"What Is So Bad About Feeling Bad?"

Liturgical Materials for Sunday the 9^th of December, 2001

Mark Belletini, Minister First Unitarian Universalist Church of Columbus, Ohio

Opening Words [Next] [back to top]

We are here
after a balmy week of rain and sun
to worship, to link our lives
to farthest star and nearest heart,
to face the realities of life tenderly
and give a face to those realities;
and to dare to claim love's deeper demands.

And may our reason and passion keep us
true to ourselves, true to each other, and true
to those shared visions of what we may together become…

Preface to the Silence [Next] [back to top]
Candles are collected,
potatoes are grated.
Hanukkah will be glowing soon.
Stomachs are churning,
families are gathering,
Ramadam will be ending soon.
Cards are written,
Presents wrapped and hidden,
Christmas will be dawning soon.
Daylight is waning,
chestnuts are roasting by the fire,
solstice will be brightening soon.
Recipes are gathered,
faraway folktales are found,
Kwanzaa will be arriving soon.
Invitations are sent,
reservations are made,
New Year's will be bubbling soon.

But right now, here in this hour, minute, second,
just us, just today,
no "will be's" or "might be's" or "could be's"
or "could've beens" or "used to be's"
just all that is here now,
these faces, these heartbeats,
these breaths, these windows,
these flowers, these chairs,
these words, these phrases,
these, nothing else, these,
not those, just this hour, just this bell tone,
just this silence and no more….

silence

But over the horizon of the present moment,
morning stars always rise.
Over the silence, the images rise like moons.
The images of those we miss, those we love,
those we struggle with, those who expect the
best from us, those who challenge us.

Though they are far away in the fields,
we name them.
Though they are far away, sowing seeds of gladness, we name them.
In the temple of our hearts in silence,
or in the temple of this moment, aloud.

naming

Bright morning stars are rising.
Day is breaking in my soul. (sung)

First Reading [Next] [back to top]
comes from Jane Rzepka's Meditation Manual, "A Small Heaven," published in 1989.

The Christmas Spirit

Newsletters from other churches arrive in the mail every day. So I read them, and they get me to thinking. For example:

Ministers' columns at this time of the year say one of two things: "The holiday season is a happy time," or "The holidays are depressing." The "happy time" school of thought makes a case for generosity, good cheer, and a deepening spirituality, whereas the "depression" advocates cite studies that prove the winter holidays are difficult. At the moment, the "happy holidays" group has a slight edge, the freshest crop of Ph.D.s having studied our December moods and found them to be merry after all.

I beg to differ. With no empirical work at all to back me up. I'd like to make a case for people being regular people even when December rolls around. Sure, Mom is frantic after Thanksgiving, but she is a frantic person in general. Brother John is nonchalant about the holidays, but he's always been the laid-back type. Aunt Martha gears up for a family squabble, but remember, she set up a round or two in July. Uncle John is a natural Santa, but he's a sweetie all year long.

In our family, we will incessantly exclaim, "Where's your Christmas spirit?" from Thanksgiving until the twenty-fifth. This phrase, at our house, has always been an obnoxious code for "Lighten up, it's Christmastime, act merry, not human."

I'm changing the code. This year "Christmas spirit" will refer to the fact that we are who we are, merry or depressed, and we love each other anyway.

Second Reading [Next] [back to top]
comes from Quaker philosopher Parker Palmer's Active Life series, written in 1990.

Twice in my life I have experienced deep depression. Both times various friends tried to rescue me with well-intended encouragement and advice…

In the midst of my depression I had a friend who took a different tack. Every afternoon at around four o'clock he came to me, sat me in a chair, removed my shoes, and massaged my feet. He hardly said a word, but he was there, he was with me. He was a lifeline for me, a link to the human community and thus to my own humanity. He had no need to "fix" me. He knew the meaning of compassion.

Sermon: (for two voices) What is So Bad About Feeling Bad [Next][back to top]

Wendy:

Mark and I, your ministers, strive to choose topics for Sunday sermons that have relevance to most of our lives. Because of the nature of our work, we sometimes see patterns in what is present among us in a way that is only possible because of the deep and tender sharing that you do with us in private conversations.

