A Sign For You

Sinclair Ferguson writes here, ” Jesus did not come to add to our comforts. He did not come to help those who were already helping themselves or to fill life with more pleasant experiences. He came on a deliverance mission, to save sinners, and to do so He had to destroy the works of the Devil…There is, therefore, an element in the Gospel narratives that stresses that the coming of Jesus is a disturbing event of the deepest proportions.”

It was not an angelic chorus
he first heard, but his mother’s anguished cry.
His first breaths were
scented with dung,
his first sight some smears of blood.
Soon he felt the earth rumble
with trampling horse’s hooves.
He soon tasted the tears of Rachels’ lament.

The homesick vagrants who visited him
first, and wondered at heaven’s exile — they
saw an infant bound in cloths
laid in an animal’s trough,
nestled in a hollow
made in a cold stone, resting
like a corpse in a sarcophagus —
no radiant beams marked his advent.

Now Walmart will outfit the parents with halos,
snuggle the fat baby in a fleece blanket,
and sprinkle the scene with pretty angels
spangled in gold. Hallmark will tell the story
voiced with British accents
staged for suburban flat screens, drenched in sentiment.
The message is stripped of darkness.
But it was for orphans and lepers and hookers,

it was for the night shift workers
He was anointed.
He came for haters of Christmas,
and of Him. Creation was still groaning
at His birth and a dragon waited to devour Him.
That bright star leads  to a tomb.
The sign for you, yet still
is  cloth strips and hollowed-out stone.

Ode to a Nameless, Homeless Lady

The general rule is that those who listen most and speak least will be the most useful to sufferers. —David Murray

At last, Dr. Murray and I are in perfect agreement!  I am appalled at his reckless recommendation of the use of anti-depressants — dismissing their considerable harms, and ignoring the research that grant them of  no more benefit than placebo. Therefore, readers of his blog, and his  book, “Christians Get Depressed, Too” are not given true informed consent. Or good information, as when he repeats that canard,  that disproven theory about chemical imbalances.   And when he was informed about his misinformation, he redacted that blogpost, surreptitiously.

But, as he says here, it is  good to just listen to those in crisis, and not to be overfond of your own rhetoric and presuppositions. What is most important is that those in the throes of that particular terror — that he prefers to call ‘mental illness’–  feel safe, and especially safe in our churches. And that is my passion — that these kinds of sufferers feel safe and really listened to, and that their spiritual crisis not be seen as the product of a ‘broken brain’. Yet it is the meds that break the brains of some. 

We must listen, really listen to those suffering. Because in its distress, a body can speak in its own idiosyncratic language that disturbs the social order, and instead of being respectfully listened to, sufferers are treated with means that if they had any agency over their own bodies, they would vehemently protest. That is also part of what is lacking in  informed consent.  So we must make a supernatural effort to listen to those who might be standing on a kind of holy ground.  I think that if Dr. Murray would read my testimony, he would understand what I mean by this.

When those in soul crisis don’t protest when men in  white coats come for them — so that  feelings of peace and safety might be restored for everyone else– it is really saying something. It says that these hapless individuals feel so unsafe and so helpless that they would permit even this kind of huge indignity. I saw this kind of emergency in a nameless, homeless lady  who allowed herself to be straitjacketed and carted away this week at our church’s outreach to the homeless, a population that consists of a good portion of the intractably mentally ill, a population that is skyrocketing because of reckless overprescription of psychoactive drugs,  as journalist Robert Whittaker documents in his groundbreaking book, “Anatomy of an Epidemic”

It was so interesting to me that after educating all week on this blog about the Murphy Bill, which would legalize such callous disregard for basic human rights in a huge government power grab, I found myself kneeling on the ground, getting as close as I could to a hostile, frightened woman — really trying to listen to what she said, and in her babblings of government conspiracy to cut off peoples’ feet, I heard her fear for her own — statistically  quite likely to be — gangrenous legs.  She had contempt for  authorities who exploit and mistreat, yet she submitted to the eyerolls of the fireman who came to give ‘medical treatment’. That was really saying something. I heard her fear, and her desire for medical attention. I fervently pray that she got good care.

Because, on the ground in our church fellowship hall, it wasn’t about me and my campaign against coerced care, and mandated chemical lobotomies for the poor and the socially inconvenient. It wasn’t even about my grief about my mother and daughter who went one day into that same locked ward. It was about this woman and what she really needed. And knowing that Diabetes Type 2 is one of the hugest risks to this overmedicated population, I heard her fears for her hurting feet — and though I  felt anguish as I watched her go meekly into that ambulance, I understood that the  pain I felt was more about me.

Sometimes when I am really in a great amount of grief  I have to express it in poetry. I think this one in particular comes from a general feeling of not being respected or really listened to in the conversations I have about these issues.  At times like this, I really identify with the homeless mentally ill population that is so outside the camp, whose inchoate passion is never properly interpreted. That doesn’t feel safe.

