Robert L. Randall
This article is excerpted from Walking Through the Valley: Understanding and Emerging from Clergy Depression (Abingdon Press, 1998).
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil. Psalm 23:4
When depressed clergy come to me for counseling, I tell them they face four renewal tasks. The first is to apply brakes. We need to stop their downward skid. The next task is to hold still. They need to catch their breath, to convalesce for a while at the point at which they stopped their decline. The next task is to return home. This is the road back to their previously normal state.
This should not be the final destination, however. I suggest that the next task is to step beyond. It is not enough, it is not a valid taxation of our spirit, to be yanked through the hell of depression only to resurface at the spot we left. We should wrestle a blessing from depression. We should strive to make our depression make us better than what we were. As depression transforms us into forms of ourselves we despise, so we must we labor to make depression transform us into forms of ourselves we desire: more peaceful selves, more courageous selves, more understanding selves.
However much we might loathe our depression, wisdom dictates that we honor it. We clergy are not very good at this.
In the first place, we should honor depression's presence. Depression in some form is epidemic among clergy, and appears to be increasing. Most of us clergy will at some time experience depression, whether mild or severe.
And yet our grandiosity tends to keep us clergy from owning up to our depression or its possibility. We deny or minimize our depression, on the one hand, because admitting our depression is a blow to our self-esteem. Being depressed is taken as weakness, and admitting our weakness injures our esteem. Better to hurt than to acknowledge ourselves as human.
Even when the signs of depression are inescapable, we flinch from having it recognized. One pastor for whom medication had been prescribed said this, "As I stood in line at the pharmacy waiting to get my antidepressant, I felt a great wave of shame spread over me. The person behind the counter would know what I was getting and why I felt embarrassed to be seen as 'depressed.' In spite of how miserable I'd been, I was tempted to forget the prescription and continue on rather than be mortified."
Little wonder, then, that when I ask pastors to indicate where they are on a hypothetical scale from 0 to 10, with 0 being no depression at all and 10 the worst possible case of depression, they tend to rate themselves low. One pastor commented, "Well, I'd like to think I'm at a zero, but I suppose after what we've talked about I'm probably at a two or three" In actuality he was much higher on the scale than that.
The denial or minimizing of our depression is sustained, on the other hand, by the grandiose myths parishioners tend to whisper in our ear, such as, "You are so strong and confident"; "You work so hard and do so much"; "You possess such remarkable faith." We either buy into these myths and thus disavow our depression, or else we are reluctant to ruin the image others have of us. Consequently we experience fatigue, irritation, and the erosion of our spirit, but rationalize that we are too strong, too smart, or too successful to be afflicted with real depression.
In the second place, we should honor depression's power. Depression in any form inhibits our functioning. It devours our pleasure. It tempts us toward activities that are more harmful than restorative. It seduces us, at times, to entertain thoughts of killing ourselves.
Nevertheless, when we're depressed we clergy carry on as if we're not a danger to ourselves or to anyone else. The fact is that in becoming depressed we become "at risk" caregivers. "At risk" means we are in such a vulnerable state that we tend to "act-in" or "act-out."
In acting-in we internalize feelings, thoughts, and reactions. We keep everything inside--stewing, denying, rationalizing, raging. The result is restlessness, sleeplessness, hopelessness, physical problems, and suicide inclinations. Tensions mount without release or resolve.
In acting-out we externalize our feelings, thoughts, and reactions. We keep everything outside--blaming, arguing, or manipulating to the point where we interact with others in destructive ways. The all-too-familiar crossing of boundaries some clergy commit, such as betrayal of confidences or sexual improprieties, often stem from ministers who are struggling with depression. When we fail to honor depression's power, we are even more at risk to others and ourselves. In the third place, we clergy should honor depression's potential. The message of history, from biblical figures to current Christians, is that through the experience of depression we can become more understanding human beings. Without glorifying suffering, or espousing a "no pain, no gain" philosophy, individuals can affirm depression's potential for stimulating growth.
We clergy, however, tend to vilify depression. We make our depression "the enemy" we must defeat. We use the swords of intensified work, self-directed anger, or stiff drinks to slay "the dark beast" whenever we see it raise its ominous head.
This is understandable. Whatever hurts us does seem malicious. Furthermore, when we're in pain our capacities weaken for seeing good possibilities.
Depression, however, can be a crucible for new life. Our depression can prompt us to healthier behavior. It can become a condition for knowing what is true and valuable. It can deepen our empathy for others and for ourselves. One pastor who, like the psalmists, had found enlightenment on the other side of depression thanked God for "the gifts of this dark angel."
Finally, in the fourth place, we clergy should honor depression's personhood. Depression is a "person" condition. Our self is involved. Depression does not just affect us; it is us. Depression arises, in apart, from within us, by the ways we have dealt with the world and related to others. Its course and intensity are shaped, in part, by our mental, emotional, and physical inclinations. Depression lifts, in part, as we reorganize our lived situations, central meanings, and bodily functions. Depression becomes a crucible for new life in part through our ability to integrate it into our life-story in transforming ways.
Nonetheless, we clergy tend to regard depression as a disease that has invaded us. We're inclined to consider ourselves primarily as patients who must be treated. We focus on getting rid of the illness. We react as if we were victims.
This is understandable, too. We don't want to be the way we are. We do feel invaded. The medical world now rightly proclaims to us that depression is an illness, often involving some chemical deficiency. The social world is beginning to rightly proclaim that depression is not a character deficiency, something for which we are morally responsible.
The unfortunate result of these correct emphases is to depersonalize depression. We are lured into viewing depression merely in terms of processes and mechanisms that happen to us. We are seduced into treating depression as if we had diabetes or cancer. But while medical interventions are helpful, even necessary at times, depression is ultimately a self disturbance. We need to stand up to depression but not depersonalize it.
Our goal is to "walk through the valley." That journey begins with the affirmation of faith stated in our opening verse:"Even though ..." Our depression is not our destiny. It is not the ultimate power. In a spirit of "even though," we look through our depression toward the other side. Even though things are not going well with me, God is at work in every breath and movement. With that belief as a friend to our heart we walk concerned but not afraid.
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