So today, we want to speak about depression. We want to work to eliminate distortions, and to ease some of the anguish that may be part of the lives of those here who struggle with, and may even suffer from, depression.

It's a topic that is sometimes avoided in polite conversational circles. There is a stigma around this and other forms of mental afflictions, mood disorders, that is hard to overcome. In addressing depression, the most common of mental health challenges, we hope in this joint sermon to raise from hushed tones, to bring into the open, a topic that is relevant to many, many individuals and families seated here today.

Depression crosses lines of --- age, gender, socioeconomic reality, educational background. It's something both Mark and I know about from personal experience, our sermon words tested by the fires of our own lives' experiences -- to use Ralph Waldo Emerson's guide to what "ought" to be pulpit talk.

Why now, you might ask-now when wayside pulpits around town announce sermon titles like "Joy to the World."

Holiday gladness is not a universal reality, and we think it's important to give voice to the suffering that some here in our midst and some family members are faced with during this time of year.

In our zest for the season to be jolly, our reality check screening tools sometimes go on the fritz. Jane Rzepka reminds us people [are] "regular people even when December rolls around. Sure, Mom is frantic after Thanksgiving, but she is a frantic person in general. Brother John is nonchalant about the holidays, but he's always been the laid-back type. Aunt Martha gears up for a family squabble, but remember, she set up a round or two in July. Uncle John is a natural Santa, but he's a sweetie all year long." We don't change who we are just because the star wheel turns to a particular point. And some people experience depression in everday life, and that can intensify during the holiday season.

Perhaps Jane Rzepka's family code to "Lighten up, it's Christmastime, act merry, not human," struck a chord with you. Maybe you too have been told to try and pretend not to be who you are, especially during the more festive seasons of the year.

Mark:

Actually, that has been true for me. In my particular family system, the phrase "Oh, don't feel bad" was often used when I looked down in the dumps or said that I was. After a friend's death, after the loss of a job, or a terrible disappointment when my dreams were doused, the affect of my face or conversational tone would announce my mild depression to anyone:

The invariable response was never "Oh, that's a sad situation, isn't it?" but rather, always,
"Oh, you'll get over it."
"Oh, you'll make other friends."
"Oh, don't feel bad about that!"
"Oh, toughen up, that's nothing."

But it wasn't nothing. There are things which cross the paths of all our lives which are significant. They pull the carpet out from us, shake us, undo us, scatter our focus, burn our bridges, disconnect us, erase our dreamed-of future, shatter us, or crush the reliable assumptions, by which we have lived our lives, into dust.

These things are something, not nothing. And, they are more than the mere frustrations that made Alexander in the story this morning want to move away to Australia. They are heavier by far. Some psychologists offer the definition of depression that it's "great anger turned inward" - perhaps sometimes, but depression is often more complex than even that helpful definition.

When I was younger, I learned to pretend that I was happy when I was, in fact, not happy. I learned to not bring up unpleasant subjects, to not give vent to tears or muddle until I was by myself, or among more sympathetic friends.

Of course, I know that these events I am describing, while not merely Alexander's frustrations, are the ordinary depressions that life is heir to by being itself.

However, like Parker Palmer, I have known two deep depressions of significant length in my little life. They were also admittedly situational, but they were both times when I was so undone that I found it hard to get out of bed. Often, I did not. The whole world became gray to me. Nothing mattered to me. Nothing engaged me. Nothing made sense to me. They were days of fright and terror for me, terror that did not need airplanes crashing into buildings to jumpstart it.

In both cases, I knew I could not fight my depression all by myself. I actively sought therapy. In both cases, I was far enough away from my family system that I didn't feel pressured to pretend I was happy when I was not. In both cases, I took it day by day, even hour by hour. In both cases, I slowly returned to myself, returned to noticing the rosy beauty of the sunlight on a gable, the delight of rain puddles mirroring clouds, and the joy of friends in my life. These were my truest friends, for they did not try to fix me, deny my feelings or cheer me up. Even better, they did not try to make me feel ashamed that I was depressed, as if I owed the world a happy face and should not feel either my feelings or note my numbed, broken self.