 

Ode to a Nameless Homeless Lady

I know it was just that my friends wanted you to be safe,
that is why they called 911
after you wouldn’t get off the floor after our dinner.

Oh, I hope you really enjoyed
the food we made, it was a feast wasn’t it?

—Enchiladas,chile beans, mexican rice, an amazing salad —

All this effort dear lady, to make  felt sanctuary replace
your nebulous fear, so that surrounded
by the presence of  the One  God you can palpably sense
every week, you’ll be so God-haunted you’ll hunt for him
as you walk your lonely roads on your hurting feet.

My friends just wanted you to be safe, and that is why
that scary ambulance came. And why everyone came to look.
And really, you did not protest too much about it,
this might be the only occasion when you are paid attention to!
Except at such a costly price of  indignity.
But I am the one who took offense
at the patronizing tone of the fireman
as he got you into that chair they straitjacketed
you to, and wheeled away!

Because I remember my mother.
She was once at that same locked ward,
a literal padded cell — I saw it!
I peeked at her through the window there.
Are you really someone’s mother, too?  Oh that
You would be my mother, my sister —  and feel  safe
as you find your home in Him.

But you went meekly.
Perhaps you are used to such insults,
Or you were too distracted by your own real pain.

From the way you talked about conspiracies
the authorities have to cut off feet, I could hear your fear
for your health. I hope you got good medical attention!
When you are hearing  your voices sometimes
you aren’t listened to
at all, and your symptoms are commonly dismissed
as “Somatic Symptom Disorder” — do you hate the way they
can dismiss having anything Real to do with  you, except
to increase your dosage — because of convenient categories?

How sometimes they don’t listen, and  don’t remember
that diabetes is definitely one of the most common
Adverse Effects of the expensive atypical anti-psychotics
you are probably prescribed to control your
anti social behavior and your anger at your mother —
with little regard for serious side effects.

“These include major, rapid weight gain
— 40 pounds is not uncommon — Type 2 diabetes,
breast development in boys,
irreversible facial tics
sudden heart failure with polypharmacy
in the young, and among the elderly
an increased risk of death.”

No wonder your pain is ignored.
No one ever really listens to the ravings of a lunatic
who says everything’s  a conspiracy.
Even the  very real pain you try to describe in your feet

with your own bodies unique language.
And you are curled up into the comfort of a womb
like my own daughter did that day
because no one cares about your dying, really.
Only a daughter would, or your mama who is probably  dead.

No one cares to connect your babblings
to the the common side effects of the drugs
they use to dose you to your death,  never
really listening to you! But you have seen others
in permanent wheelchairs, and you are afraid.

And you should be! I wish I could help you
but you will not even tell us your name,
and why should you? They won’t even let
you choose your own name for your
infirmities, the way Jesus did with Legion,
before he brought him to his own right mind.

Jesus gives even demoniacs some human agency.

Jesus let Legion diagnose his  condition.
He  wanted Legion to know he was known, and to
Comfort him before he set him free.

Keep your name secret from your captors,
and from me too, until you know me.
Jesus knows your true name
and he will connect me to it
when I pray for you.
So I don’t blame you for not sharing
the very last thing
you have left, for we have stolen
from you the dignity of  body agency
and forgotten that you, too
are made in the image of God.

You are invited to eat with us again, dear Nameless Lady,
at our delicious feasts we host for madwomen
and prodigal sons and hobos — all sinners and good
for nothings like me, who will sit with you
at your table and bring you a cup of cold water
and touch your hands, and pray for healing
for your feet if you let us. But first you give permission.
We long to  restore some measure of nobility
that the harsh streets and a corrupt system
of ‘care’ have ripped away from you,
oh dear Nameless Homeless Lady!

 

 

 On this 50th anniversary of the Civil Rights Act, please oppose the Murphy Bill HR #3717, because:

“People will turn away from forced and coercive services.
We need to feel safe and understood to connect with others.
We also need hope and a sense that we can get what we need.

So many difficulties arise in life,
especially when our parents, schools and communities
have their own problems and don’t understand our perspective.

Connection, unconditional positive regard,
trauma informed services and safety
must replace coercive, medical models
and forced services if we hope to help others heal.”

words of Cindy Peterson Dana, as a comment on a thread at Mad in America, titled– Murphy Bill: Violates Civil Rights, Increases Government Intrusion and Control, and Ignores Scientific Research

 

The Reason For a Cage, Again?

Eulogy for our own little pet canary, “Knox”
found dead in his sleep, April 14, 2014

The Reason for a Cage, Again?

But I did it for your own good, little bird now perished
oh you of sweet voice and vibrant plumage.
Your cheery canary’s song I cherished,
yet you lie cornered and stiffened —  still imprisoned in your cage!

But you know, Knox, it would have been suicide
to let you wander the wild skies and nest among the finches —
All your gloating cousins you enviously eyed
as they pecked the seed cup pinned against your own window.

