Category Archives: mental health

Tidings of comfort and joy

Like the proverbial curate’s egg Twitter has good and not so good parts. I want to celebrate some of the good bits I’ve found personally
1: it connects me more readily with my best friend who lives in a different country and who I see maybe a couple of times a year. She tweets a lot, and was really responsible for getting me started in this. She connects me to her global concerns and also translates stuff for me to join in.
2: as a result I’m connected to more people. This was important at the time, a couple of years ago, when I felt much less connected particularly to the small part of the church to which I had belonged. The silence and isolation I received there was in stark contrast to the voices of those who I connected with on Twitter, many of whom were women working in different ministries and communities and concerns.
3: being more connected meant I heard about stuff I didn’t know about, projects I got involved in, some I still am. Some have reached their goals others are still struggling. Justice and peace are common themes. There is connection. We don’t give up
4: I also connected with other pray-ers and that helped me to feel reconnected to the true concerns of the church, even if I no longer attended and still got angry or cried a lot about what had happened.
5: it also helped me to connect with a world of other things. A boy at school tweets about Rhinos, others choose anti bullying, homelessness or community development. This way I can stay connected to their concerns even when we don’t meet.
6: I met other people through Twitter, some made cakes, were artists, writers, gardeners, foragers, mental health campaigners and much more. I was not alone or isolated
7: of course it didn’t always go well. A troll thought I should stick to the Church of England instead of getting involved in politics. This was when we were ringing for Aleppo. It was amusing because my forbears left the Church of England in 1662. Faith is not apolitical (even in the Church of England).
I know Twitter had an unkind side and that bothers me a lot but it also communicates kindness, concern and connection, and I really appreciate that.

In our life and our believing
The love of God

The washing machine

When you get back from holiday the first blessing of 21st century life is clearly the washing machine. All the bog encrusted vestments are piled in, go round and round and come out again with a lot less bog. The dirty water has gone done the drain and the washing is drying in a satisfying way.

It was a good image to recall yesterday when I was hearing the story of a young man I know. It was like he’d been in washing machine but not in a good way. Round and round and round he’d been buffeted for about six months in all the filthy water and finally he’d been spat out somewhat bedraggled to make of the experience whatever he could.

I listened like they teach you in mental health first aid and I asked the questions about suicide when he mentioned he’d thought about it. I was grateful once again for the training. A conversation may not sound very difficult but most people worry that they may make things worse not better. So it’s good to be able to give reassurance and information in a positive and life affirming way. Of the things I have done in the last two years I really recommend the mental health first aid training. It affirmed me, set me on my feet with firmer steps, opened my ears and my mouth in that order and helped me make sense of some of my own experiences too.

I am also a qualified Youth Mental Health First Aid instructor if you’re interested . Contact me on Twitter @silcoateschapel.

The sweet smell

There was a strange smell in the Sixth Form this morning. Something had ‘gone off’.

May the sweet smell of kindness,
And the warmth of concern
Fill your hearts and minds
And dispel the sour smell of fear,
Today and everyday.

JAL: 16.03.2017
For Silcoates Sixth Form

Who am I?

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(this crucifix is in the church in Messines in northern France)

The pace of the journey had always been hard. The circumstances in which we traveled were never comfortable. There were constant demands on him from both outside and inside the group. He pushed on. That’s when we found we had climbed to the top of another mountain. These places meant much to him; isolated, quite, an awesome view. It was in places like this that he often chose to be alone. On other occasions it would be a major expedition, getting us all up there and back.

We were all still getting our breath when he started: ‘Who am I?’ he asked. Some thought it was a trick question and stated the obvious: ‘You’re Jesus, from Nazareth’, said one, laughing. He went on, going round the group, getting more insistent; ‘Who do other people say I am?’ He came to me: ‘Why do you ask us?’ I said. He licked his cracked, dried lips, and said in a barely audible voice; ‘I don’t know who I am anymore’.

The members of the group looked at each other and no one knew how to break the silence. Eventually, one said; ‘I heard someone say you’re John the Baptist’. That triggered them all off. ‘Well that’s rubbish – he’s already dead’. ‘Herod got him, so what do they mean?’ Another said; ‘Well I’ve heard Elijah’, and another said ‘Yeh, and Jeremiah’. They were all talking at once, trying to help I know, but not really in tune with his state of mind or what he needed right then.

The babble eventually trailed off into silence again. He looked up at Peter and asked him ‘Who do you say I am?’ I wondered what Peter would say, as did we all. What would we have said if he’d have asked us? But Peter, not always good with words, chose a few and tried them. ‘That’s easy’, he said, looking him straight in the face. ‘You’re the one we’ve been waiting for, the Life Giver. God is in you and because of you we have seen God’.

This time no one broke the silence which followed until he did so himself. He weighed up what Peter had said and then he said; ‘Thanks, Peter, you’re a rock to me.  I will build on what you’ve said. It is the key to God’s plan and you will be the key keeper. But let’s keep it to ourselves for now, shall we?’ And we did as he asked.

Copyright: Janet Lees

I wrote this in 2010 and I republish it here after a Twitter conversation concerning images of Jesus living with impairments; in this example a challenge to his mental health. You can use this free in your church, school or community groups as long as it is not for profit and you acknowledge my copyright.

Being Angry

This week began with World Mental Health Day and we’ve been following this theme in Senior School Chapel. The following piece is informed by some conversations this week:

Being angry is not a sin,

to those sinned against

by neglect, addiction or abuse.

Being angry is not weird

when you see how unfair the world is

and feel powerless to change it.

 

I’d punch a wall,

rip the curtains,

shout and scream

if my head was full

of red, red anger.

 

You wrote a story about New York;

people dead in the streets.

You wrote another about your life

but you told no one.

 

Some people tell you

don’t make excuses,

but I’ll tell you now

You’re doing better:

talking, exercising,

trying Tai-Chi.

 

Being angry is a thing,

a response, a state.

It’s real and it’s happening now,

and you can change the world:

you do have the power.