An Easter for Introverts

For the first time in about two decades, we celebrated Easter with a dawn service. Just over a dozen people gathered together for a quiet, close-knit service. It involved discussion and singing and laughter. It warmed this introvert’s heart to be able to be with my family here. I knew everyone there, and not in some superficial way.

Home. It was like celebrating at home with people you’d welcome into your living space. It was warm and deep. This is where I belong.

Then we had our festival worship. Lots of loud music. Lots of visitors. Lots of joy. It was good to shout together, to praise together, to present the light of the Resurrection. To see old friends and new faces, to see a full church, it cheered me.

If you’re going to be loud and bombastic, Easter is a time to do it. To let the room ring for the surprise joy of a dead friend greeting mourning women by saying, “Hi,” to give voice to the New Creation by shouting hymns of praise, yes, this is good.

And then came a potluck! While the adults set up the food, the children gathered outside for an Easter egg hunt. And what a feast! The worship may have been good for the heart, but the food certainly wasn’t. Heart attack central! But it tasted so wonderful.

And about halfway through the time of the meal, I couldn’t be there anymore. I stepped away. I slipped into my office. Heart thumping, breath short—depression was hitting me. I’d been with people too much. Outside, I heard laughter. I heard people talking to one another. I heard them rejoicing together, the family of God.

Without me.

And you may see those two little words and hold the opinion that I am so, so sad. That my congregation should rush to my side and encourage me. That I am so, so alone.

But I’m not. As I heard them continue the meal without me, all I could think is: They don’t need me.

They don’t need me!

And how freeing that is. I can serve, but if I’m not here? God will raise up another. He will shepherd his flock. If I fall apart, my congregation will continue without me. When I am not enough, my God is enough to hold these people in the palm of his hand. I can’t hold them at all, after all. All I can do is point them to my Shepherd.

As I write this, it’s Tuesday after Easter. The depression has settled in, as I expected it would. This is normal after the craziness of Holy Week. But Sunday… Sunday was glorious. To see God’s people, to be with them, to step away… all of it was so, so good.

And I hope next Easter is just like it, stepping away and all.

Against Me

And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins. (Mark 11:25)

I considered that verse as the guest preacher spoke on it last night at my congregation. Do I hold anything against anyone? What does this verse speak to me?

The preacher talked about some typical culprits: The people you live with, your boss, bullies… but at least in this season of life, I don’t think I’ve got anyone that I’m holding a grudge against. My kids aggravate me, but I’m pretty chill with them. I don’t have any bullies I need to interact with. No, I don’t have anything against anyone.

But then my thoughts turned…

You know who I’ve got the most against right now?

Me.

Yesterday was a depression day. I wasn’t really down. I was not all doom and gloom. I was just in a cloud. I had an entire day to get things done. And you know how much I got done?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

And I was so angry at me. So frustrated. Look, yes, I was having a depressive episode, but it wasn’t a bad one. I was just tired. That’s it. I should be fine!

And today? I’m still slow. I’m getting a few things done, but… it’s slow. I’m not accomplishing what I should be accomplishing.

And the thing is… what Jesus says here? If you hold anything against anyone, forgive him? That applies to me, too. Not just me against other people… but me against me.

When I get nothing done because of depression, frustration is understandable. But I’m not sinning. I’m holding me against me… and what good does that do?

Father, forgive me my weakness. Forgive me for being so angry at me. Let me stand in your grace. Let me accept those weaknesses as opportunities for you to show your grace. When I am able to work, let me work. And when it is time to rest, let me rest in you.

And let me learn to not hold my depression against me. It is an opportunity to stand in your grace.

So let me stand on your promises, and let me fall in your grace.

Amen.

When is it too much?

I told them tonight. “I walked out of the house. By the time I got to the van, I was trembling.”

It’s not been a good week.

Depression finally struck. I had expected as much after Leadership Conference last week. I’d tried to take care of myself while there, of course, but it was still a lot of peopling. I’ve really struggled to do much of anything.