Never again will I cage one touched with fire.
Never again will a creature made in God’s image
grow weaker and cease to sing under my patronage,
his tortured last pants pleading for his hearts desire!

 

 On this 50th anniversary of the Civil Rights Act, please oppose the Murphy Bill HR #3717, because:

“People will turn away from forced and coercive services.
We need to feel safe and understood to connect with others.
We also need hope and a sense that we can get what we need.

So many difficulties arise in life,
especially when our parents, schools and communities
have their own problems and don’t understand our perspective.

Connection, unconditional positive regard,
trauma informed services and safety
must replace coercive, medical models
and forced services if we hope to help others heal.”

words of Cindy Peterson Dana, as a comment on a thread at Mad in America, titled– Murphy Bill: Violates Civil Rights, Increases Government Intrusion and Control, and Ignores Scientific Research

 

Doctor, Dred Scott is in Florid Drapetomania Again! Perhaps a Lobotomy?

Too bad those doctors who championed that notorious description of Drapetomania didn’t have Haldol at the ready to inject into their runaway slaves, like your nice modern psych wards do, it is so useful as a chemical restraint for bad behavior. But for anyone clueless about  “Drapetomania”, for anyone who needs a sad history lesson about this spurious social control technique — excuse me, I meant ‘diagnosis’ —   here it is: Civil War era doctors believed slaves held an  irrational belief –remember, this was dreamed up way back in 1851 — that freedom was better than chains. Because of course slaves loved their captors, and thus it would be irrational to escape forced labor!

This was actually argued as a medical diagnosis.

This is all very relevant to the debate going on about “The Gospel and Mental Illness” at Kevin DeYoungs site.

Because Psychiatry’s trusty double-edged sword of ontology and epistemology divides sometimes in uncomfortable ways. Until 1972, homosexuality was a pathological behavior, until Stonewall’s riots forced a rancorous vote by the APA to boot it out of the DSM.  Will “homophobia” be the next irrational behavior to be controlled by coercive psychiatry? Shall the DSM-6 suggest forced drugging for those fundies who still put up a fight against ‘marriage equality’? If not, a desperate despot can always avail oneself of the cute diagnostic category, “Not Otherwise Specified” in the DSM-5? That diagnostic black hole means psychiatrists get to make it up as they go along. What a useful dragnet it  proves for those rebellious peons who refuse to submit to the powers that be. Like Dred Scott.

Beware when judges  hobnob with Psychiatrists. Beware when they can issue gag orders to those who object to this form of social control. Beware these kinds of  comfortable relationships among the power elite. Beware when you become comfortable that  anyone holds this kind of ruling power. Beware the Murphy Bill.

Because this kind of naked abuse of power is  actually happening in this day and age:  Behold The Horrifying Story of Justina Pelletier. Psychiatry has legally locked up a fifteen year old girl with some unfortunate health issues that were of uncertain origin. But some nice doctors at Boston Children’s decided it was Somatoform Disorder, and since her  parents were interfering with their brainwashing –excuse me, I meant the curing of  her brain disease –they were denied guardianship over their daughter’s care. They have even  been accused of Medical Child Abuse, and have had gag orders issued to stifle their dissent. So Jessica is languishing in this jail– excuse me again, I mean nice comfy locked ward —  and cannot see them except in weekly supervised visits. Jessica, who was happily  ice skating in a competition before her unfortunate meetup with the nice folks at the notorious Bader 5, Boston Children’s Psych Ward, is now confined to a wheelchair after languishing  for over a year in a locked psych ward. Those helpful medical experts are now giving her psychiatric drugs, instead of the course of treatment other specialists of her peculiar Mitochondrial Disorder had decided was best. These well meaning psychiatrists are teaching Justina that her symptoms are all in her head. I hope they are not using electroshock therapy to accomplish this goal. I know I would cry uncle after experiencing this. I am relieved to note that lobotomies are no longer the current fashion in psychiatric treatment,that they are not suggesting A nice jab with an ice-pick through the eye straight into prefrontal lobe will do the trick Justina! 

Please go to that link and read that searing Wall Street Journal expose of the history of lobotomy, of the raw naked power neurologist  Dr. Walter Freeman held at one time in the 1950’s . It is deeply sobering to consider that the fabricator of this barbaric practice earned a Nobel Prize for his work, and so disturbing to consider  the sway his crackpot ideas  held over influential people — it was cutting edge science. Freeman experimented  on hapless vets suffering PTSD after World War — “in accord with our desire to keep abreast of all advances in treatment,” the V.A. says in a memo. His influence spread and soon people in psychic distress would write to him and beg for lobotomies, in order to be returned to a  “a surgically induced childhood.” His own description.

But it became a standard treatment for all the intractable and difficult to handle patients in psych wards. JFK’s father had it performed on his own daughter. It was as fashionable among the elite for a quick fix for anxiety, just as Ativan is to us now.

