Jesus Loves Me (on Zoloft)

Last week, I drove by a little, local bookstore.  Outside their shop was this sign, “You’d look better with a book.”  For whatever (librarian-type) reason, it made me crack up laughing. As my outburst wound down to a smile, I thought, “I am happier -content- more days than not.  Gosh, I couldn’t have said that a year ago.” Wow.

Religion has this reputation for being buttoned-up.  Neat. Orderly. Keep your mess OUTSIDE our holy walls.  Which is the complete opposite of Jesus and how he lived on earth.  He surrounded himself with sailors for goodness sake. (Imagine the colorful language when He walked out to their boat ON TOP OF THE WATER.  “Holy shiiiiii….ning salmoncake, it’s Jesus!”) Unfortunately, His open embrace of ugly human realities has been somewhat lost in the sleek modern day church, in its polished routines and service schedule.  While sharing “authentic” community has become a congregational catchphrase, are we truly making space for the uncomfortable narratives of our stragglers and strugglers? Or do we require testimonies to be tied up with a pretty bow, all problems solved?

In addition to those subconscious church-y expectations, our culture bears down with a heavy weight.  That pervasive mentality: “Pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps” to achieve the token white picket fence of the American dream.  We love a good success story; it’s written into us from birth to want, to do, to be better than the next girl or guy. But I’d submit that this particular striving is NOT God-ordained.  Certainly, the desire for fulfillment comes from above. But this push for perfection? That’s not how JC rolls.

Here’s what I’m getting at: Within Christian circles, there’s acceptable brokenness and there’s unacceptable brokenness.  And most things land in either category based on whether they’re deemed “fix-able” problems. Like depression or anxiety might get a  “Are you REALLY taking this to Jesus?” response. But cancer? We’ll set up a prayer chain, meal train, and spaghetti dinner fundraiser on your behalf.  Now, I’m not diminishing the need for church involvement for families in crisis! Natural disasters, abused innocents, and fatal fires bring out the best of our warriors.  As they should! But what about messy, hidden hurts: PTSD, pressures of caregiving, coping with grief. Mental health wounds don’t bleed, but absolutely warrant immediate action and attention.  Because they *can be* debilitating like a disease. Overwhelming darkness, indescribable panic, out-of-control thoughts. This is a special kind of prison, an isolating hell.

My Daddy is the CEO of a mental health organization.  It was founded in 1949 by Mennonites who saw a HUGE lack of compassionate care in this (once) controversial field of service.  Fast-forward to 2018 and the campus has grown in leaps and bounds, continuing to meet the needs of our community. But even today, stigma exists.  Growing up, schoolmates would ask me, “Can I earn $50 by turning in a crazy person?” Um, no. But these off-the-wall perceptions linger, persisting mostly because of ignorance -not necessarily disrespect.  In a recent twist, my BFF’s church started meeting in the hospital’s vacant lobby on Sunday mornings. Regarding this, Meghan said, “While we worship, I always hope patients hear our songs and are comforted in some way.”  Her sweet words summarized my thoughts exactly. The hospital residents, unlike the rest of us pretenders, have their junk out in the open. They are often admitted because of delusional or self-harming thoughts/behaviors.  And you better believe Jesus would wander those halls with them, patiently listening to their ramblings and picking out the pain.

Being a Christ follower isn’t about looking right, being right, or doing right.  Those superficialities are tenets of religion, NOT a relationship with God. Jesus came because we’ll never be good enough.  While our “act” might be good, at the core WE will never be. He took that burden from us on the cross. No church (or pastor or parishioner) has a right to dictate requirements Christ already removed.  Listen: I imagine back in the day, JC raised quite a few holy eyebrows Himself. His mama got pregnant with Him before she married her fiance, leading folks to suspect the baby wasn’t Joseph’s. (He wasn’t.)  Born in a barn, heralded by a rag-tag group of shepherds, raised in the podunk fishing village of Nazareth, Jesus kicked off His ministry years by getting baptized by His locust-eating cousin, John. He recruited scruffy fishermen followers and made a habit of hanging with the poor and condemning the religious elite.  This Guy purposefully sought out untidiness. The woman sneaking mid-day to the well, the demon possessed man, the lady caught in adultery. Neat was never His goal, reaching people was. Similarly, we shouldn’t hush or dismiss the voices of ones enduring mental illness. Instead, when presented with an unfamiliar issue, Christians need to educate themselves in a humble, quiet way and avoid jumping straight to questions or conclusions.  Because -despite what you *may have* heard- Zoloft, like a good surgeon or love offering, can actually be a God-send. That’s real. And Jesus saw immense value in these rough, unfinished testimonies, in connecting with hearts silently suffering. Take it from someone who knows.

The song we sang at church after I started writing this blog.

Jesus really DOES love me!