Monday, January 18, 2016

A Riot Is the Language of the Unheard (Poetry in Honor of MLK)

Listen. What do you hear? 
What are the unheard saying
in their actions, in their words?
If they say, 
'We are hurting but no one hears us,'
shall we ignore the hurt?
Shall we then say only, 'Look 
at all the pain you've caused,' and turn away 
because it's easier to acknowledge 
the glass, the stone, than it is to know 
that the peace they've just broken 
was broken to begin with? 
That we didn't hear it break 
the first time?

---

In remembrance of the wise, nuanced stance which MLK took regarding his condemnation of riots - and his equal condemnation of the unjust conditions in society which go ignored until, it seems, nothing short of a riot will allow the rest of that society to take notice.

Recommended reading for today: "Christians, MLK Day, and Historical Amnesia"

Thursday, October 1, 2015

10 Things About Being Not-Depressed Post-Depression

Source
For almost two years, this post has been sitting unrevisited and unrevised amongst the drafts of my blog. It's especially interesting to me now to rediscover it and read what it felt like to be no-longer-depressed right on the heels of depression, because I'm currently in a funny combination-state of health and grief and possibility, along with a sense of the changing season and anticipation for all that might mean.

In short, my point-of-view today is vastly different from my perspective while deep in depression but even a little different from when I wrote this list at the end of 2013. And that's why I'd like to share this. Not just to revisit it myself, but to preserve and make visible one more nuance of such an experience. Writers and artists have done well in recent years to show others what depression looks and feels like for them, and I think it's helpful to understand not just the moments during, but also in-between and before and afterward.

I'm revising the writing now for "publishable clarity," but I'm channeling my 2013 self to maintain the dignity and authenticity of the content as though I'm my own ghost writer.





To quote Joni Mitchell, "you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone" (Big Yellow Taxi).

Living in the state of not-depressed is so unfathomably different after the experience of depression that I can't help but notice the contrast on a visceral level. At this point, I feel like I can identify what depression "was" for me better than I could ever identify what it "is" while still in the midst of it.

But I'd like to take this opportunity of clear-mindedness to describe 10 things I'm experiencing right now, at this stage of "shortly after" - this odd moment of vivid awareness and general wellness.

Of course, this is only my list of 10 things. This may or may not look anything like what others experience.


1. It will happen again.


-This is threefold: sort of fear/dread, sort of resignation, sort of identity crisis. Who am I with/without this illness? How much a part of me is it? When will it strike and what will it disrupt next? With all of these, there's an underlying sense of "when, not if" it will happen again.

-I'm also still trying to differentiate depression and grief and dark night of the soul. I know I've experienced all 3 within the past 3 years, often overlapping, but in some cases, how do I know what was which? What can I expect in the future?


2. Survivor's guilt.


-The ever-constant questions: Why me? Why did it recede for me and not for others?

-The guilt of healing is tightly entwined with the occasional disbelief that healing actually happened at all, or a disbelief that the experience was as damaging and painful as it felt at the time. Knowing the ways that other people suffer in depression, I sometimes look back and minimize my own suffering by thinking things like, "it 'only' compromised my academic career and social life." I know I should know better - that it's possible for it to have been both debilitating for me and different from others' experiences.


3. Control and lack of control.


-I feel mostly grounded and steady again. And yet, despite my consistent efforts toward health and healing, the improvement seems almost as incomprehensible as the depression itself. How did this happen? Why have I reached this point without using any drugs or medications? What ultimately made the difference, or was it just another change in the seasons of life? Will I ever know?


4. Breadth and depth of perspective.


-Despite the survivor's guilt, I have a relatively realistic and holistic perspective on the past. Except in my moments of doubt, I grasp the reality of the pain that I experienced and the kinds of things that happened in the midst of it - grief, shattered world views, injured pride/self-esteem, community transition and communal suffering. All of it makes sense in a way that defies even those doubts and feelings of irrationality which still linger.


5. Awareness of joy.


-Like painting with a full palette of emotion and sensation. Like the world is in color and motion, and I can actually tell. And it's not that I'm suddenly confined to happiness. Having the full range of emotions is liberating, and getting lost in any one emotion at a time does not feel particularly defining of who I am.

-I also now understand that, mid-dark night of the soul, I was still able to experience non-sunshiny forms of joy even if I wasn't always attuned to them or didn't know how to create them myself, so it was not necessarily an absence of joy as it was a matter of redefining and contextualizing it. Hence the "awareness."


6. Appetite and nostalgia.


-I have not only an interest in food again, but even sentimentality for favorites and specifically for nostalgic meals, like a pub's beef stew that made me homesick for the UK. Rarely could I experience any of that while depressed. It makes me look back and wonder, what was I eating? Was I eating? I don't even know.


7. Reading comprehension and memory.


-Words on the page actually register. I'm still a (lifelong) slow reader who doesn't always skim well, especially when I get invested in something... but I can actually get invested in something I read now. And remember it!

-Even if I don't remember all the details, I can generally recall how and where to access information I've recently seen. My work no longer feels like a literal impossibility.


8. Coherence in conversation and writing.


-Even audible words have recognizable meaning in a way that they didn't before, like my vocabulary has been restored. I can comprehend what other people say, express myself, and participate in actual conversation.

-I have a willingness to ask questions again. I didn't realize how much I'd missed it, how much a part of me and my learning style this usually is.


9. Creative arts and hobbies.


-Just recently I've played piano, painted, finished a novel-length draft and several short stories, and composed my first full song with lyrics and music. Mediocre quality as all of these projects may be, I don't even care. It just feels good to create. I had been doing some writing and piano-dabbling during the depression, but not to this extent, and those things were more of a lifeline than a joy.


10. Unconditional love.


-I'm experiencing boundless love and mercy for others' imperfections as well as my own. Right now no one can disappoint me, and I'm slow to see fault where there may only be a matter of unpredictability or circumstance. I want to hear all sides to everything, or even just be present to people when they can't articulate their experience. Obviously I'm in school for ministry, so I've always wanted to do both of these things, but now they have a new urgency and depth to them.

Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Religion Does Not Own Marriage (Obviously)

This is in response to Rabbi Jeffrey Salkin from Religion News and his piece, "Why A Real Clergy Person Should Perform Your Wedding." You can probably tell from my title that I do not exactly agree with him, but since he offers a few good insights and his intentions seem genuine, I'll keep this friendly. I also wrote this before reading the comments to his post. Most of them are fairly-articulated critiques, so despite the usual wisdom of Thou Shalt Not Read The Comments, checking those out probably won't hurt. Salkin makes a lovely point about respecting the full range of professionalism, experience, and training of a Real Clergy Person (hereafter to be known as Clergy Person Ordained By Rigorous Denomination Process, or CPOBRDP). I appreciate the call to respect the profession for what it is -- all the facets that aren't as obvious as standing up at the altar. Plenty of worshipers truly underestimate what it takes to be a clergy person in general, let alone on this sort of special occasion. And I like the idea of what couples should expect out of their officiant beyond a single ritual.
And full disclosure: I haven't been fond of the methods for instant ordination and have thus far refrained from any such ordination myself. I have the same Master of Divinity degree and as much paid ministerial experience as just about any newly ordained pastor in the United Methodist Church, and after all those years of seminary and a prolonged internship at intern pay, the thought of my being ordained online in a less "real" way always unsettled me. I've imagined it would feel like taking an easier way out after all that preparation. But thank you, Jeffrey Salkin, because you made me realize I was wrong. When it comes down to it, it isn't online ordination that bothers me. And I probably wouldn't have known that without seeing your complaints. For me, the real problem is threefold: the murky lines between government and religion in regards to marriage, a limited number of respectable options for being a nonreligious or interreligious officiant, and an intra-religious lack of respect for lay ministry. Halfway through seminary, I realized how much I struggled with the very concept of ordination and denominational authority -- not as an inherent evil, but an inherent elite. No matter how much you lift up lay people to live into their ministry, no matter how humbly you serve, there is simply no way not to have privilege when ordination is treated as a privilege. Now I remember. This is why I'm a lay person in professional ministry in the first place; professionalism is as much privilege as I'm willing to take on. The Presbyterian Church (USA) where I work hired me because they considered me not only capable but called to the work I do. At least for what I must do right now, that is all the ordination I need.
But back to marriage. I think we can all agree that, no matter how sacred marriage is to us personally or to our own faith culture, religion does not own marriage. Obviously. As long as marriage remains an option (nay, socially and governmentally rewarded) for people regardless of religious affiliation, diminishing non-clergy officiants or non-CPOBRDP officiants as "fake ministers" is unnecessary and unfair. Why assume that a friend or family member, for instance, would not understand their part to be a matter of respecting the Whole Person rather than providing a one-day service? I respect the training and education and professional experience that clergy have to offer. (Seriously, seminary was challenging in just about every sense.) I love that the best of the CPOBRDP will ask strong questions in premarital counseling or remain committed to supporting the couple throughout their marriage. But don't you dare neglect to raise up the goodness of lay ministry, or claim presiding over marriage as solely the work of clergy, or -- need I say it -- suggest that nones who pursue marriage through any means other than yours are doing so only to take an easier or lazier or less legitimate way. (Relatedly, there is possibly no surer way to keep someone from joining your community than insulting their ways of meaning-making.) Look. Some people have a call to be ordained by a religion or denomination based on a rigorous process of training, interviews, and ceremonial rituals which endow authority. And some people have a call to represent and care for the specific people who trust them to do so. That is their ordination. I've been asked to officiate for friends. I have all of the theological and pastoral training that any newly ordained pastor might have, minus the bureaucratic stages. I've recommended secular therapy for premarital counseling, knowing that therapy in general would actually greatly benefit people who want to be not just healthy but optimal, but that it's usually only called upon when personal or relational health is diminished. I've already expressed far more interest in strengthening the marriage and preparing the ceremony which binds it than organizing a party (not my forte, unless they want parachute games -- I sure would). I know I am only one example of a non-CPOBRDP officiant, and maybe not all of them are as thorough as I aim to be, but I cannot believe this is any less of a ministry or a call just because it isn't the church's government that sent me to do it. By the way, when I officiate for nonreligious friends, I'm not doing so by powers vested in me by an instant online ordination. I'm obtaining permission to officiate from the state governor. This is apparently entirely acceptable and legal, and all I need is a statement of my connection to the couple and a letter of reference attesting to my character. Because, for better or for worse, marriage is still regulated by the state. And it's like a bad joke that my religion would want me to be approved by their governing body in an expensive and exhausting multi-year process, and meanwhile, the state government is the one to look directly at the content of my character and honor the agency of the people seeking to be married. I'm suddenly feeling patriotic.
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