You watch the news, and you see the statistics about the terrible, unspeakable things that happen in our world. Child Sexual Abuse, Cancer, Human Trafficking, and Mental Illness all make the news and get people on the television talking sometimes.
The stats are memorable. One out of every four women have been subject to sexual assault. 1 in 10 children faces sexual abuse. 1 out of 25 Americans have a serious mental health disorder. And when you see the numbers and hear the stories, you rightly cringe. Some of us might send thoughts and prayers. But the truth is these things make us uncomfortable.
I know because I’m a preacher. I was taught that my job is to speak with a Bible in one hand and a newspaper in the other. Obviously I read old books, I would teach my own students today to preach with the Bible in one hand and their IPhone in the other. But you get the point.
I believe I must address the hard things around us. And sometimes I can tend to make people a little uncomfortable. But I would rather you be a bit uncomfortable and live in reality than enjoy bliss in LaLa Land (that’s not a reference to the movie – it’s a place of unicorns and rainbows).
And so, I know how uncomfortable these things make us.
I remember the people who wouldn’t look at me when my mom was dying.
I notice the people who struggle to talk about a loved one’s impending death.
I also hear the hushed whispers about some tragedy that has befallen someone. Usually these whispers come in tones of pity, concern, and dread. But we still keep our distance from the really hard truths.
For four years I have remained mostly silent about the one that’s hitting me closest to home, because it’s messy right? I don’t really want to tell someone else’s story. I don’t have a right to tell the story of your cancer journey, or someone else’s sexual abuse. I do believe our stories are sacred and they should be shared by the people who live inside of those stories.
But the truth is, I have a story too. I won’t tell you another’s, but I will tell you mine. My son has a severe mental Illness. That’s my story. We aren’t sure whether his psychotic breaks with reality are a symptom of drug abuse or of an actual mental disorder, because he generally chooses not to treat his mental health in healthy ways.
And for the people who love him his breaks are truly painful. I am thankful for the people who love me who have genuinely asked how we are doing. And when they do, I am usually pretty honest. But the truth is, I’m rather fragile.
It’s hard to watch. If you’ve ever been a parent you know the hopes and dreams you have for your children. I’ve heard from folks who wanted their kids to be doctors and they became lawyers or whatever. And I know there is always a little bit that our kids decide that we could not have foreseen. But unless you have experienced it, there is no way you can fathom the devastation that comes when you just hope for a healthy life and instead you get a separation from reality.
The healthy people who love and care about him have all had to put distance between him and themselves. It’s not what any of us want, but he keeps choosing this life, and we simply cannot follow him into it. We hope and pray that when the psychosis breaks next time, he will be able to have a rational conversation and a deep desire for change. But if not, this could be his life.
We will be like the Prodigal’s father, sitting on the porch waiting for his return, but not following him off to a far country to try to talk some sense into him. There is no sense to be talked. He is truly irrational and unable to have a normal conversation.
Earlier, I said these things were unspeakable. I am saying this because, I want to make them speakable again. 1 in 25 Americans are facing this sort of severe mental health disorder. He may never be able to live a normal life, hold a job, or have a nice conversation over a beer or coffee unless he finds help. There are millions more out there like him. We can’t help them unless they want to be helped. But maybe we can learn to help others. Maybe we can address this growing crisis not in the abstract “these are the numbers out there” words and phrases. But in the very real world down and dirty, “The pastor’s son keeps having psychotic breaks” sort of reality.
That’s messy. Numbers are distant and concrete and easy to avoid. Looking me in the eyes and saying, “I’m so sorry this is happening to you, what can I do?” Well, that’s abstract and dirty and incredibly uncomfortable.
Since I know you will ask, the answer is nothing. But we can’t avoid the hard truths. There isn’t always an easy answer. One of my favorite songs from the 90’s suggested, “Words aren’t remembered, presence is.”
When someone becomes a number, we might tend to seek our own comfort. We might comfort ourselves by saying something stupid like “God always has a reason.” Or “Well, you know, God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.” These bring us great comfort because we believe we have done something. They are also a load of crap. Trust me, God gives you more than you can handle sometimes. And sometimes “the reason” is because this world sucks and things aren’t what they are supposed to be! But it makes us feel good. It won’t make them feel good though, I promise.
We might seek our comfort by just leaving them to it and keeping our distance. I won’t lie, I am introvert and sometimes that works for me. But if I’m honest, I’m not sure its best. And I know when we do it it’s because they make us “uncomfortable.”
Words aren’t remembered, presence is. Do we have the stomach to sit in it? Do have have what it takes to share the discomfort of someone who otherwise would be simply a statistic that makes us uncomfortable?
There is a growing mental health crisis, and I believe deep down that our longing for comfort contributes to it. The world can be an uncomfortable place. We need to learn how to address those realities and sit in them. We need to call them what they are and love the people who are just numbers otherwise.
I believe when we learn to live uncomfortably, and teach our children to sit in the dirt and mess of life. We may find that the mental health crisis gets better. I don’t know much. But I know a lot of us want to avoid the reality of the numbers. I know a lot of us want to be comfortable. And I know it is costing us our humanity.
I’d love your thoughts or your prayers.