Faced with an ice pick, I think Justina would meekly say, “No thank you doctor, I will promise to stop cheeking my Seroquel.” How I wish for those who suffer the torments of psychic pain might have the silver bullets of targeting drugs which will afford great benefits, and do less harm! But for now I am in full agreement with Dr. Thomas Szasz, who gave us that illustration of Drapetomania for the abuses of psychiatry.  Although  Szasz  has some polarizing Libertartian philosophies that I cannot endorse, still I agree with him that “The Myth of Mental Illness”  is a linguistic construct that priveleges those in power to control behavior that they are uncomfortable or disagree with.

I cannot agree with that esteemed SUNY professor of psychiatry more. Every psychotic who is permitted agency to refuse dangerous neuroleptics for more effective and humane courses of treatment is grateful for his work.  Otherwise we might all  be hearing some Dreadful Doctor of Dred Scott saying to us,”Bend over psychiatric slave, because the DSM-5 has suggested that your condition is threatening  your safety. You really might want to escape this locked ward to freedom, and we have determined that fresh air and sunshine is not a healthy environment for you at all. ”

On this 50th anniversary of the Civil Rights Act, please oppose the Murphy Bill HR #3717, because:

“People will turn away from forced and coercive services.
We need to feel safe and understood to connect with others.
We also need hope and a sense that we can get what we need.

So many difficulties arise in life,
especially when our parents, schools and communities
have their own problems and don’t understand our perspective.

Connection, unconditional positive regard,
trauma informed services and safety
must replace coercive, medical models
and forced services if we hope to help others heal.”

words of Cindy Peterson Dana, as a comment on a thread at Mad in America, titled– Murphy Bill: Violates Civil Rights, Increases Government Intrusion and Control, and Ignores Scientific Research

Naming Rights for These Afflictions — They Belong to the Legions

What follows is a cleaned up version of my rather lunatic response to the days-long moderation of comments which effectively shut down a potentially profitable dialogue between me and an anonymous commenter at The Gospel Coalition on Kevin DeYoungs guestblog discussing The Gospel and  ‘Mental Illness.’ I have tried to shape that hurried mess of double comments into a series of blogposts. I have tweaked the anonymous commenter’s name — because he has masked his identity, this moniker is meaningless — he might as  well have claimed to be Jesus Christ Come to Adjudicate  Debates.  That would be at least a hilariously appropriate identity that would have power to quiet any lunatics’ objections to being silenced! But his name is not connected to flesh so it is a waxed nose I may manipulate to suit my purposes,  like Psychiatry’s bible, the DSM-5 — when there are no biomarkers for supposed diseases, there is no logic and no accountability around the diagnoses. It is rabbits from hats, It is not Real. It is Not a Sole Fib.

We are considering deep questions of Knowing and Being that are certainly above my limited understanding of philosophy, and I will show you later how it is going to be very meaningful to you in my next blogpost, but here is where it Gets Real.  There are good reasons to have but limited respect for anonymous commenters on the Internet.

 Not a Sole Fib says,  “Don’t take the opinions of men too seriously – especially internet strangers who may or may not know what they are talking about and cannot walk with you, pray with you, or love you through the challenges God has put on your plate.” The irony of this comment is so rich:  where does this Internet Stranger, who was asked to unmask himself but politely declined, get off by calling me “insensitive” —  and what does he know of my real life? I at least cite my sources, and my pastor said he will vouch for my character, he said, “I let you watch my kids”.  But Not a Sole Fib  has informed the world at TGC that they cannot trust me as a source of reliable information — and readers these are not trivial issues we are discussing — life and death are literally at stake. What does ‘Not a Sole Fib’ know of how I love or pray for those  Schizophrenics who die twenty years earlier than average?

With all due respect Not a Sole Fib I still think there are still too many questions that you yourself have asked that I do not feel have been satisfactorily answered.  So we really can’t shut down the discussion now!   I am most interested in  these  two points –by whose authority shall those who suffer be named? And where can we more profitably locate this discussion in the Bible? I think it is interesting that Jesus always gives first naming rights to those whose brains are involved. He always respects free agency. His searching questions always lead those infirmed by sin to diagnose our own condition. Always the names we hold so dearly are uncovered by his heart-piercing  gaze, and nearly always these identities  involve idolatry, don’t they?  I do think the churches should follow his example, and give away the naming rights to those who have the greatest stake in the matter.

So I would zero in on Luke 8:30, because it is such a juicy passage, although it terrifies some. I suspected that it is why my first rough comment on this subject was moderated, but now I know there are Other Reasons. Have you ever noticed Not a Sole Fib, that Legion is never named at all  in the church’s Conversation about Mental Illness? Nor, lest some horses and grandmothers  become too alarmed,  should he be always named in these discussions.  As  Sam Storms  says on this issue

“Some are not healed because the demonic cause of the affliction has not been addressed. Please do not jump to unwarranted conclusions. I am not suggesting that all physical disease is demonically induced. It is interesting, is it not, that in Paul’s case God used “a messenger of Satan” to inflict the thorn?”

