“The goal of spiritual practice is full recovery, and the only thing you need to recover from is a fractured sense of self.”

Marianne Williamson

Early in my work as a psychotherapist, I had a middle aged man come to me complaining of what appeared to be depression.  By all outward appearances, he had achieved the American Dream.  He was a top level executive with a large, national credit card bank in our city.  He was married and had two children attending expensive colleges in the East.  He had a big house in an upscale neighborhood of the city, drove a BMW, and was making an annual salary well into six figures.  What did this man have to be depressed about anyway?

After doing his intake.  I asked him how I could help him.  He said he had heard there was a pill of some sort that could cure his depression.  I told that there wasn’t a pill that would “cure” his depression, but we might try an anti-depressant which might elevate his mood and get him out of the dumps. I told him I could consult with his family physician and we could begin a trial of the medication.  I cautioned him, however, that medication might not be enough and perhaps therapy would help him get to the root of his depression.  He agreed to see me for several weeks to see how things went.

At our second meeting, I began by asking him what was depressing him.  He looked at me rather confused.  “I thought that’s what you were supposed to figure out.”  I replied that I was almost certain he could tell me what was depressing because, afterall, he was the one experiencing depression.  Rather risky, but I wanted to cut to the chase.

He was silent for a long time.  And then misty eyed he looked up and said. “I hate my job!”  I wasn’t quite expecting to hear that, but ask him to tell me more about hating his job.

He said that he had been with the bank for nearly twenty five years and yes he had been fortunate and done very well.  However, he was no longer motivated by the work he was doing.  “I have spent so many years working to get people to use our credit cards, acquire enormous debt at unreasonable interest rates, in order to make more money for a bunch of shareholders I don’t even know!”  I was as if he was literally vomitting what was depressing him.  “And now I am forty-seven years old and stuck.  My life in some respects is over.”

What this man was suffering from was not psychological, but spiritual.  He was depressed certainly, but what, in my opinion, was actually a loss of meaning for his life.  Making more money for the shareholders didn’t give his life meaning anymore.  He felt stuck.  Hopeless, helpless, and worthless.  The classic symptoms of unipolar depression.  What he needed to do was find a new meaning for his life.  Something which would make him feel vital and excited about his life.

At our next session, I asked him what he had thought about doing when he was 17.  He again looked at me rather confused.  “I can hardly remember back that far.” he said.  Try I said.  After awhile, he responded almost as an after thought, “I think I wanted to be a teacher.”  We discussed being a teacher, its merits, what it was about teaching he thought he would enjoy, etc.  As the conversation progressed, I could see him becoming more animated and somewhat excited.

Finally, I said to him.  “So what’s keeping you from becoming a teacher now?” He looked at me almost dumbfounded.  “At my age, with my obligations.”  Over the next several sessions we worked through most of his reservations about becoming a teacher.  Finally, he decided to enroll in an evening MBA program.  He’d give it a try.  Upon graduating, he accepted a teaching position at a community college in a nearby state and to the best of my knowledge he is still there today.

In this instance, a man who felt he was experiencing a psychological problem was actually experiencing a spiritual crisis manifesting itself in depression.  Once he had gained a new meaning for his life his depression lifted and his life became vital and enjoyable once again.

I would like to continue these thoughts in my next post and hopefully provide some insight into this question.

Paul Tournier

In Kansas City, we joined other young people at a large church in the Country Club section of the city.  I remember sitting in a large circle of 25-30 others who were also thinking about the ministry.  At some point an older person, a minister of the denomination, began to ask us questions about God.  He went around the circle and fortunately I was near the end.  For his question for us was “How do you know that God exists?” There were various reponses to his question.  Some rested in biblical authority; the Bible says it’s so.  Some answered in their religious affiliation; my church says its so.  Still others replied with the intellectual arguments and thoughts of the great theologians.  When it was my turn, I felt somewhat inadequate in my response.  I was still struggling with the whole idea of God’s existence.  I still had too many questions that were unanswered.  I was a true Thomas, forever doubtful.  Finally, I said I just wasn’t sure, but I could say with certainty I did have a continual awareness of the something greater than myself in my life.  Today, nearly forty years later, God remains a mystery to me, but I am still aware of a presence greater than myself, a connection that transcends my personal being.

For me, doubt is an element of faith.  A necessary element of faith, if you will,  For my periods of doubt only confirm that God is still a mystery.  A presence beyond my human need to know for certain.  How aggravating and frustrating it can be sometimes.  Down through the ages, however, humankind has sought certainty about that which we call God.  Someone is always trying to put God in box, to draw parameters around his nature.  Theological “proofs” of God’s existence and nature abound.  Religious creeds and dogma assert the “truth” of God.  Zealots proclaim the righteousness of their particular beliefs.  All of this is humankind’s attempt to explain the unexplainable, the mystery of that presence which transcends our personal being. Perhaps, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German pastor who was martyred by the Nazis in 1945 said it best:”A god who would let us prove his existence would be an idol.”