I did not seek medication in those days. I do know folks who go that route too, and in some cases, it's a great temporary help.

I also know that some folks suffer from depression that is constitutional, not situational. Gene Pickett, former president of the Unitarian Universalist Association, recent chair of the Ministerial Fellowship Committee that I sit on, has lived his whole life, and has ministered to others from a place of depression, as his excellent biography by Tom Owen-Towle makes amply clear. His strength to do the amazing things he has done in his life came from what he calls "his wintry spirituality." This is his way of talking about how he has thrived despite his constant uncertainty, loneliness, ambiguity, and wrestling with death. Gene is 75, and has lived out most of his life during days when no medications were available to help restore equilibrium to his depressed mind, and when weekly therapy was beyond the cost of a minister's compensation. Yet his life is a testimony to the power of anyone, including one prone from birth to depression, to live powerful and effective lives. And, to his everlasting credit, Gene showed no shame in talking about his depression to his biographer, and would not be surprised that I would mention such a thing today in this sermon. And maybe, just maybe, it's in admitting the truth of ourselves without shame that we find the power to live abundantly despite the adversities we face. The power of truth is strength. The power of shame, on the other hand, depleats us and makes us even more depressed.

I have more to say. I have known many people in my life who have benefited from taking daily medications that help dissolve their own wintry and gloomy mood. True, they sometimes have to struggle with their physicians to find the right medication and the right dosage…these medications are hardly an exact science yet. But these people take the trouble to go through the process.

I, for one, am glad that these men and women have given up feeling shame about their condition, and just got on with accepting the reality of their biology. They know that just as diabetes requires treatment, so does a lack in the human brain, no less a physical organ than the glands that make insulin. All of these people have given up thinking they are somehow inferior because they have a daily fight against depression. All of them have given up thinking that they just are not trying hard enough. All of them have given up the bootstrap theories of health and wholeness that so often distort the physical realities of the human condition. I take these people as models of humility and honesty. You see, they have stopped trying to prove their worth and earn their right to be on earth, and have just accepted their worth as an inviolate given. Instead of getting into theological arguments about the word grace, they just simply live it out in their lives. I salute them.

Wendy:

About twenty years ago, I had an experience with depression that seems proper to share today. I had recently moved, and was having a hard time adjusting in my new setting. My children were young and were making friends at school. My spouse was ensconced at work. I didn't have a job outside of my home. I had lost important caring communities at church and in my former neighborhood, and I was lonely to the point of tears. Although the moving boxes were pretty much empty, we hadn't tossed them since we weren't sure we had landed in a permanent home.

What was I going to do? I found that, day after day, I had to push to get dressed by the time the children arrived home from school in the mid-afternoon. I was having a difficult time making choices about everything. I had a negative view of myself, who I was, what I was contributing in the world. I felt defeated and deprived.

I'd lived with a mother who had had a negative view of the world, a mother who was clinically depressed, and there it was in me. I saw the world through a half empty glass. I drew in, farther and farther, which was uncharacteristic of my usual behavior. My customary sleep patterns were turned upside down, and I was tired much of the time. I had a hard time imagining the possibility of a joy-filled life, some days, even, of visualizing the future in any form.

To make matters worse, the holidays were approaching. Choosing whom to give gifts to and what to purchase seemed overwhelming. I couldn't get in gear like I was accustomed to doing. I felt I had to find, somewhere inside, some measure of lightness so as not to spoil the celebrations for those close to me.

I decided that I didn't have, at that particular time, what it took to get a traditional job. Mostly what I needed was something to get me out of the house. I scanned the want ads; nothing seemed right. One day while watching television, I had an idea. Perhaps I could get a job as a Santa, to listen to children dream about what they'd find under their Christmas trees. It was the first ray of joy and hope I'd had in a long while.