I am fascinated by the reasoning behind names and our fear of some names. The church has become so afraid of naming things ‘evil’. Why are we so afraid of saying Legions name? I have some ideas about that. I wrote a blogpost that examines what happens when the biblical descriptions collide with modern science, as demonstrated in the fascinating story of the woman with a “brain on fire” — classic-seeming demon possession diagnosed by medicine — she had ‘anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis’ and was treated successfully with plasma. Very interesting questions are raised. What do you think?

I think those taxonomists of the Human Condition need to give the survivors and sufferers back our naming rights. It is part of our healing to name the thing. I would so much rather be a Magdalene slapped forever with the notorious label “She From Whom Seven Demons Were Delivered”, than be left with your own stigmatizing and dehumanizing diagnosis of  ‘Schizoaffective Disorder’– at least there is hope for a demoniac that they  can always be forever free of torment, if they keep their house clean and well ordered. Those you name ‘Mentally Ill’ and ” incurable”, for  purposes that privilege those in power — think of Szasz’ example of Drapetomania, for  example — are then left often permanently  crippled by your defective drugs, and certainly stigmatized by your permanent label of a Defective Brain.  Except those fortunate crazies living in a third world country, without any medical treatment — we know their outcome of recovery from schizophrenia without relapse is far better, according to two World Health Organization studies.

The First Worlds’ Worried Well have all the right to all the Ativan they imagine will aid them. I am sorry they have so little real informed consent. But as Jesus said, it is the sick who need a physician.

I read about all these kind of hurting people in the secular blog “Mad in America“, which is unique in that it levels the playing field and gives away the naming rights to all those parties who are interested in the issues surrounding  Critical Psychiatry, and listens respectfully to those with lived experience.MIA does a wonderful job in offering hospitality to those who suffer the terrifying ravages of a disintegrating psyche.

I know if the church spoke to those Hearing Voices the way that Jesus did, and let them name their own infirmities, they would listen to us more. I can assure you, many afflicted at Mad in America  would rather fall into the arms of Jesus —  who touched agonized people like them with authority, and then set them free–I am sure those unfortunates would rather be treated with such compassion than fall into the hands of unrighteous  men who might  force them into psych wards. Because their name for those places is “torture chambers.”

I tell you that field is white with harvest. You Christian Thought Leaders think the world will lose respect for us if we tell them the story of Legion, and connect his case to any real condition. I think it just depends on what world you want to reach.   Please don’t frighten my friends if they visit your churches — allow them to give you their name. Please don’t force drugging on them, even if they are a harm to themselves, or to others. If they are going to harm themselves, they need friends who listen closely, and they need hope for the future. If they have harmed others, the place for them is called a  jail.

I wish there were networks of churches that share my kind of taxonomy, so that my friends hurting from Psychiatric abuse can easily identify where their agency will be respected, and where they will feel safe– kind of like a “Joni and Friends” network — but that is a discussion for another day. Already I have gone over a thousand words.  Thanks for listening, those who have come this far!

On this 50th anniversary of the Civil Rights Act, please oppose the Murphy Bill HR #3717, because:

“People will turn away from forced and coercive services.
We need to feel safe and understood to connect with others.
We also need hope and a sense that we can get what we need.

So many difficulties arise in life,
especially when our parents, schools and communities
have their own problems and don’t understand our perspective.

Connection, unconditional positive regard,
trauma informed services and safety
must replace coercive, medical models
and forced services if we hope to help others heal.”

words of Cindy Peterson Dana, as a comment on a thread at Mad in America, titled– Murphy Bill: Violates Civil Rights, Increases Government Intrusion and Control, and Ignores Scientific Research

Heath Lambert and The Rabbits Psychiatrists Pulled From Hats — Like Retts’s Syndrome from the DSM

So Heath Lambert says, very baldly: Mental Ilness is a Atheistic Myth.  And this has riled some.

He notes the interesting fluidity of psychiatric classification that exists  for a diagnosis, without a biological marker to define it. Lots of people do not understand this. They have been trained so long with the convenient  myth of the chemical imbalance theory, they actually think there is other things besides behavior that get you labeled crazy for life.  This is a paradigm shift for some, and it makes them really mad.

In particular,  David  Murray has got his Scottish up over Heath Lambert’s blog series. I got my own Irish up about some months ago over the  apalling lack of informed consent Murray demonstrated  in his blogpost “I’m Thinking of Going to the Doctor for Depression Meds.”  I did apologize on Challies for my uncharitable spirit,  I once again extend to Dr. Murray a sincere apology for implying he was not a good sheperd of his sheep. I am sure he is a fine pastor. He is just wrong in counseling depressed persons.  Since Bob Kelleman sucessfully countered Murray’s callous dismissal of legitimate concerns concerning psychiatric medication’s harmful side effects, and his dangerous  legitimization of non-Christian CBT practitioners, I was able to give my Irish some rest, and I agree with Lambert, we can do better than this in speaking truth with love.  I want to do better.

