology at Goodwill for $4. I love a good deal. So I’m watching the shows I watched when I was growing up. But this time I’m focusing on a different character than normal: C-3PO.

C-3PO could have been suffering from clinical depression. I know, I know. Droids don’t have bio-chemical imbalances or situational disasters that send them down the rabbit who so many of us experience. Duh. But run with me on this.

C-3PO has the miraculous way of always looking at the worst in any situation. “We’re doomed.” “I’m going to regret this.” “Oh he excels at that.” Most of C-3PO’s statements follow along these lines, especially in the first movie (or fourth movie, depending on how you’re counting).

Now from a cinematic point of view, he serves to ask the question and express the fears of the audience. “How are they going to get outta THAT?” It’s a part of what makes his character fun, expecially in contrast to the irrepresively happy R2D2. (I hate R2D2.)

But what really is intriguing is looking at C-3PO as a character. His view, frankly, could be the view of someone clinically depressed. It’s like your brain is hard-wired never to see the future, to dwell on the impossibilities of today, and to only imagine that things will get worse. (Confessional Lutherans, btw, are in general susceptible to this.)

This is how I often feel. It’s certainly how I have felt in my darkest hours. In the midst of the fog, the darkeness, the wet blanket of life, I can’t seem to get out of it. I can’t see past it. Things will collapse. I will never get better. I get mad at myself, I zone, I get angry at my family, lash out at anything and everything, if I have the energy to be angry. Often I just mentally implode, where nothing is moving and I can’t get out of it.

It does remind one of St. Paul’s words from I Corinthians:

This of course is the balance we all seek. Recognizing the trials of this life (including mental illness) are not forever. God does heal, and He does use people as his instruments. Doctors, counselors, psychiatrists, pastors, friends and family, all of these may be used in different ways to bring about healing, both on this side of the grave, and certainly in the day of resurrection.

Be at peace. Christ is here, in His Very Word and in your very mouth and heart through his holy sacraments. Even if your attitude is that of our friend C-3PO (as is mine often enough), God’s promises remain sure.

In Christ,
-DarkMyRoad

I recently picked up the original Star Wars triology at Goodwill for $4. I love a good deal. So I’m watching the shows I watched when I was growing up. But this time I’m focusing on a different character than normal: C-3PO.

C-3PO could have been suffering from clinical depression. I know, I know. Droids don’t have bio-chemical imbalances or situational disasters that send them down the rabbit who so many of us experience. Duh. But run with me on this.

C-3PO has the miraculous way of always looking at the worst in any situation. “We’re doomed.” “I’m going to regret this.” “Oh he excels at that.” Most of C-3PO’s statements follow along these lines, especially in the first movie (or fourth movie, depending on how you’re counting).

Now from a cinematic point of view, he serves to ask the question and express the fears of the audience. “How are they going to get outta THAT?” It’s a part of what makes his character fun, expecially in contrast to the irrepresively happy R2D2. (I hate R2D2.)

But what really is intriguing is looking at C-3PO as a character. His view, frankly, could be the view of someone clinically depressed. It’s like your brain is hard-wired never to see the future, to dwell on the impossibilities of today, and to only imagine that things will get worse. (Confessional Lutherans, btw, are in general susceptible to this.)

This is how I often feel. It’s certainly how I have felt in my darkest hours. In the midst of the fog, the darkeness, the wet blanket of life, I can’t seem to get out of it. I can’t see past it. Things will collapse. I will never get better. I get mad at myself, I zone, I get angry at my family, lash out at anything and everything, if I have the energy to be angry. Often I just mentally implode, where nothing is moving and I can’t get out of it.

It does remind one of St. Paul’s words from I Corinthians:

This of course is the balance we all seek. Recognizing the trials of this life (including mental illness) are not forever. God does heal, and He does use people as his instruments. Doctors, counselors, psychiatrists, pastors, friends and family, all of these may be used in different ways to bring about healing, both on this side of the grave, and certainly in the day of resurrection.

Be at peace. Christ is here, in His Very Word and in your very mouth and heart through his holy sacraments. Even if your attitude is that of our friend C-3PO (as is mine often enough), God’s promises remain sure.