Today I forced myself to memorize the sermon for Sunday. Years ago I interviewed pastors on how their depression affected them. One told me that it was so, so hard to memorize sermons. I was thankful that I wasn’t affected that way.

Well, maybe I am now.

I sat down to do some writing. I did in fact write some, but afterward I was useless.

All in all, I’ve been useless all week, really.

And tonight at worship… I told those who gathered I was struggling.

Necessary Vulnerability

“You free? I’d love to talk.”

My wife and I had just gotten back to our hotel room. We were both exhausted. We had supper with a good friend we’d not seen in about a year. When we got back to the hotel, we met up with some relatives to catch up with over dessert. We sat around for hours laughing as we met new friends. Now we were dragging ourselves toward the bed.

And the text came.

It was another dear, dear friend that we’d tried to connect with earlier during the conference, but hadn’t really had the opportunity to meet up. I went out. We talked for almost two additional hours.

Day three dawned, and I was so, so exhausted. But you know what?

Worth it.

I’m an introvert. I need time alone to recharge. Next week I will likely bury myself in office work as I attempt to recover.

We don’t talk about that.

So, if you’re trying to sell books at a convention, it’s good to invite people to your table. If someone’s looking from afar, welcome them in. “Do you like to read?” is one such invitation I’ve learned from a successful author. If they’re looking at your books already, they’ll typically say, “Yes!” Then, you ask them something that will connect people to what your book’s about. “Do you like talking cats?” If they say yes, you urge them to take a closer look at your book. (Well, assuming your book has a talking act, anyway.)

Well, today at the Lutheran Leadership Conference, I was set up with two books dealing with depression. This is a very different kind of conference, so I wasn’t expecting to be able to use the same methods. Different place, different way of doing things. However, I started out by trying to engage with people.

The books are about depression. I thought I’d begin by asking, “Do you like to read?” and then, “Do you know anyone who has depression?”

Now, I did not expect people to leap over with eager eyes to find out more. What I got instead… well, I probably should have expected it, but it still surprised me.

I asked, “Do you know anyone who has depression?”

“No!” followed by awkward fast-walking away.

And this wasn’t one person. It was a good chunk of people until I just gave up engaging in any way unless a person approached me first.

So Small

I didn’t go.

I’m at the Lutheran Leadership Conference. I’m here to learn and enjoy and connect. I attended it the last time it was held, and it was so, so good for me. I’ve been looking forward to this conference for quite a while. This time, my wife even got to come with! Bonus!

We went to the opening devotion. It… didn’t connect that well with me. Nothing wrong in it. Certainly nothing bad. It just didn’t connect. Whatever. Maybe it was me.

The first plenary session tackled some excellent things for my church body to wrestle with. How do we handle the things that divide us, particularly race? It gave me a lot to think about and to carry back to my congregation. I took copious notes.

And then the second session… well… I think I’d attended this session before somewhere? It felt very, very familiar. It was fine, and if I am in fact remembering correctly, I remember carrying a lot away the first time I attended. Not as much this time, simply because I was already familiar with the material.

And then, as that session drew to a close, I knew I needed to step away. I was already getting too peopled. I needed to be alone for a while, or I’d end up having a depressive episode. I needed to recharge.

So I fled to my hotel room. I didn’t attend the third session. I lay on the bed and putzed about online to try and chill out for a while.

The Week Between

The space between Christmas and New Year’s lays silent… usually. For a pastor, it’s often a time to unwind, withdraw, and recharge. It’s also the chance to see extended family if they live at a distance.

I value that week. After the crazy December season, I need the chance to recharge. This year… I didn’t really get it.

For the first time in years, all my cousins were getting together with all their kids. We spent a day traveling to the meetup location, a day with everyone, and then a day traveling to my wife’s family. Then a day with all of them. Then a day coming back home. And then the day after scrambling to prep for worship.

Oh, it was fantastic seeing everyone again. I enjoyed catching up.

