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Some dark answers to the question WHY? |
| This blog is two-fold. One it is for anyone who has ever wondered why people leave church or don't attend at all. And Two it is for anyone who has ever wondered why people commit suicide. You might wonder why I would combine the two but from my view on the world, the reasons are pretty much the same. So, the title - How Not to Save Someone Else |
| How many "superstars" have you read about that have committed suicide? At the end, after they are dead, what does everyone say? They were so talented. I was declared "talented" as a child. "Gifted and talented" - a label that has haunted me ever since. Usually others gave me this monicker after they had seen me do something or other - play the piano or paint or create a sculpture or write a poem. Did I deserve to be called "talented"? Maybe ... but at the time I never thought so. I never understood what it meant. Could I play ragtime on the piano well? Yes. But in my mind, that didn't make me talented. I played it well because I wanted to play it well, because I worked at it, because I practiced it until I couldn't hear anything else in my head. It was work. It was hard work. The word "talented" seemed more like an insult to me rather than praise. It seemed to dismiss everything I had done to get to the point where the music sounded good. In a way, it dismissed who I was and what I actually did. Same goes for painting or creating sculpture or writing a poem. I worked to do all those things. I gave up playing with my friends, watching tv, listening to the radio (yes, I'm that old), ... I gave up going roller skating, playing in the creek, playing with make-up, worrying about fashion, ... Of course people are "talented" in those things too. They were so talented. So the question becomes - were they really that talented? Or is it really just a lot of hard work? Have they been just floating by on what they do "naturally" and "easily"? Or have they been sweating every moment? Working themselves to death? Giving up everything else in their lives for that one thing everyone says that they have ... "talent"? And when do they stop believing the accolades of everyone else? Because it feels great to be told you are talented. It feels great, at first anyway. It feels great until you realize that no one else gives a rats ass that you have anything else in your life that you care about or want to do. It feels great until your "talent" becomes your only reason for being alive according to everyone around you. And then it just sucks. Then you are faced with a cross roads and have to make a decision. What do you do now? When I was 14 years old, I quit playing the piano. Maybe that's not quite accurate. I still play the piano but I quit playing it because I loved it, I quit competing. I went to piano lessons with my Oxford don and announced to him that I was no longer going to play. He was not pleased, shall we say. But I was a stupid teenager who was tired of spending all my time playing the piano. The adults in my life loved my playing and dedication ... my friends thought it was stupid ... And absolutely neither side gave any credence to the fact that I had other interests in my life that I wanted to pursue as well. To my parents, giving up meant being a "quitter", not living up to the commitment I had made. To my friends, it meant I might not be as geeky as they originally thought. But to me, it was simply a cry that I wanted to do other things with my life, that I had other interests that I wanted to spend time on as well. It was a whim ... like all people have ... not a statement about the future of my life. It was a cry that some days, I didn't want to be talented at playing the piano. It was a cry that some days, I just wanted to sit and watch tv and eat potato chips and drink soda and not touch the piano in any way. And yet, everyone made it about the future of my life. I wasn't allowed to be a person ... with a life. I play the piano now because I love it. I still play well. I could still probably make a living playing the piano. But I don't play for other people any more. I can't play for other people any more. It terrifies me ... not because I can't play or I'm afraid of making a mistake ... but because I'm afraid of exactly the opposite. I don't want to be "talented". Because being "talented" sucks. They were so talented. |
| Why, indeed, do people go to church on Sundays? or Saturdays? or whenever they go? No really, I am asking that question. It's not rhetorical. I don't understand. When I was a kid I liked to go to church because I learned a lot of things and there was a lot of stuff to do. As an adult I am merely bored out of my mind. The building doesn't matter, the name on the door has no bearing, the denomination ... I have been a member of Presbyterian, Methodist, Disciples of Christ, Baptist, Assembly of God, Wesleyan, and Episcopal churches. I have attended Catholic masses and been dragged to the Church of Christ repeatedly by family members. The funny thing is they all believe that they are right and that what they believe is totally different than what any other denomination believes. They all give you this little book called "Why I am a .... (insert denomination here)" and every single one of those little books says basically the exact same thing. Some old guy back in the day came to know Christ in a unique way and was told to go and preach his story. But it doesn't matter who the old guy was, the story is always the same but for some reason no one understands that. They all think the little bits and pieces that make them different (like how to baptize someone or how to serve communion) makes them ... well, what does it make them? Right? Different? Special? Perfect? They all have their own hymnals too (The Baptist hymnal, the Methodist Hymnal, etc) but ironically they all contain the exact same hymns. Hmm? And people have their own pews ... and heaven forbid that you sit in them. And people have their own roles to play in the church ... and heaven forbid you try to help. And the sermons are all the same ... over and over and over and over and over. And the rituals ... that they say are based on scripture and yet they can't show you the scripture. And the withering looks from people who don't know you ... and don't want to know you And the endless "I'll pray for you" without every uttering another word in conversation. And the little clubs and clicks and groups that are for "supporting" one another ... but you have to belong to get the support. And the endless classes for those who don't yet believe and need to come to know Christ ... And the dinners for the homeless And the visits to the nursing homes And the gathering of items for Christmas presents to the orphans and underpriviledged kiddos and families My point ... how does any of that have any bearing on being a Christian? Society has created a social club and named it "church". But that "church" seems to have little to no bearing on The Church. God's people are the Church ... not some building in some town, not some social organization that claim to teach the truth about the Bible, not a preacher with a group of devoted followers. Maybe that's why people don't come to church any more ... because no one ever tells the truth. Maybe if there was a pastor who was bold enough to stand up and say "no more ritual, no more form, no more politics, ... just God" ... maybe then people would stick around. I had a pastor when I got married who was pretty close to that. He was the pastor for a Southern Baptist Church but they nearly kicked him out of the convention because he stood up in the pulpit one day and said "I don't care if you have been sprinkled, dunked, held under til you bubble, spit on, or walked out in the rain one day ... if you believe you have been baptized then you have and I am not going to baptize you again." In the Southern Baptist Church that is the equivalent of sedition. They baptize everyone every time you move to another church. So, they made him apologize for making that statement ... And he did apologize. He told us all that he was sorry he had stated that from the pulpit but that he was not sorry he said it because it was the truth. From that day on if he wanted to tell us a truth that went against Church policy, he would walk down off the platform and speak his mind so they couldn't accuse him of speaking against the church from the pulpit. Ha! And yet, why did have to do that? Isn't the truth of Christ what we are all looking for? Isn't the love that is found within that truth what gives us hope? Why should anyone ever have to hide or play games just to speak the truth ...especially in a church? Truth ... Jesus loves you. A church building ... not so much. |