In Christ,
-DarkMyRoad

I’ve been trying to think about all of the crazy, unhelpful, annoying, or just plain (ahem) depressing things that people have said to me since I’ve been struggling with depression. Here’s a first crack at the list:

• You know God still loves you.
• If you would spend more time outside, you would feel better.
• Have you considered dieting?
• Do you have an unconfessed sins that are weighing you down?
• Things will get better eventually.
• Have you tried acupuncture?
• It’s all in your mind. If you decide to be happy, you will be.

There’s a long list of them, but I’m tired this morning. Can anyone help me out to fill this list in? What are the crazy and unhelpful things people say to you when they find out your depressed?

-DarkMyRoad

I am having a bad day today. I won’t go into why, but everyone has bad days. I can mentally recognize that overall, things are good. My medication is working, counseling goes well, and I am moving along in many other areas, which makes me very happy.

But today stinks.

Now of course, everyone has bad days. Things don’t go right. You’re stressed. You’ve messed up or someone else has messed upon you, whatever. We all have our bad days. This is what we on planet earth call “life”.

But not for the depressed person.

For someone suffering from depression (or it’s kissing cousin, anxiety), bad days aren’t simply bad days. In depression you cannot look past yourself, your problems, and you can’t look into the future. In other words, depression sucks away hope. It can often attack faith itself. Other things may do this as well, but I know depression does it.

So for someone suffering from depression, a bad day becomes an event, with a whole host of questions swirling through one’s head:

• How long will this last?
• What can I do to get out of it?
• Has my medication stopped working?
• What if things go back to the way they were?
• What if I am always like this, slowly turning into a vegetable that has been overcooked.

There may even be darker questions about life and death asked. I’ve been there. It stinks.

So what do you do when these questions won’t go away, when you stay up at night fretting over what may be nothing, but even over things that may be a big deal? This isn’t rocket science, but here are a few ideas:

1. Remind yourself that Tom Cruise is an idiot. That always makes me feel better. Depression exists. It’s a medical condition and not a question of willpower. Sometimes things will be worse than others. But because you’re depressed, you look at these things under a microscope and forget to ever look up. It’s kind of the ultimate incurvatus se (turned in upon oneself).
2. Give yourself a break. Take a nap. Sit in the sun. Go some place quiet for a while. But DON’T beat yourself over the head with it and try to “work through it”. In all liklihood, that will make it worse.
3. Pray and sing. Nothing long or fancy. A kyrie may be all you’ve got. Check out a few cross and comfort hymns.
4. Trust that the God of comfort, who takes care of all things, continues to take care of you, even when you feel like your world is crashing down.
5. If it persists, call your counselor or doctor and/or father confessor. Don’t try and fight it alone. God has given these people to you. They want to hear from you if you need help. There is nothing more satisfying that giving to another person. They are waiting for your call.

Those are the few thoughts off the top of my head. What have I missed?

Now let’s see if I can take my own advice….

-DarkMyRoad

I am having a bad day today. I won’t go into why, but everyone has bad days. I can mentally recognize that overall, things are good. My medication is working, counseling goes well, and I am moving along in many other areas, which makes me very happy.

But today stinks.

Now of course, everyone has bad days. Things don’t go right. You’re stressed. You’ve messed up or someone else has messed upon you, whatever. We all have our bad days. This is what we on planet earth call “life”.

But not for the depressed person.

For someone suffering from depression (or it’s kissing cousin, anxiety), bad days aren’t simply bad days. In depression you cannot look past yourself, your problems, and you can’t look into the future. In other words, depression sucks away hope. It can often attack faith itself. Other things may do this as well, but I know depression does it.

So for someone suffering from depression, a bad day becomes an event, with a whole host of questions swirling through one’s head:

• How long will this last?
• What can I do to get out of it?
• Has my medication stopped working?
• What if things go back to the way they were?
• What if I am always like this, slowly turning into a vegetable that has been overcooked.

There may even be darker questions about life and death asked. I’ve been there. It stinks.