Update October 2014: I can certainly do better in comment boxes as well. It is painful for me to reread my posts at that TGC guestblog — I sound completely unhinged. I wrote in haste, and some were double-posted, and I was alarmed that comment moderation was continuing over several days. I thought the discussion was being shut down at a critical point. Though I asked the moderators on TGC to delete the duplicates, they still stand and make me look unreliable as a reporter of facts. Gaslighting,maybe? As both a woman and someone with lived experience of psychosis, I cannot afford to look like someone  gone “off her meds again.” .  So I have ruthlessly purged the bloat from this post.

But David Murray thinks Lambert has gone too far, when  Lambert writes, a “massive collection of secular professionals actually agree with my assessment of the problem”. There were  howls of outrage in the comments.  But  in an interesting series of posts, Lambert tries manfully to loosen the grip that the atheistic  “Myth of Mental Illness” has on the church.

Lambert speaks so well on the subject that hardly more needs to be said, but I  will add  a plea here  for pastors and counselors to create a safe place in their churches for those who agree with Lambert, who want to taper off their meds, and feel that they are harmed by psychiatry. The process of medication tapering is messy, and can look like a relapse. My hope and prayer is that the the voices of the psychiatric survivor movement would  grow strong in Christian community, and that the agency we cherish over our own bodies will be respected. That the church would give up the convenient marginalization of labels like “mentally ill” —  and do the harder work of effective hospitality aimed towards our real needs. I think it is well past time for  Christian Mental Health Professionals  to agree with one of the most prestigious medical journals in the world, ‘The Lancet’ which has said, “It is time to flush the drugs”   Otherwise the Church will miss a wonderfully opportune time to minister to those who suffer, when the best alternatives being offered by the world to those wanting an alternative to psychotropics are Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Eastern Mindfulness exercises, and similar tools borrowed from the New Age. We have the Good News, and the Great Physician,–-we can do better.

Lambert is in the process of developing an extremely nuanced argument, and I am sure he will account for biological factors in mental disorders. But still, his arguments are valid — there is no such thing as a mental illness! When mental disorders begin to be medical in etiology, they magically disappear from the DSM. That is Lambert’s  major point: psychiatric diagnoses are a construct of language — and Psychiatrist Thomas Szasz would add– of power.

Because of its coercive nature, much harm has been done to the sufferers of psychic pain at the hands of psychiatric power, with its scientifically unverifiable labels that stigmatize. And I think this is at the core of the pain felt by those who would be free of this inhumane and atheistic paradigm. Susan Beachy is the mother of a student who gave up on life after receiving an incorrect diagnoses of schizophrenia after a single psychotic episode in response to the stress of 9/11 — which in previous generations would have been understood to be a simple nervous breakdown, and thus fully recoverable. She poignantly said:

“Being told that mental illness is like diabetes is misleading and discouraging. This is not a fair comparison.  Diabetes is due to a well understood defect in a body part, the pancreas. Mental illness, on the other hand, literally means that your mind is sick. Your mind, unlike your pancreas, is not just a body part. Your mind enables you to relate, set goals, dream, and have hope. If you and the people around you believe that your mind will be defective and sick for the rest of your life, you are left without hope of ever having the agency to build a life…We need not burden distressed young people with hope-sucking labels of chronic mental defect. There is a better way.”

Psychiatry is not valid science. Its diagnoses are voted in and out of the DSM by a messy and rancorous process. The irony is, once biological markers *are* found for any illness in the DSM, it is dropped as a ‘mental illness’! Look at the history of Retts Syndrome: when its genetic cause and neurological etiology was finally understood, it was dropped from the Autism spectrum disorder, and thus from the manual. This created quite the controversy, back in 2011, as the Simons Foundation Autism Research Initiative notes here”

“The DSM is about behavior, not cause, or ‘etiology,’ so including “a specific etiologic entity, such as Rett’s Disorder, is inappropriate,” the revision committee states on its website.But many scientists investigating the biological mechanisms underlying Rett syndrome object to that reasoning.”We’re going to discover that all autism spectrum disorders have a genetic cause,” says Huda Zoghbi, director of the Neurological Research Institute at Baylor College of Medicine in Houston. “So are we going to keep removing them every time we have the genetic basis of one?”

If the history of the DSM is any indication, yes they will.

Because, psychiatric diagnoses without real biological markers is just pulling rabbits out of hats. Or Rett’s Syndrome from the DSM.

A Dying Dream?