| Never share how you feel about them with them. If you're part of their family, just sit back and go about your life and tell yourself that they already know how you feel, so you don't need to tell them. You never need to hug them. You should never tell them you love them. Don't show any concern or interest in their life whatsoever unless it crosses path with your life somehow. Expressing pride in something they've done isn't necessary. They already know you're proud of them. Especially don't tell them that you're worried about them or ask what's wrong. They know they can come to you if they need to talk. You don't want to be intrusive after all. Also, don't try to participate in their life. If they are doing something special, make sure you have other plans, no matter how trivial, and refuse to cancel them. After all you have your life to live and it's important that you get to do what you want for you. I can count on one finger the number of times my parents showed up to my school plays, award ceremonies, piano recitals, and sporting events. Once ... that's not once for each thing, that's ONCE for everything. They were always too busy with work, with their own social activities, or with my sisters activities to bother with mine. But I was smart, therefore I could take care of myself. It wasn't until I graduated college and moved to another country that my father ever expressed that he loved me or was proud of me. By then it was too late to ever make me believe it. Okay, so those things are from childhood. Nothing you can do to fix that stuff now, right? How would you even know that stuff about someone else? Well, you might not know that stuff about someone else. But does it matter if you do know? If you take the time to show your support for your friends and what they do and hold important to them, if you take a few minutes each time you see them to ask about them, will it matter to them what their parents thought years ago? It might but it might not matter as much. And having that past might explain why your friend reacts strangely to you when you do show support. I have someone in my life (the pastor of our church nonetheless) who thinks they are showing support to me ... but I just think they're a fraud. They tell me they care, they tell me they are "praying for me" ... and that is the extent of their caring. They don't have a clue what I even do with my days, what I face in my life, what I'm interested in ... and they've never asked. If I make the effort to cross their path and join with what they are doing, then they interact with me. They tell everyone at church that they consider me to be their sister. But it's all just words. Otherwise nada, nothing. I have put them on a shelf along with all those other people who were supposed to care but can't even tell you what I do for a living or how many children I have. Until recently, there was someone else in my life, a woman I worked for. She knew what I did for a living because, well, I worked for her. But she also knew not only how many children I have but who they were and what they liked to do with their lives. She knew what kind of books I read. She knew I liked to write and encouraged me to submit my things for publication even when I was too scared to do so. She knew I grow a huge garden each year and that it was a game for me to see how early I could harvest a tomato each year. And all those things were so terribly important to me. Why? And how did she know them? Did she spend a ton of time with me involved in my life? Simple, she knew because she asked. And no, we didn't spend a lot of time with each other. I was in her home and conversing with her about 30 minutes each week. That's all. An hour and a half a month, and in that hour and a half I got to know all about her life too. So, for a 45 minute investment of time we both felt like someone else cared. That was important, at least to me, because every second of it erased a bit of that neglect my parents gave out, that the other "friend" in my life ignores. It doesn't take much effort to show other people you care about them, to ask about them, to make an effort to know what's important in their life ... and it might just make the difference between their life and their death. |
| Over the course of the last year or two I have heard about or read about at least six people who have committed suicide. These weren't people that were just in the news but rather they were all friends of friends or family of friends. And every time the comments that have followed have been like this: "They were so loved by everyone." "They had such a promising future." "They were so talented." "They were an inspiration to everyone who knew them." "Their family loved them dearly and will miss them terribly." Now, I don't know about you but when I think of people who commit suicide and try to reconcile those statements made about them after their death with what they were thinking before they killed themselves, I see a huge disconnect somewhere. And, as someone who has been on the verge of suicide before, I can tell you personally that of those five statements above, at the time I was the lowest, I had no knowledge of any of them. At the time I believed exactly the opposite of those five statements. I believed: No one loved me. I had no future. I had no talent that was worth anything to anyone. No one gave a flip about me let alone knew enough about me to be inspired. My family didn't give a damn if I was alive so why would they care if I was dead. So, you might ask, what kept me from swallowing that bottle of pills? My son. I knew he wouldn't be able to cope if I killed myself. I didn't want to mess up his life. But even still, it was hard NOT to go through with it. They say that when you're at your lowest, you tell someone what you're going to do. I don't know if that's true for everyone or not. It was true for me. I told the pastor of our church. Now, I know what you're thinking ... Great. That was the perfect person to tell. I bet they helped you and counseled you and that's why you didn't go through with it. But you'd be wrong. When I told the pastor of our church, she made a joke about it. And to this day, over a year later, she has never offered me one iota of help in any way. Which leads me to the other side of this blog ... why people don't stay in church or come to church in the first place. And what would I know about that? More than I want to know. More than anyone should know. Enough to break my heart and probably God's heart as well. |
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