So what do you do when these questions won’t go away, when you stay up at night fretting over what may be nothing, but even over things that may be a big deal? This isn’t rocket science, but here are a few ideas:

1. Remind yourself that Tom Cruise is an idiot. That always makes me feel better. Depression exists. It’s a medical condition and not a question of willpower. Sometimes things will be worse than others. But because you’re depressed, you look at these things under a microscope and forget to ever look up. It’s kind of the ultimate incurvatus se (turned in upon oneself).
2. Give yourself a break. Take a nap. Sit in the sun. Go some place quiet for a while. But DON’T beat yourself over the head with it and try to “work through it”. In all liklihood, that will make it worse.
3. Pray and sing. Nothing long or fancy. A kyrie may be all you’ve got. Check out a few cross and comfort hymns.
4. Trust that the God of comfort, who takes care of all things, continues to take care of you, even when you feel like your world is crashing down.
5. If it persists, call your counselor or doctor and/or father confessor. Don’t try and fight it alone. God has given these people to you. They want to hear from you if you need help. There is nothing more satisfying that giving to another person. They are waiting for your call.

Those are the few thoughts off the top of my head. What have I missed?

Now let’s see if I can take my own advice….

-DarkMyRoad

This morning I shined my shoes before church. Well, techinically I used the cheater’s shoe shine, but that’s not the point. The point is that I shined my shoes.

This may sound like a little event. But pastors are creatures of habit, as we all are. I have dreaded wearing my collar for a while, but slowly and surely, my pastoral habits are coming back.

What does this have to do with ex opere operato? Well, in reference to the Sacraments, this is a terms that Lutherans typically use to deride those silly Roman Catholics who believe that simply participating in the Sacraments, apart from faith, that a good work has been performed and this you gain points for heaven. (Okay, a slightly sarcastic and overly generalistic view. Run with me here, okay?)

Now the Office of the Holy Ministry has a sense of ex opere operato behind it. We confess that the Sacraments of a Lutheran pastor are effective, entirely apart from the faith in his heart. I remember (but can’t hunt down) the quotation where Luther says that he would receive the Sacrament from the devil himself if he were properly called to do so.

Now this is important, friends. This means that whether I’m depressed or anxious, have some neurosis, or a host of other physical, emotional, and even spiritual ailments, that God is still at work through me, preaching His Word and administering His Holy Body and Blood.

The comfort in this is simple. God is at work in you, pastors, and indeed in everyone according to their vocation. Whether they feel like it or not. Whether they even like it or not.

This is huge, my friends. It gives me the freedom to not be afraid I’m a failure. God is at work. And when I can’t preach and administer the Sacraments, God is still at work. It’s His Ministry, not mine. His Words, not mine. His Water, not mine. His Body and Blood, not mine. His Holy Absolution, not mine. He will alwas care for his people. Where I have sinned, I am forgiven. But it is not a sin to be sick. It’s a result of sin.

And the God who makes all things new will see me (and you) through your travails. So I shined my shoes today. Who knows what God will bring next week?

-DarkMyRoad

Ok, sorry about the cheesy title. I wanted to get Handel into your head. Ha! So there.

Confessional Lutherans have what I would call a hate-grudging respect-hate-sometimes love relationship with counselors. Older pastors were taught to one degree or another that they are the “counselor” to their people. Being a pastor means one-on-one, make sure you have the kleenex handy conversations with your flock. If you don’t do that, you are either insensitive, don’t “love your people”, or are somehow deficient in your view of the pastoral office.

But for younger pastors (by this I mean men who graduated from the sem within the last 15-20 years, particularly the last 10-15) counseling has a different connotation. Sometime in the early 90s the LCMS decided that seminary students needed to undergo various levels of psychological evaluations while at seminary in order to graduate. You can imagine the joy that ensued among students. Some loved it. Others hated it. Some (particularly those who had worked in the business world, government or military) simply knew how to “beat it” and didn’t care. But regardless, that forced relationship with a counselor shaped the views of many pastors toward counseling and psychotherapy. As you can tell, it was mostly negative. Counseling was something to be endured, a hoop to jump through, a barrier to be overcome, or a battle to be fought with the “administration”.

It is no wonder that pastors are either envious of trained counselors or leery of them.

But what does a pastor do when his mind doesn’t work? What does he do when he walks through a fog, or does things compulsively that nothing can rationally explain, or becomes terrified of the very things that made him want to become a pastor? What does the pastor do when he needs help, real help.

We’ve already talked about medication, we have and will continue to discuss the need for a Father Confessor and to seek out the Ministry of the Church. But we need to talk about counseling.