Oh little band of faithful readers, I haven’t been depressed and disconsolate and ready to do myself in. I disappeared here for a time because  I joined with my church in a 21 day fast, and part of what seemed best during this season was  for me to abstain from  blogging  and commenting on blogs,  and I wanted to pray  for God’s direction about my writing in general.  Because  I have a dream to write a book.

So I was thinking of hopping onto the star-making machinery to go market myself at Mt. Hermon next month, because I think I have a compelling and important story to tell — and for any agents or editors out there in Interwebsland, here is my one sentence pitch:  my book is about the problems of  informed consent among Christians regarding psychiatric treatment,  why Critical Psychiatry is so distrusted among the “mental illness” gatekeepers in the Church,  and threaded through the book will be compelling testimonies from the Psychiatric  Survivor movement, including my own, and some of my family.  But  right now, I do not think I have the stomach for this monumental task.

Not now, not during this tumultuous time of great changes in my life, and not since I heard about the scandalous gaming of the bestseller lists reported by World magazine, here. It is so deeply disturbing to those of us who love books and respect deeply those who so carefully craft them. Jared Wilson ably sums up the problems this creates for would be writers, and I added my comments to the meta there, and this post is an expansion of some of my thoughts. Jared describes my dilemma:

 adding the dishonesty of system-gaming to the dishonesty of ghostwriting further hinders the work of real artists who are getting crowded out of the marketplace.

I feel crowded out. I know that even if I screwed up all my courage to the sticking place, and  I went  to the Mt Hermon Writer’s Conference, my book proposal would be rejected. I would be asked to develop my platform before they could even consider me as a potential author. But I am no good at being busy and witty, so I would stink at Twitter. Facebook is a huge distraction for an inveterate people-watcher like me. Pinterest is a little too twee for my kind of content, and I don’t want to go all PioneerWoman on my blog.  So what’s an outlier like me to do?

“Sometimes we have to let our dreams die.
And that’s okay. We will be okay.”

So I am doubly grateful to Jared Wilson, for those  words above which enabled me to still rejoice in the Lord  when I realized the  windows of Heaven weren’t opening the way I thought they would.  Now, if the whole building falls down…but for the time being, I will continue to write and speak. I will continue to dream big.  The dream may end stillborn, because the whole ecology of Christian publishing is terribly polluted, so that the vitality of the body of Christ is withering away and  important and prophetic voices are not being heard. Whatever else you think of Scot McKnight, he is right about platform and publishing.

But there is  a hidden beauty  in a dead dream, even in a pile of smoking ashes at the altar of a mighty God. Our dreams live on in heaven, if they are part of the living sacrifice we make of ourselves, everyday— every moment if we seek to live fully for him because we live in the light of what Jesus has already done for us at the Cross. The grey debris of our dreams have been transformed into beauty, they are jewels we will wear in our crowns for all eternity. Or they may be a different kind of glistening jewel,  they are the tears he has saved in his bottle, and he alone knows the purpose he has for their keeping. He knows our hearts, he knows that if our motivation in dreaming those great things was for his glory,  it is as if the work were actually done. And he is sovereign. If he says “no” to our living this dream — then we know it is for our good and his glory.

What a comfort this is to me now, as I offer up myself, even now a holy sacrifice. It is really a reasonable service, and the only spiritual worship.

A Prayer for Entering the Unknown Waters of This Year

O Lord,

Length of days does not profit me
except the days are passed
in your presence, in your service, to your glory.
Give me a grace that
precedes, follows, guides, sustains

sanctifies, aids every hour
that I may not be
one moment
apart from you,
but may rely on your Spirit

to supply every thought
speak in every word
direct every step
prosper every work
build up every bit of faith

and give me a desire
to show forth your praise
testify your love
advance
your kingdom.

I launch my  ship
on the unknown waters of this year
with you, O Father, as my harbour
you, O Son, at my helm
you O Holy Spirit, filling my sails.

Guide me to heaven
with all preparedness
my lamp burning
my ear open to your calls
my heart full of love, my soul free.

Give me grace
to sanctify me,
your comforts to cheer
your wisdom to watch
your right hand to guide

your counsel to instruct
your law to judge
your presence to stabilize.
May your fear be my awe
your triumphs my joy.

(adapted from The Valley of Vision)

Why I Didn’t Kill Myself on Christmas Day

Christian radio nearly put me over the edge, however. Driving down to Ocean Beach at midnight, full of despair, and wanting to hear a voice of reason that would give me one single piece of evidence that the world would not be better off without me. Because apparently by the mess I had made of things, it would be. And I was tired, so tired of trying and failing, and I listlessly turned on the radio for reassurance, and quickly turned off the program, a garish and chirpy ‘breaking news’  retelling of the events in Bethlehem two thousand years ago. Oh dear. Sometimes Christian culture can be so tone deaf.

