People Watching

I haven’t been on a bus for a very long time – the journeys I need to make in this rural area not having that as an option. However I do remember the way buses fill up, each person going to an empty seat unless already with someone they know. No-one attempts to sit up cosy with a stranger until it becomes necessary, and even then in the brief seconds of looking down the aisle people are consciously or not sussing out the least threatening space. The seat next to the smart commuter being preferable to the scruffy teen or the old lady with arms full of bags and liable to chat to you whether you want to or not! On the other side the early boarders will have their own space protection plans – from the bags on the chair (forcing someone to dare to speak to you before they can claim a seat) to staring out of the window in denial of what is happening inside the bus.

In churches there is that same tendency – unless already planning to sit by someone  a new arrival will head for an empty space where they don’t have to go too close to others.  This is very normal behaviour – at least for us Brits – we have a pretty large invisible ‘my space’ around us. So many churches with smaller congregations than they were built for have this scattered look when you stand and view from the front.  Even when trying to get people to gather round in a circle or the like there will be those who resist the preacher’s requests. 

Yet this morning it was different. 

The church was laid out with 4 tables surrounded by a circle of chairs, 2 either side of the aisle. This wasn’t cafe church as such but creating usable size groups for a traditional Methodist Love Feast (another Moravian idea Wesley liked and nicked). This is a space for people to share tea and cake whilst sharing stories of encouragement of God in their lives. This was the first go at this and I had no idea how it would go, given people are not being used to speaking out at church unless you are the one at the front! 

It went down well but it was the people watching as they arrived that surprised me. People were choosing to fill up the gaps around a table rather than be the first at a new table. Some who usually sit in glorious separation were cwtched up close to each other. This has intrigued me. 

Is there is something about the table that changes the dynamic?

The expectation is that of being a group, and so it is important to be included. It is a community moment, and the layout says that. But surely all corporate worship is meant to be a community event – it is why we turn up at church at the same time, isn’t it? 

Actually it is much more complicated, some arrive at church on Sunday and long for that community, others come and want to be individual and it just happens that they are in a room with others being individual too. Some of those people will have stayed away today following the information given out in advance. Those who crave community in worship loved today. 

But how to serve congregations that are so varied in how they connect to God in worship?

A lifetime of rejection... for being ill

Today was one of those full of surprises, and one of the surprises was a conversation with someone I already knew but hadn't spoken to for a long time.

It was in theory about something else but she felt the need to begin by stating that she wasn't mad, unstable, bipolar etc.  We then proceeded to share stories, she spoke of being ill and in hospital - but only 'for assessment' - and I admitted my own breakdown and use of antidepressants.

Last Monday was World Mental Health day - one of the aims of which is to encourage conversation and overcome stigma.  Today's conversation highlights for me how fortunate I have been in my own experience, I have not suffered unduly from the level of stigma. Partly that is a shift in attitudes, but also partly that I am now functioning well with the support of meds and have never been an inpatient.

Had I had my breakdown 50 years ago, as this person did, then things would probably have been very different. And it may be that I wouldn't have been able to take up a job in ministry. Today's conversation is only one I have had about the experiences of people over many years with mental health services and the stigma of being ill with your 'nerves'.

Treatment was very different then, medication much more addictive than current drugs, electroconvulsive therapy was widely used, and insulin comas. And that was before facing the conspiracy of silence and dismissal by the community.

Today's conversation let me into a lifetime of being pushed aside because of mental health issues, and the defensive reaction is understandable. It felt very powerful to be able to refer to my own depression and breakdown - not to claim to understand her experience, but to show that I don't see it as something to be embarrassed about, and not something I will judge others for.

I can be be strong because times have shifted, but if I can offer a belated sense of acceptance to those who have only known rejection, even if only in a tiny way, then that is a huge privilege.

Poisoned!!

I am laid out in bed as I write this, feeling weak and washed out after a dramatic bout of food poisoning that ended up in A&E some 40 mins away. When the drugs kicked in and the pain eased I was left contemplating the foolishness of eating the dodgy leftovers with which I had poisoned myself,  put myself through agony and called on medical resources.

I have joked that at least it wasn’t the Sunday before when I was hosting the Chair of District for lunch, but reality is that I wouldn’t have chanced suspicious food on anyone else, be they a big boss or not. Yet home alone I take the risks myself, I don’t care to the same level as I would for others.  This also applies to being bothered to cook properly or eat at the right times, no-one else is affected by my eating routines so no outside forces to keep me in order – just my own commitment to myself, or not.

Self –esteem can be expressed in many ways, but deeply imbedded is the level of care  we show ourselves. We are affected by society pressure to put others first, feed the family before yourself, give your time and energy to those around you – it is not just us home alones who fail to look after ourselves. And that’s before any effect of depression which when fully active sucks out interest in self care.

So was my trip in the ambulance because I was just careless on a busy weekend, because it is too easy to cut corners for myself, or because deep down I don’t care enough for myself to make the effort?

And then there is the question of being ill home alone – at what stage do you call in help whether professional or friends to give an outside view of whether it is serious or to mop your brow? I left it quite late, don’t make a fuss etc. But it is probably more common to make a molehill of a mountain than a mountain out of a molehill.

But that is enough of my musings from last night’s drug induced contemplation alone in A&E.

I’ll just end by noting this is World Mental Health day – and good mental health includes caring for yourself body, mind and spirit.

When Depression and Hope collide

Today I led a review day for 3 of my churches, we had a similar conversation with my other churches a couple of weeks ago. We are a year into a new structure and still trying it on for size, just as it takes time to break in new shoes that fill awkward and stiff after the old comfortable ones that have been shed, so we have a lot to learn and change not least me as the minister who is supposed to guide them through this. We also have issues of declining, aging congregations increasing bills and decreasing resources. All of which adds up to an uncomfortable conversation.

There are signs of hope and life, but they are small and need nurturing, and hard for people to see. And when they do see them it seems they see the work not the hope. It is strange that I, on antidepressants and knowing the struggle to find the positive in my own life, am the one who sees the possibilities and signs of hope in the church – or rather in the church living out its faith in the community.

I feel like the keen gardener nursing seeds and tiny shoots when others see only a pile of effort with no expectations that even if a hint of green is seen that it will survive let alone thrive, and there is just so much housework to do that all that time in the greenhouse just seems beyond them, and quite frankly natural growth can take a lot of work!

As the non gardener myself when not in metaphor I can see their point of view – acutely. And I see their tired eyes devoid of hope if not of longing. But sometimes longing for preservation of the familiar, not being able to glimpse anything that is different – and the seeds that grow today are very different to the plants that released them for the soil and conditions are so different.

And so here I am, the one part of my life that I live with hope and enthusiasm – boxed in by other people showing the depressive symptoms that I know so well in my personal life. I have an empathy from my own life but still want to bash heads together and say ‘don’t you get it?’ even though I know that doesn’t help. So understanding and yet still frustrated, and wondering if I have the inner strength to continue to proclaim hope to the hopeless, and freedom for the oppressed.

I will survive, but for tonight I will lick my wounds and have a glass of red wine.