But it was also exhausting. Essentially, I didn’t get any time to withdraw. There was no opportunity to recharge.

Worship went off without a hitch on Sunday. No problem. But then I braced. When I don’t have the chance to recharge, especially if I’ve spent a lot of time with people, that’s often a recipe for a depressive episode.

Monday came… no, I was fine. In fact, it was a great day getting a lot of work done.

Tuesday arrived. I cringed, waiting for everything to crash. But… no!

Wednesday crawled in. The kids went back to school. I could finally sigh and relax… and maybe be unable to slink out of bed? No! The day was great!

And here I am on Thursday, and still no depression. By all accounts, I should be unable to move. Today I happen to be rather tired, but not depressed-tired. What happened?

I don’t have an answer, other than the grace of God. I’ve not changed what I do. I’ve been unable to use my usual depression prevention tactics, but I’m still functional! It’s not me. Instead, I’ve been preserved.

And I’m thankful. So, so thankful. Instead of crashing, I’ve been able to be present with my family and stay current with ministry. I know that had I crashed, it would have been fine. God’s grace extends to my ministry and my family, too. But I’m glad that his grace took the form of preventing my crash this time!

Depression’s Next Step

[sits down, blows air out of mouth]

So.

Tomorrow I start a new phase of this whole depression… thing.

I’m starting an online depression support group.

The journey has been… well, a long time coming. I was diagnosed with depression. Slowly I started telling people. I “came out” as depressed online. Then in front of the congregation. Recently I spoke at a retreat about depression. And now… now I’m starting this support group.

I’ve found that there are so many people suffering. One of the things they need is to simply know that they are not alone. So many others understand the struggle. So many others hurt.

And now I get to be part of the solution. No, I can’t heal depression. That won’t happen fully until we see Jesus face to face. But for now, I can support and encourage as we travel together.

And it’s really scary.

See, if I’m leading something… it kinda says I’ve got it figured out. But I don’t. I don’t have this figured out much at all. I still suffer from depression. I struggle against it. I’m a veteran of this war now. I’ve figured out a few things, sure. I know that it’s not about how much I hang on to Jesus, but about how much he hangs on to me. I know that it’s okay to be broken. I know that some days I really do need to do nothing.

But that’s kinda the point. See, this isn’t a therapy group. It’s a support group. I get to talk honestly and openly about my depression… and listen as others do the same. We’re here to encourage one another. We’re here to listen to each other.

In other words, honestly, this is perfect for me. It’s a place where the gifts God has given me can be used to support others as I seek that same support.

So tomorrow… I have no idea how it’ll go. I’m nervous.

But in the end… I think this is just right.

Awkward Aftermath

Well, that’s awkward.

Every Saturday I send out an email to my congregation. Most of it is the standard announcements and links to resources. This week I included this note:

—

Some of you know that this last week has been brutal for me. My depression crushed me to the ground. I was incapable of serving as your pastor for several days; I was incapable of pretty much anything.

Thank you for the patience for those that I cancelled with. Thank you very, very much for those who reached out to encourage. The body of Christ was made for times like this; we weren’t made to travel this world alone.

It Hurts

You can’t Romans 8:28 your way out of this one. That verse says, “We know that all things work together for the good of those who love God, for those who are called according to his purpose.” Christians are very good at pointing to that verse when someone is going through some hardship. “Don’t worry! God will use this for your good!”

And they’re absolutely right. God will. The way it’s used, though, it’s one of the absolute worst verses for that time in life.

See, often enough, it feels like a club. “God says this is for your good! So cheer up, you goober! Why are you so down?”

Gee, Mildred, maybe I’m down because I’m grieving. Maybe I’m feeling the brokenness of this world in my mind, in my heart, in my body itself. Maybe I’m hurting because I hurt, and you telling me that things aren’t that bad feels like you’re giving me an Aspirin and telling me to stop complaining because my arm’s broken in five places. It tells me you’ve never felt pain yourself. You have no comfort to give.