Violence and insanity

On the news yesterday there were two contrasting items that referred to violence and questions of (in)sanity. In Norway the man who planted a bomb in Oslo and then shot down as many as he could at a political youth camp was declared sane and sentenced to prison. The trial was not about guilt - but focussed at the end on whether he was insane and therefore to go to a secure psychiatric unit, or sane and sent to general prison.

Meanwhile in Jersey a man being tried for killing of family and friends was cleared of murder and convicted of manslaughter, diminished responsibility due to depression deteriotaing into psychosis.

Without getting into either case in detail, it set me thinking about how we as society react to issues of overwhelming violence.

Whilst some may see a sentence based on 'diminished responsibility' as an easier ride, a get out clause, finding excuses, on the other hand there can be an undercurrent of wanting insanity to be part of the reason.

When something really horrific happens it can be easy to put it down to stress, pressure, insanity or even simply the heat of the moment.  It removes it from the category of things a 'normal' person might do. 'She heard voices that made her do it', is reassuring because it means that all those who don't 'hear voices' aren't likely to do anything like that.

It makes all the horror part of 'something other', just as people think that bad things happen in other places.  Especially the wishful thinking of rural life or nice surburbia - bad things don't happen in Ambridge, violence, murder, that is for Eastenders not The Archers. Even the recent ripples of complaints about the lastest rural plotlines show the tension between having a story to follow and the inherent heresy of challenging our idylls.

I have seen it in people's lives, when something happens to them instead of some statistical someone else suddenly the belief about our safety and security is torn to shreds. If A can happen to our family, then so could B, C, D...etc.

Living with that fear is emotionally exhausting - ask anyone who has extreme anxiety conditions. For society to continue to function, for any of us to dare to cross the road or catch a plane we need that belief that 'things happen to other people'.

And so being able to dismiss horrors as due to something that makes the killer less responsible, less human maybe, makes it easier to get through life - that normal person in the supermarket queue won't do that kind of thing. Of course that depends on our subconscious belief that we would somehow be able to tell who is a danger and who is normal - and that's a whole other blog.

The vocation of the publican?

Apart from starting the day with a parcel from the postman (why do I always feel guilty answering in dressing gown when they have been at work since...?) it began with Radio 4, and as it drifted beyond 9 o'clock my ears pricked up at the programme about pubs. They were wandering around nearby to my patch, Shropshire/Herefordshire so I stopped to listen.

Tonight as I drove home from a meeting (in a village pub as it happens, the unofficial venue for many a community meeting) I heard the evening repeat of the same programme.  It set off a range of thoughts that also relate to church life.

There are plenty of others who have commented on the confidente role of the publican and their team, as others have referred to hairdressers. They are exposed to people's raw emotions at time, the mood of the community etc.  But what got my attention was one of the publicans who referred to challenge of a job with long hours, creating and maintaining a space for the community to gather, holding of confidences.

Is being a publican a community vocation?  I heard issues similar to that of the churches, the importance of a place, of needing a love for the role that isn't about personal gain. Of the need to diversify yet without losing the essence of what the pub is. Of people protesting against closure of the local that they never attended when it was open.

Who are the ones who hear the heartbeat of the community, who picks up on the confessions, the pastoral tensions in the village? Who is the priest?

Or has the pub atmosphere got to me too much tonight?  (Quote of the day: 'I like you, you don't take religion all serious')

Name that Dog....

Today it is grumpy Great Dane, not a roaring or aggressive animal, but a presence that is too big to ignore and if sitting on top of you it is hard to shift and get out of bed to face the world.

Churchill made the ‘Black Dog’ euphemism for depression well known and I found the pictures of  Matthew Johnstone using the image incredibly helpful back when I was at my worst.  I began to refer to ‘doggy days’ when I have had tough days, but there is a huge variety of those so a friend started to ask ‘what kind of dog?’

There are days when it is a little yappy dog – annoying, noisy (ideas in the head about my inadequacies) but actually small enough to control and ‘kennel’.

There are days when it is a border collie – amiable enough it seems yet somehow still controlling.

I still have occasional Rottweiler days, but also days of the calm lap dog – small enough to control, but still present.

Today though it is a grumpy Great Dane who has had its paws on my shoulders pinning me down and it has taken until now – teatime – before I achieved anything (and that is still in my dressing gown. As there was no-where I had to be I call this my day off for the week and try and catch up tomorrow. I am blessed with the freedom in this job to do that, and am thankful.

