Jesus, mental illness, and light in the darkness

The Reverend Jamie Evans

Here's a link to my sermon from last Sunday.  The text was Luke 13.31-35---Jesus facing death threats and unflinchingly pointing to his suffering and coming death. The sermon's a protest against the powers of death particularly in light of my dear friend's recent and sudden death (Jamie Evans, left).  It also addresses the ongoing and disastrous stigma of mental illness and depression, the importance of self-care, communal support for those struggling with mental illness (at whatever level), and challenges dangerous misunderstandings of God's treatment of those whose pain drives them toward suicide.

You can find and download the PDF version of the message by clicking here.  

You can also download the sermon Jamie and I preached side-by-side on "The Grace and Art of Friendship," March 22, 2009--click here. (update, June 2016: I'm sorry that this link to the sermon preached at First Presbyterian Church where Jamie served as senior pastor no longer exists)

A Time for Grief

Grieving the sudden death of a friend who is closer than a brother.  Jamie Evans. A remarkable human being.  Deeply missed.  I'm practicing what I teach and reveling in the exquisite gift of each breath, the beauty of each face. So, here's a re-post from the past that speaks to this moment in my life.

Seeing Beauty in Our Suffering

Suffering is inevitable; it’s what we do with our suffering that matters. We can’t avoid it, so why not do something constructive with it? What if we were to look deeply into our suffering and through meditation–earnest examination– glimpse the flowers that can grow from the composted garbage of our suffering? Vietnamese Buddhist monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, says that without disciplined deep looking, we see only our pain and fear. We are absorbed, even consumed by it.

But in deep looking we can also see the fruit our suffering will bear. We see with the eyes of the Gardener, who prunes and feeds the vines through suffering (John 15). And through the eyes of the Gardener we see grapes and peaches, tomatoes and blueberries in the unwanted garbage from the kitchen—for the garbage has become rich, dark compost.

So, I sit in prayer, and turn over and over what could otherwise be only garbage. I enter my heart and feel the ache of fear and sadness, and I turn it over gain. I may even have to hold my nose at the stench, but I do not flee. With the eyes of faith I see flowers blooming, squash and beans and other things that delight eye and tongue.

On this, then, Buddhists and Christians are on the same page, for they both know that from death comes new life, from suffering comes beauty—these are two sides of the same coin. The one is necessary for the other. In every pain and loss is a new beginning.

I don’t have to create the flowers. God has already scattered their seed in the compost of my despair. But I do have to look, to cultivate a seeing eye for the beauty inside every brokenness. That is hard, hard work.

The God Who Cradles Us

Today, the church secretary brought in her new baby boy. She showed him all around. And we did not disappoint---cooing and adoring this two week tiny bundle capped with auburn hair. Mother beamed, radiant with the glow of motherhood.

The child found his way into the arms of a single woman, who held him adoringly, reveling in the mystery of this fruit of another's womb. She laid him back in his mother's arms only after she's finally tired of holding him and swaying gently in the manner that seems to come to all women instinctively.

And I saw in the flesh what the Christian saint, Julian of Norwich, saw in the Spirit six hundred years earlier. Raptured in a holy vision, she "saw that God rejoices that he is our father, and God rejoices that he is our mother" (Revelations of Divine Love, Long Text: 52), who cradles each of us, looks lovingly into our infant faces and whispers: "I love you and you love me, and our love shall never be divided," (LT: 58).

Likely this is just what Isaiah saw too, then preached joyously at just such a time as ours when folks needed to know they were held and would not be forgotten, neglected, or discarded by divine Love (Isaiah 49.14-16).

Prayer of the Heart, Step Three: "Being"

Step one, "Letting go." Step two, "Watching." Now, step three: "Being." You're opening more fully now to God, moving past distractions, even beginning to see your false self. What I mean is that you're beginning to become aware that you are not your thoughts. Sitting and watching them in the light of Christ helps you realize that the part of you that sees your thoughts is not the true you. It cannot be. The mere fact that you can observe your thoughts means that there is a you that is someone other than the thoughts that rumble round inside your head.

