“I Plead with You”

Today, on the Memorial of Saint John Paul II, I am forcing myself to write. For most of my life, I’ve struggled with – no, “struggled” is too dramatic – I’ve scuffled with recurring mild depression. This will typically manifest itself as lethargy, or nearly manic episodes, or just feeling blue, or some combination or sequence of these.

It’s not anything as serious as true manic depression. Where some folks go from Mount Everest to the Marianas Trench, I sort of go from the top of a wooded hill into a grassy ravine.

I’m definitely walking along the ravine this week. You may have noticed that I haven’t really blogged in a week or more. Even my Camino Photo of the Day has fallen silent recently. I even skipped a weekly game with friends.

There are a whole bunch of things that have just sort of piled up against each other. The Corona lockdowns have certainly played a part. In the past seven months, I’ve gone long stretches indeed without recourse to the Sacraments. It is a strange sort of emptiness. Is this how the Protestants live?

Without the Mass, I encounter Christ most clearly in prayer, particularly in the Divine Office, and I remain grateful for the consolations I receive. For one, I’m spending time in our little oratory, particularly for Vespers and lectio. I don’t know what I would have done without it.

Of course, the closure of our parish has fed into this depression. My parish family are now scatterlings and orphans. I miss them, and I miss our parish church.

I also miss serving them, which is a weird thing to say, but it is breaking my heart. I can’t remember the last time I’ve gone so long without serving at our parish. No altar serving. No training. No RCIA. No catechesis. Not even setting up the chairs for coffee and doughnuts in the library. Not even opening the door for an elderly parishioner.

And of course, I’ve been unemployed since March. The number of jobs I can even realistically apply for has been vanishingly small.

In a word, I’m feeling useless.

And don’t even get me started on the political and social issues in this country that we’re bombarded with every day.

But this is not a blog post to tell you how miserable I am, because in the midst of these blues, I am grateful. I have a loving wife, a cozy home, and family and friends and food on the table.

Through most of my life, I’ve never understood folks who would pull up the idea of gratitude in the face of depression as some sort of magical antidote. It’s not. Depression is not logical, or even emotional. Saying, in effect “look at all the things you can be happy about” is not going to shake off sadness.

Gratitude is, at best, a reminder that my sadness does not define who I am. And that is sometimes enough.

But thanks to today’s saint, there is another tool I can use. It isn’t a magic pill either, but a reminder that it is a real fight – a real struggle – of whatever magnitude. And that the most important thing is to keep struggling.

This is not the reminder of Winston Churchill to “never ever give up” – though that quote is engraved on a paperweight somewhere on my desk. No, I think the reason that this always sinks in for me is precisely because it is not an exhortation, but a plea. The saint begs us to persevere. He begs us to never give up the struggle. To remain in hope and not fear.

And, for me at least, that’s enough.

Exhort me all you want – if my mind is made up you won’t move it. But plead with me, and something in my heart opens up.

And that’s enough to get me through it.

Saint John Paul, pray for us who have recourse to you.