I began to take little steps, looking up numbers to call, filling out an application. I wasn't hired as Santa, but accepted a job as a Santa's helper. I liked having a uniform to put on. No choices to make. I liked being able to summon up my professional clown experience and kibbitz with folks as they passed by, too busy to even smile at Santa. I liked having an endless supply of candy to give away…. and sample!

When I look back over those difficult months, I recognize several things that were going on to help me live with, and through, my situational depression.

First, I put some significant focus and attention on my inner self. I set time aside most mornings to write in a journal, at first just a few lines at a time. I worked at using language that was more gentle toward my self. I gave myself time during the day to just rest and listen. I got professional help; I worked with a wonderful therapist who ably and gently companioned me in reaching out to my inmost self.

Second, by my interactions with parents and children who were waiting to talk with Santa, I connected myself with others -- oh, briefly, and not in depth, to be sure, at first, but I began the journey of connecting myself to others. No longer did I find my place on the outside looking in, but rather, at times, slowly, I began to relate to those who spoke and listened and cared for others.

Third, and finally, by walking on huge expanses of sand along the Los Angeles beaches, by gazing at the night sky, by puttering in my modest garden, by setting time aside for quiet reflection and prayer, I began to sense my connectedness in the family of things. I felt, little by little, my interrelatedness with all that is. I began to recognize the newness that life offers. I became responsive to the Holy, what I would call God, moving in my life.

The lifeline that brought me, slowly, to greater health was attention to my inner self, connecting myself to others, and sensing my interrelatedness with all that is. These three. Elements that serve me, that serve all of us, all the days of our lives. There are life lessons even in the most trying of times.

Mark:

Nineteen million people claim to suffer from depression in our nation today. After the terrorist attacks on September 11th, that number went up much higher according to all the gathered reports.

Thus, our subject this morning is especially timely. There is not one person sitting here who will escape depression at some time in their life, and no one who will be isolated from those who do undergo depressions, whether of the situational or inherited kind. Thus, in closing, I want to lift up our Unitarian Universalist principles, two in particular. The inherent worth of every single human person is a good touchstone. We are worthy no matter what situation we find ourselves in, We do not have to earn or beg for our worth. We do not have sit up and do tricks and smile for others. We are worthy, whether we are feeling joy or sorrow, whether we are on top of the world, or terribly depressed.

Two, the interdependent web of all reality does not just have to do with our connections to the bees and whales and lichen and newts of the planet, but to our human sisters and brothers here on earth. We need each other. We can help each other get through deep and terrible times by not trying to fix each other, but by simply showing up and being a presence to each other. A phone call we make just to say hello can brighten another's day. And, May Sarton, the late Unitarian Universalist poet and journal writer, ends our sermon with a bit of seasonal optimism…even while talking about depression she wrote, in her Journal of a Solitude (1973)

"Sometimes one has simply to endure a period of depression for what it may hold of illumination, (when we are) attentive to what it exposes and demands." Thus, even our gloomiest times may offer us some illumination, some insight about our lives if we go through them instead of pretending they're not there.

If we come through these times, whatever their origin, a bit the wiser, then what indeed is so bad about feeling bad?

Offering: [Next][back to top]

Just as no shoots grow in spring without rain, and just as there is no life on earth without the sun, so there are no congregations, such as this one, without the rain and sun of generosity and kindness and grace of giving. May the offering be for our common sustenance and prove a source of our common joy.

Prayer to the Power of Love [back to top]

You are power, Love, power.
You are not silky and soft, like rosepetals
You are not flimsy, like sweetness,
You are strength and power.
But do not come with your strength
to take away our troubles,
but only be with us in them.
Don't break our chains or offer us freedom
as some sort of present,
but help us to feel what it would be like
to be free so we know whereof
our dreams are made.
Do not carry us as if we were babes,
but rather hold us fiercely,
like an encouraging, passionate friend.
You are power, Love, the power to dream,
to wish for everything that grounds us in you,
our reason, our passion, our joy, our doubt,
our questions, our faith, our freedom….

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