Here are a few of my obvservations to get things going. They are in no particular order, and are really meant to encourage conversation, and perhaps get my slightly addled brain going in more directions. Talk amongst yourselves:

• Not all counselors are created equal. It is easy to get the false view that all counselors (secular, Christian, whatever) are all relativists, want to undermine and downplay sin, place blame somewhere else, and generally engage in psychobabble that is of no real benefit. This was my view all through seminary, and all of my experience with counselors reinforced this view. However, a good counselor may serve as an advocate dealing with insurance matters or your congregation, help you to think more clearly and make decisions when your brain simply doesn’t want to function, serve as a sounding board as you weave your way through the trials that you face without any vested interest, and in many other capacities. We’ll talk about different counseling methods later. In other words, a good counselor may be of great benefit, entirely apart from the Christian faith. In the same way, a bad counselor will only make things worse. Just like doctors, pastors, auto mechanics, and everyone else in the world.
• Pastors can be “psychologic’ly disturbed“. It is a good thing, not a bad thing, to seek help where help is needed. It isn’t a sign of unusual weakness or character flaws or anything to that effect. It is the result of sin, just as is every disease since the Fall. Whether you go the medical route, the psychological route, a combination, or simply try to tough it out on your own (a dumb idea, imho), this is what people do to get better. It’s okay.
• Christian counselors are a mixed bag. Just like Christianity of all stripes. I am very blessed to have a confessional Lutheran counselor. I think there are about 4 in the world. Lutheran Social Services has a cadre of counselors, and I have heard of many having good success that route. Oftentimes people that put up the shingle as a “Christian” counselor are evangelicals or social liberals. Frankly, you don’t want to have to debate every question about sin and weakenss with your counselor. Yet it’s hard not to when the come from a fundamentally different worldview. But that brings us to the bottom line…
• Find a counselor your can trust. Christian or secular, evangelical or Roman Catholic or whatever, the foundation of your relationship with a counselor is one of truth. If you don’t trust them (and that is something that takes time and is earned), then you will have a difficult time building a repore. But without that basic trust, little will be accomplished.

Those are a few of my initial thoughts on the subject. It’s tough. I know. I can’t tell you how blessed I am to have a LUTHERAN counselor I can trust, that gets the theology of the cross. But that is rare. You probably won’t find one. It is my hope that perhaps we can start to build a network of Lutheran counselors down the road, ones who understand the theology of the cross and the doctrine of the two kingdoms, which comes so much into play here.

But I know this, friends. Without my counselor, helping me to see the decisions I needed to make, running interference with Concordia/Broadspire/AETNA/Value Options, my congregation, and everyone else, including keeping my family together, and just being there week in week out, well, I’m not sure if I would be alive otherwise.

So don’t rule it out because of bad previous experience. Take your time. Dig around. Ask other pastors you trust. Email me if you want. If I can help, I will. But you all have my prayers . I know what you’re going through. So do many others, chief of which is our Lord Himself, who carries our sorrows and bears our griefs.

-DarkMyRoad

I have for some time dreaded putting on the uniform. The black and whites. The collar. The physical sign of the Office of Preaching which the Church has recognized for millenia.

I dreaded it because it reminded me of my failures. I dreaded it because of the burden that it represented. All those sins. All those messed up lives of my flock. All of the things that I couldn’t do even if I wanted to do so. I hated wearing it. I would avoid it. I can sympathize with pastors who want to wear ties or polos or clown suits or whatever. It makes the burden of the Office seem less real, more light hearted or business like. Simpler.

This is a trial that any pastor who takes his Call seriously probably undergoes to some degree or another. But depression puts this under a microscope, so that you look at every failure, every disappointed look or unfulfilled promise, as simply one more bit of proof that you are not worthy to exist, that God doesn’t love you, and that nothing really matters anyway. This is why I would argue that while depression is a bio-chemical imbalance or situational in nature, that there is almost inevitably a spiritual element involved. It is hand made for Satan to use to lure us away from the sure promises of the Gospel and into ourselves.

I’ve started wearing my collar again. Maybe it’s a sign of healing. Maybe it’s a sign of understanding on my part. The collar tells me first that A) it’s not my office but Chirst’s), B) I am not alone in anything that I do, and C) That all I have to give is what God has given me to give.