Moving on....

This week I spent some family time at my Nan's house. She has moved into residential care and the small house needs to be cleared for sale. I came home with a share of 'useful' objects as well as some bits that are part of remembering her and Grandad specifically. We also had time with old family photos - part memories part new encounters with younger versions of family members.

At the same time a friend has been sorting and packing their house to move to a new post as a minister, and I had a conversation with another friend who has been making the decision to move next year. That and the fact the tenants in my extravagant but small purchase of a retirement flat are moving on leaving me to find new folk...

It has got me thinking about my own worldly goods, and my life as an itinerant minister.  My ordination was a time when people outside of 'the system' wondered if this would mark a move to a new area. It doesn't but even with the set 3 years I have left here, if feels so brief.  A reminder that the long term future of the congregations I support is in their hands (and God's!) and not mine.

I moved in nearly 3 years ago, and settled as if here for the forseeable (and 6 years will be longer than any other place I have been since 18!) But 3 years is a short time to have left, do I invest in the garden work, or begin to think of myself as a temporary resident?

'Life is a journey' and yet roots are important too.  How do we balance travelling light yet daring to commit to the places where we are, and can I get my head around a possible 5 major moves ahead of me. Maybe there is a time to not look at the full journey and just at the next leg of it, I am here and need to be fully here whilst here, whether  a long or short time.

An odd but effective treatment....

Last night I had a good chat with a colleague, she had called to see how I was and that had been the main focus of the call, but then she said she had some things to mention when I was back up and running.  Well you don't tell a worrier that there is something to be raised but not now - our imaginations are always worse than the reality! So I pushed for the info, to find that actually the news of work tensions was a positive to my personal wellbeing.

It sounds counter intuitive but there is a logic behind it, having slept on it. One of the most powerful emotions that overwhelm me when low is that of feeling inadequate, not up to the job, or at its worst even the role of being a grown up human being.  Yet I hold these feelings in tension with a realism from the good days that I know I am more than adequate at the job of being a minister (more confident in that than in being a functioning grown up, though surely that is part of being a minister?)

A conversation about problems and issues that yes I may need to have a part of tidying up but that are not of my making was a reminder that the true comparison is not against the ideal but against equally flawed and vulnerable human beings.  In that comparison I do much better than in the depressive mindset of seeking total perfection.  It is a healthier perspective, and came from talking shop when poorly.

There is an infamous quote, sometimes attributed to Winston Churchill, sometimes not, about being accused of being drunk 'Yes but in the morning I will be sober and you will still be ugly'.  To paraphrase 'Yes I may be useless for a few days but in the morning I will be competent and you will still be....'

Well it worked for me last night anyway, and today I got on with some guilt free occupational therapy. Discovery of a plant on the doorstep delivered yesterday when I was hiding, and other loving caring contacts today add to the step forward.

Putting on your own oxygen mask first...

... or Why I shouldn't feel guilty about things not done.

But I do.  I was away for 2 weeks for ordination and the Methodist Conference, I came back tired and allowed myself a gentle week, then things blew up - important things that I needed to focus on. And so the routine visits, important but not urgent, were set aside. Then it was Holiday Club week - filling my time with prep and action.  But that was last week, this week was supposed to be about catching up with people, it is Friday and I have just about managed to look after myself.

My depression has bitten back - partly a reaction to some stresses, partly because in the midst of that I foolishly missed my meds for a few days, and now experiencing the chemical dip.

It is a bit like flood watch on a sunny day - a strange feeling event in the town a couple of weeks ago when we were waiting to see if the previous weather, and pressures from upstream would overflow the riverbank, and yet it was a gloriously sunny dry day when the sandbags and defences were going up. It felt incongruous, and yet was entirely logical.

The same is true of my moods this week, I feel guilty because there isn't much to feel stressed or hassled about this week, but the effects of previous weeks still flow down the line.  I feel guilty because those I need to visit have more cause to feel low than I do, and because it is not just this week, but that more than a month has passed without catching up with people that I was already overdue seeing.

I feel guilty because in my low mood I am afraid that I am going to drift into my fear of visiting, my fear of inadequacy. I have done some out and about stuff, and had the film show at one church yesterday - only the fixed expectation got me there, this afternoon I have another plus a planned baptism visit to a family afterwards.  Again my mood and instinct is to go hide under the duvet, my brain is fidgety and the wider world feels too big and scary.