We are left then with simple faith.  Faith in a being greater than ourselves.  A being that comes to us in a myriad of ways creating days when we have absolute certainty and others when God seems so hidden from us.  The simple act of faith.  For while there are those who would chastise us for a faith in a being for which there are no “scientific truths”, it is well to remember that even the humanist and atheist have chosen a belief that requires a faith in some kind of an ultimate reality.

Trust your time of doubting for it truly is an element of your faith.

Paul Tillich-Protestant Theologian

I am not sure why they call it Black Friday.  Perhaps it should be called Red Friday for all purchases made on credit cards.  Or Green Friday for all the cash the big chain and box stores hope to gain.  Afterall, the Christmas buying season in most instances makes or breaks the country’s retailers year.  In any event the rush is on!  Funny though, today’s “must have” items will soon show up on the spring and summer rummage and garage sales.  The “must haves” to be gotten rid of to make room for more “must have” stuff.

While it may be unpatriotic given the current economic crisis, I refuse to participate at all this year.  I don’t care if Macy’s, Wal-Mart, or Best Buy don’t make their numbers.  We might be better off if they didn’t. I doubt we can spend our way out of this mess. Rather, I am going to do something different.  I am going to make some gifts.  We are going to have all the grandkids over to bake Christmas cookies and watch a video about what Christmas really means.  I might even attend midnight Mass.  I haven’t sung “O Holy Night” for many years.  I think I need to this year.

do not blame it;

blame yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches;

for the Creator, there is no poverty.

Rainier Maria Rilke

After eating way more than seems possible and with our stomachs crying “uncle”, we stretch out on the floor to watch the hapless Detroit Lions prove once again they are not ready to play on national television.  Mercifully, we will all have fallen asleep by the end of the first quarter, while the kitchen saints clean up the wreckage of our gluttony.  We are awakened from our slumber much later when someone (usually Mom) announces “Any one care for leftovers?”

And so another Thanksgiving Day is upon us.  I know I should have a lot for which to be thankful.  But as Hoffer says the arithmetic is hard.  It can be difficult to count one’s blessings.  For to do so requires that we stop long enough to reflect on our lives and all the wonders it entails, blessings if you will.

On this Thanksgiving, I find my thoughts mired in concerns and transitions I am making in retirement.  Why does my COBRA health insurance cost twice as much as my house payment every month?  How cold is this winter going to be, can I afford the propane for the furnace? Why does retirement feel so unproductive? Shouldn’t I be doing something more?  How do I find meaning for my life, now that I am not teaching anymore?  Can I reinvent myself one more time?  Why does pondering how much time I may have left to live vex me so?  Wherein are all the blessings in this?

Last night I stood outside the barn after doing the livestock chores pondering all this.  It was a clear night, not unusually cold for this time of year.  And in the darkness that had descended all around me, I took a moment to lift my eyes up to the heavens.  There in all their splendor were countless flickering lights, silent sentinels who for a moment brought forth awe and wonder in my soul.  The simple beauty and vastness of the stars on a clear night.  What would someone living in a large city give for just such a moment?  I am blessed.

After awhile, I began to walk back to the house.  At this point in the daily ritual I am led by Yeller, Crook, Blondie, and Sasha.  These are the farm cats who live outside in all kinds of weather, stalk mice, and are voracious in the appetites.  What is interesting is that they don’t follow me,  they lead me.  Always in front of me heading for the house.  They seem to have an absolute faith that I am going up to the house. Even if I stop to do something, they will wait, knowing I will resume my walk to the house. At first, I found this amusing, even entertaining as they jockeyed for position in the procession.  While they are still amusing and entertaining, I have learned something of importance from these old farm cats.  Go forth with your life with faith and assurance knowing you will receive what you are seeking, even though their is no absolute guarantee when you begin the trek.  Of course, the cats are seeking their daily ration of Meow Mix.  I am truly blessed.

When i stop all the clutter and clatter in my mind, and focus on how I have been blessed, then I have been given many simple blessings.  Fireflies dancing in the yard on a summer night.  An old sow laboring to give life to the next generation.  My dog Thunder, ever loyal and protective (if i could only keep him from shedding on the front seat of the truck).  A good neighbor who can fix anything mechanical. And last but certainly not least a loving family.  As I have grown older, I have realized that most of the happenings of life are transient, only family has any permanence.  I am indeed blessed this Thanksgiving Day.  And I even made my own mince pie!

Eric Hoffer, Reflections On The Human Condition

Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love; for it is in the giving that we receive; in pardoning, that we are pardoned; in dying unto ourselves that we are born to eternal life.

Saint Francis of Assisi