Maybe this isn’t any great revelation for you. It’s something that I learned in seminary from the first time I questioned it. But I am slowing coming back to seeing wearing the collar not as a matter of slavery but liberation. It frees me to have my own problems, wants, desires, and emotions. But it also frees me to give to my sheep what they need, whether I feel like giving it or not.

-DarkMyRoad

It’s been months since I’ve really written a sermon.

I love writing sermons. It is why I became a pastor. Others have told me I’m a pretty good preacher.

But I can’t preach. Or perhaps more accurately, I can’t write. I can’t put the thoughts together. I can’t concentrate. I can’t read (even other sermons). The thought of actually stringing together twelve minutes of application of the Word of God, delivering the Gospel, and putting this all together, well, it terrifies me.

Well, the fact that I am writing this to you is a sign that things are getting better. I hope to be well enough to actually write and preach a sermon soon. But we will leave this in the Lord’s hands on the timing of it all.

But I understand the fear of preaching. Anyone who truly understands the character and nature of preaching should have a holy fear of this great and awesome task. With Isaiah we cry out “I am a man of unclean lips and live among a people of unclean lips!” No one is worthy in their own right to preach God’s Word. It is only by the call of God to the Office of Preaching that one can preach at all.

So all of us preachers should have a holy fear of preaching. Like handling dynamite or a live fish, it must be done very carefully in the best of circumstances.

But that really isn’t what I’m talking about here. Depression and anxiety do things to us sermon writers. (These may apply in other areas as well, but I’m talking about getting back into preaching here.) Here’s some of them from depression:

• It utterly taps your energy. Sermons, if they are done properly, are a lot of work. It is a craft, learned in the school of experience. They are some combination between poetry, prose, persuasive speaking, the way a father speaks to his children, and who knows what else. But if you don’t have the juice to get up in the morning, your run-of-the-mill sermon becomes a mountain looking down at you and laughing.
• You come to believe everyone is judging you. My sermons aren’t what they used to be. I’m just not my old self. Why don’t I have the fire of my youth?
• Giving is almost impossible. Depression creates such a blanket and such a darkeness that the act of actually giving to someone else (in the sense of preaching the Gospel) is like a trying to cut your leg off and give it to someone. It is physically painful at times. I’m going to write about this more, because most people don’t realize that depression isn’t simply mental. It is very physical.

Anxiety, on the other hand, does other things:

• Makes you afraid of other people or situations of stress. While for those pastors who are truly comfortable in the chancel and the pulpit, this may not be so much. But for others, standing in front of 200 people is terrifying.
• You become afraid you’re going to have a heart attack or something to that effect. Heart racing, mind running a million miles a second (and in suuupppeeerrr sllllooooowwww moooottiiioonnn at the same time due to depression), and you might just pass out from the whole thing.
• You get a gargantuan desire to simply run away and hide. Not deal with it, people, the situation, whatever. Flee! Run to the hills! Anywhere but there. I have often described anxiety as basically a phobia about everything. Hard to live with, especially while preaching.

So what is the recovering preacher to do? It’s a tough one. But here are a few tips:

1. Don’t think of this process as a failure you have to live with forever. God heals in His own time and at His own pace. You are not a failure because you’re sick and can’t preach. The fact that you have some desire to get at it again (which may take months or even years to get to that point) is a sign of healing. It will take time, but God, your church, your family, and everyone want you back. You are not a failure.
2. Start off by using a recycled sermon, but one that is YOURS. I know this isn’t the same as getting things flowing all the way, but it can help you build up confidence to get back into the oratorical saddle.
3. Try short spurts of work on the sermon. This is hard for me, because I usually sit down and write a sermon in one fell swoop. But it may require rethinking that process. You may not be able to concentrate for that long in one stretch. That’s okay. Things can change. It may take longer for things to percolate. Think of it as a fine wine, rather than an automatic drip coffeemaker.
4. Pray. Short and sweet if that’s all you’ve got. Kyrie eleison. They are the Lord’s Words, not yours. He will be there for you.

Well there are my thoughts on the challenges of getting back into preaching. Anyone else have something to contribute?

“Barely hanging on” raised an extremely important question: