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<\/a><\/p>\nMy name is Jonathan.<\/p>\n
I suffer from depression. I have as long as I can remember, although I didn\u2019t always know it was there or what its name was.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m okay most of the time now. Some days are still better than others. Some months, too.<\/p>\n
But I have strategies. I have routines. In one of the more hilariously ironic (and lifesaving) moves I\u2019ve ever made, I married a mental health therapist. Before her, I didn\u2019t have a name for how I felt. Now I know, and I\u2019m thankful for that.<\/p>\n
Oh, and I take pills.<\/p>\n
Wellbutrin is like a sacrament in my life. It\u2019s a gift, a grace. The nightly discipline of popping the little white pill helps bring me back to my senses. It lets me feel like myself. It helps me be productive and kinder to the people who matter most. But some days, and like so many before, I\u2019ll feel the little shadow creep up on me once again.<\/p>\n
Of course, the deep-fried, Southern Baptist Christianity of my upbringing didn\u2019t jive with the whole being depressed thing. It said so, and continued to say so through crystal-clear remembrances of pastors and Sunday School teachers and R.A. leaders from days gone by. And the things they said were horrifying.<\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cAll you need is Jesus,\u201d they said.<\/p>\n I\u2019ve already found Jesus. And I still feel awful.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cPeople who know Jesus don\u2019t just walk around feeling sorry for themselves.\u201d<\/p>\n I can\u2019t help it. Maybe I don\u2019t really know Jesus. Maybe I\u2019m going to hell.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cModern psychology is a lie! God\u2019s put his own anti-depressants right there in the Bible. Claim his promises and you\u2019ll feel better.\u201d<\/p>\n I must not be doing it right. I must not have found the right verse. \u201cDepression means there is sin in your life. If you\u2019re depressed, you must repent!\u201d<\/p>\n I repent. All the time. For everything. Even when I\u2019m pretty sure I\u2019m not doing or saying or thinking anything wrong. \u201cWhenever you feel bad, just praise and worship, and all your troubles will melt away.\u201d<\/p>\n That\u2019s not the worshiping. That\u2019s the kick-drum. And it doesn\u2019t work. Not for long, at least. I\u00a0 tried not to believe this crap, of course, but it\u2019s hard when it\u2019s what you\u2019ve been taught by the people and institution you trust.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n It may sound strange, but I think my depression has proven to me how the Christian life desperately needs the discipline of liturgical worship.<\/p>\n I found liturgical worship in the fall of 2006, about a year after I had slipped to my lowest point. Maybe the depression was that<\/em> bad, or maybe my spiritual perception had become that<\/em> desensitized, but I couldn\u2019t do the feel-good worship anymore. I still can\u2019t. I just can\u2019t with the dark room, the bright lights, the emotional coercion. I can\u2019t with the forced happiness, the expectation of limbic stimulation, the cravings for entertainment. It affects me viscerally in a very negative way.<\/p>\n If it wasn\u2019t for liturgy, I really might have been done.<\/strong><\/p>\n It\u2019s not a matter of preference. It\u2019s much deeper. It\u2019s meaning, necessity, freedom. It\u2019s grace. In the liturgy, I find grace to make up for whatever my spirit is lacking.<\/p>\n My depression is worlds better than it was that fall, but there are still times when I feel disconnected. I don\u2019t always feel my faith. I don\u2019t always feel God\u2019s presence. I don\u2019t always believe.<\/p>\n But I still go, and with quivering lips and stammering tongue I say and sing and pray what my heart is often unable to.<\/p>\n Even when I don\u2019t believe, I say it anyway. \u201cI believe in God, the Father Almighty\u2026\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Even when I don\u2019t feel, I sing it anyway. \u201c\u2026and adoring bend the knee \/ while we own the mystery.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Even when I don\u2019t mean it, I pray it anyway. \u201cThy kingdom come, thy will be done\u2026\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Even when words fail, I listen anyway. \u201cThe body of Christ, broken for you. The blood of Christ, shed for you.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n And I know that I\u2019m no longer alone.<\/p>\n It\u2019s restoring.<\/p>\n Renewing.<\/p>\n Reconciling.<\/strong><\/p>\n And it\u2019s life-giving. Even if all I can do is muster the energy to show up and do my job.\u00a0 The liturgy, the Word and Sacrament, nourishes my faith at its weakest points, and gives me strength to carry on. There is freedom. It demands no false pretense on my own part. It meets me in my depression. It gives me a language I often can\u2019t conjure on my own. It\u2019s profoundly moving without all the emotional manipulation. As I speak and sing and pray and taste, I\u2019m filled with awareness that the meager groans of my spirit are increased on high by the deep groans of another Spirit.<\/p>\n And I find the strength to go on.<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n My name is Jonathan. I suffer from depression. I have as long as I can remember, although I didn\u2019t always know it was there or what its name was. I\u2019m okay most of the time now. Some days are still better than others. Some months, too. But I have strategies. I have routines. In one […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2297,"featured_media":1614,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1610","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\n
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Photos\r\n<\/span>Fujoshi Bijou, <\/a>creative commons 2.0\r\nMark B., creative commons 2.0\r\nMel Stoutsenburger, creative commons 2.0<\/a><\/pre>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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