This would be liberating (and one day will be). But for now, you're still haunted and sometimes feels hunted by your thoughts. You can't yet move beyond them to the union with God that is pure rest---the highest or deepest form of prayer.

Don't worry. Don't hurry.

Practice steps one and two, and gradually your mind will learn that it doesn't always have to be "on." As you sit prayerfully before God, calling on the Name of Jesus, inviting the Holy Spirit to guide you deeper into this interior landscape, your mind will learn to trust that you have no intention of obliterating your mind or being irresponsible to the demands and obligations of your active life.

Instead, your mind will learn that it too functions better when it lives more fully in union with God. Your mind will begin to taste the fruit of prayer, and it's own God-given brilliance will shine more fully than when it knew only duty and obligation, the grinding and groaning way it used to go about its work.

Step three is a reward for your deep, inner work to disentangle yourself from illusion and falsehood. And because it is reward, no mortal can instruct you here. In fact, I can't tell you what to do as you journey into this final step---the place of divine encounter. St. John Climacus, like all the teachers of interior prayer, mention this stage only in a veiled way---cautiously, hesitantly.

This is real wisdom.

You could easily get hooked on getting here, achieving the reward, engineering certain outcomes, winning a gold star, and standing in front of your class: "Best at Prayer." No, no, no. Step three is a gift of the mystery of God's grace, the kiss of the Holy Spirit who alone can consummate the union of your life with God's.

Here's the only advice I can give you about this final of three steps:

Bind yourself to one and two, and leave three to God alone. Three will surely come to you, but it's way you'll never own.

Step three is "Being" in the strictest sense.  Or perhaps better, it is "Nothing" at all.

Prayer of the Heart, Step Two: "Watching"

You've spent some time now just Letting Go. Perhaps 5-10 minutes. You are still, your body relaxed, your breathing natural, not forced. The Jesus Prayer is riding on your gentle breath. In---"Jesus." Out---"Mercy." Or some other simple prayer that doesn't arouse the mind. Now move on into the second step or stage. The ancients (St. John Climacus, Maximus the Confessor, Dionysius, and others) called the first stage by various names, but they all agree that it is essentially the work of "letting go," or "purgation." The second step then is "illuminative." You simply observe or watch your inner landscape by the light of Christ.

So practice now a presence-of-mind. St. Romuald says, "Watch your thoughts like a good fisherman watches for fish." Simply observe your thoughts and feelings without identifying with them. Let them pass through your mind, one by one. Your breath remains effortless. Return to the Jesus Prayer when distracted. If you become dull or bored, refocus your attention. If you become scattered, relax, let go of what pulls at you.

It's as if you've entered a movie theater. You're alone. The projectionist is playing your thoughts and feelings on the screen of your mind.

• Take a seat half way up the rows of seats.
• Sit down with your popcorn, and simply watch.
• You'll find yourself sucked into the drama on the screen and before you know it you're no longer in your seat but plastered on the screen itself trying to get into the drama.
• When you do, simply peel yourself off the screen and walk calmly back to your seat, sit down, pick up your popcorn again and watch.
• When it happens again (and it will)---when you get pulled back in, identified with your thoughts or feelings---walk back to your seat, sit, watch. Again and again without frustration or judgment.

You'll notice what's played on the screen is quite random. One moment you see something you did yesterday. At another, an image comes from childhood. Then a car door opens on the street outside, and suddenly your mind's wondering who's there; you feel excited, interested. You want to stop praying and look. This is normal. With this practice you'll realize how you've spent your whole life with very little distance between your true self and your thoughts; you've nearly always simply gone wherever they've told you to go. This exercise begins to set you free.  You realize you are not your thoughts, nor do you have to follow them slavishly.

Your goal is God. God alone. God is not your thoughts---even lovely thoughts about God.

In this exercise, you're moving past all that's not God so that you may rest in God, knowing God, touching eternity. This is what you seek.

Next post, step three---"Being".