When  fatigue is great and resistance to lies is low, and especially during the holidays’ midnight hours, the church can do better than this. Tullian Tchividjian does it right, in his post “Christmas For The Weary And Heavy Laden.” I am a battle hardened veteran of the Christmas wars upon the soul, and so I have learned through many of these skirmishes  the duty which calls me back from the brink –my responsibility for the children who remain in my home, and my allegiance  to my Lord.  God arrested in midflight his AWOL soldier, offered amnesty, and we went back to the front lines, together. As Tullian writes,

Christmas is the beachhead of God’s campaign against sin and sadness. It is the coming of light, life, and love into the occupied territory of darkness, death, and hate. Christmas is a war fought by a Peaceful Prince whose battle plan is to defeat death by dying, fear by forgiveness and slavery by salvation.

And that is why I did not kill myself at midnight on Christmas Day this year, as I sat on the sand at Ocean Beach at midnight, as I stared at that “great wink of eternity”, as I listened to those “silver snowy sentences”, those waves alluring me the way they had Hart Crane eighty years ago in Caribbean Sea, when the poet looked too long at the Southern Cross  and “slid on that backward vision, (his) mind was churned to spittle,whispering hell.” So that tormented soul  pitched himself forward from that ship into what he thought was oblivion.

I looked to another Cross with an upward vision, and my mind cleared of this churning. This Cross called me to die to my need for respect. It told me to die to laying down the law. It told me I am not my own, that I have been bought with a price. The One who gave his life upon it speaks in a still small voice, not an evil whisper.  My Lord  says, “Come”,  so I come, I am so weary and carry heavy burdens, and he says, “I will give you rest.Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your soul.” He is no liar, and I find that rest.  I turn away from those dangerous midnight riptides, and drive back home.

Because he has rescued me from death, and has so transformed my life, when my Lord says “Go”, then I go where he sends me. I go to tell the world of this glorious being, Jesus, who came down to Earth from heaven two thousand years ago, a little baby who came to die a terrible death for these kinds of terrible days I have been enduring. He rose up from the dead, and now lives in me, and so I know the plans he has for my life are for good and not for evil. The plans he has for you, oh weary reader, are very good too! He will help you put your life back in order, if you trust him. And tell someone you trust about your struggles, someone who will not, because of fear, immediately place a psychiatric hold on you.

I needed to set my life back in order. I asked forgiveness of those I frightened when I drove off, then slept off some exhaustion. And, dear Reader, sleep therapy is proving to be the most promising treatment for depression. In the morning I rose early and was given a necessary and encouraging rebuke in the “Daily Light on the Daily Path.” I reprinted the evening’s reading, and then the morning, in the hopes it will encourage you as well.

He is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him.

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”—“And there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.”

“My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.”—He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.—“Is anything too hard for the Lord?”

Now to him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you blameless before the presence of his glory with great joy, to the only God, our Savior, through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, dominion, and authority, before all time and now and forever. Amen

Be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord.

Knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.—As you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.—“But the one who endures to the end will be saved.”—“As for that in the good soil, they are those who, hearing the word, hold it fast in an honest and good heart, and bear fruit with patience.”

For you stand firm in your faith.

“We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming, when no one can work.”

For the one who sows to his own flesh will from the flesh reap corruption, but the one who sows to the Spirit will from the Spirit reap eternal life. And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up. So then, as we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith.

Another way I fight fear and forgive, is to  put Josh Garrells  on continuous play during this trying season — especially this song:

A Sign for You

Here is the newest iteration of my Christmas poem. Someday I will perfect it. I feel vindicated by Sinclair Ferguson, who writes here, “ Jesus did not come to add to our comforts. He did not come to help those who were already helping themselves or to fill life with more pleasant experiences. He came on a deliverance mission, to save sinners, and to do so He had to destroy the works of the Devil…There is, therefore, an element in the Gospel narratives that stresses that the coming of Jesus is a disturbing event of the deepest proportions.”

It was not an angelic chorus
he first heard, but his mother’s anguished cry.
His first breaths were
scented with dung,
first sight, some smears of blood.
So soon, to feel the earth rumble
with trampling horse’s hooves,
So soon to taste tears, and with Rachel, to lament.

Those smelly vagrants who visited,
those first to wonder at heaven’s exile —
saw an infant bound in cloths
laid in an animal’s trough,
nestled in a hollow
made in a cold stone, resting
like a corpse in a sarcophagus —
no radiant beams marked this advent.

Today we outfit the parents with halos,
snuggle a fat baby in a cosy blanket,
and sprinkle the scene with pretty angels
spangled in gold. We tell the story
voiced with British accents
for suburban flat screens, drenched in sentiment.
We strip the message of any darkness,
but it was for orphans and lepers and hookers,

it was for the night shift workers
He was anointed.
He came for haters of Christmas,
and of Him. Creation was still groaning
at His birth–because a dragon waited to devour Him!
That bright star leads  to a tomb.
The sign for you, yet still
is  cloth strips and hollowed-out stone.