May 1, 2011 | 6:30 p.m.
Eighth Annual Candlelighting Vespers
for Mental Illness Recovery and Understanding

Rowing Home to God

Matthew J. Helms
Pastoral Resident, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Isaiah 40:1–11

“So, what does this passage mean to you all?” I asked. Many of the eyes in the room looked down. There we were, a group of us gathered for afternoon worship in the fourth floor north wing of MacNeal Hospital. This gathering room was filled with light on this warm summer afternoon, almost a cruel reminder that the patients who were here wouldn’t be able to leave the hospital for awhile. The other chaplains at MacNeal and I used to take turns leading this group of patients through afternoon worship during the week. We were told it was helpful for them to have a sense of worship and community in the hospital. I couldn’t have agreed more: the sterile feel of the hospital can be draining after awhile.

“What did you all think about when you heard this passage from Isaiah 40?” I asked again. Still no response. It was almost as if they had been told not to speak or give their opinions. Finally one brave woman spoke up, “Well, I think it’s about God’s love. God wants every person to come home. God is the shepherd watching over his sheep and will keep each of us safe. God will help us all the time. We just need to trust in God.” “Good answer,” I thought, but then just as I was about to say so, it was as if that one woman’s voice sparked everyone into feeling like they could speak. “I don’t want anyone watching over me; I’m fine on my own.” “Sometimes you can’t control yourself—you need God to be with you all the time.” “How do we know God is with us?” “I just want to be better so that I can go home.” “I don’t want to go home—my mom yells at me.” “I don’t have a home anymore—my girlfriend kicked me out.” “I’m not getting checks from the government anymore now that I’m in here—I’m broke.”

I heard stories from people who had been in this hospital for a few days, just waiting until they would be deemed well enough that they could go home. I heard stories from people who were approaching their maximum time of stay, before they would be released from the hospital only to find their way back a short time later. I heard stories about verbally abusive parents, about parents who didn’t know what to do with them, about loving parents who loved the patient so much that the patient felt guilty for the hurt they were causing them. It was like this theme of home was so central, so vital, to each person in that room. It was like Isaiah 40’s call for the return of the people spoke deeply to their needs—but they needed this safe place and space to voice those needs.

As we transitioned out of worship, I reemphasized God’s promises to each one of these patients. God is indeed looking out for each of them, wishing to make them better, and wishing them to make their family lives better. We closed in prayer, and I thanked them for joining in worship. I had a room visit to do in another wing, so I excused myself and walked down the hall to the only exit. Punching in the password, the automatic locks released and I walked out of the mental health wing at MacNeal, acutely aware that for many of these patients, this was the only home they had now—a single hospital wing, two beds to a room, with a locked exit keeping them from leaving.

· · ·

“Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term.” These words begin the text of Isaiah 40, known in many scholarly communities as the start of Second Isaiah. Although the entire book is grouped under the same name of Isaiah, chapters 1 through 39 of Isaiah were written during and around the time when the Northern Kingdom of Israel was being destroyed by the Assyrians in 722 B.C.E. Chapter 40 resumes the story almost 150 years later, after 586 B.C.E. when the Southern Kingdom of Judah was in exile. Isaiah 40, the passage we read today, is set during the lowest period in history of Israel—a time of no hope, when the Jewish people never believed that they would see their beloved home of Jerusalem ever again. And yet this prophet declares boldly at the beginning of his prophecy, “Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term.” God recognizes the need for the people to go home, to have a home, to be comforted and known. The Jewish people were forcibly removed from their homes, transported to a place that was foreign to them, and many of them still maintained worship, even though it just wasn’t the same. And yet even in the midst of exile—of this period where they were strangers in a foreign land—they wanted a home. And God was bold enough to promise that to them. “Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain. Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together.” Return to Jerusalem, God says, for there you will have a home.

· · ·

The National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) states that around 1 in 17 Americans deal with a severe mental illness, or around 6 percent of the population. That means of the folks who walk through the doors of Fourth Church on Sunday, an estimated 50 will have severe mental illnesses. That they are such a significant part of our population here at Fourth Church helps to call our attention to the fact that we are called to be a community dedicated to both understanding mental illness and helping in the recovery process. The Gospel of Matthew tells us that in Jesus’ ministry there were many with both physical and mental illnesses that came to Jesus to be healed. It is through the ministry of Jesus that we are inspired to welcome those who have been marginalized by society. In Jesus’ time, he spent time with those who had particular stigma attached to them, respecting their humanity: he spent time with lepers, tax collectors, and sinners. We need to be bold enough to deny the stigma of mental illness and to make those who are going through mental illness know they are cared for. Many of us, myself included, are not mental health professionals. Even still, we can help through referrals, through giving a listening ear, and through caring about the well-being of each person who walks through our doors. We need to be healers and supporters—healing relationships with family and friends and encouraging and supporting those with mental illness as they battle and struggle for their health.

The Anne Sexton poem “Rowing” that we read speaks beautifully to this struggle. We should not kid ourselves into believing that this journey will be an easy one. Even those who are going through periods of good mental health can suffer from relapse, whether triggered by a specific event or going off of medication. The journey towards mental health requires diligence from the one receiving care as well as the caregivers. In Anne Sexton’s “Rowing,” the author rows towards an island, being pushed by wind and internal turmoil as she tries to reach the island. The sea is rolling and uneven, the waves harsh and limiting. And yet the author rows and rows, knowing that this island will not be perfect, but it will be good enough. The island is a place where she can encounter God and be embraced. The island is a place where she can find home—home for who she is in all of her imperfections and struggle and confusion. And yet the poem ends with the author still rowing. This is a story that doesn’t just end: that rowing to the island continues. We are each rowing to that island, struggling with each wave, fighting through the wind, looking for home.

· · ·

When the Jewish people returned to Jerusalem after the exile, they returned to a place that felt foreign to them. Although the location of Jerusalem was home, a century of war and destruction and disrepair had left the city a barren place. Rather than finding themselves at the end of the journey, these people found themselves still rowing on the sea—struggling to recreate their community and to build themselves up again. It is difficult to read the end of Isaiah for this very reason; you can hear the pain in their voices as the joyous proclamations of “Comfort, comfort” turn into calls for self-purification. They were a community struggling to redefine themselves in the wake of tragedy. The promises of health and acceptance and home and hope and love were still there—but perhaps they didn’t realize how hard they would have to work for it. The road to recovery is a long one, and they soon realized that the highway from Babylon to Jerusalem wasn’t the end of their journey. The story ends with them still rowing.

· · ·

Our denomination, the Presbyterian Church (USA) has recently undertaken new efforts to help individuals with mental illness on this long journey to recovery. In 2008, the General Assembly approved an eighty-four-page policy statement and study guide designed to help equip pastors and parishioners to offer support to those in need of help. This document is rich with resources and suggestions for understanding mental illness and supporting healthy recovery, but it offers some important reflections on the role of the church in this process:

Dr. Mark Ragins, a pioneer in services for the mentally ill, lists four pivotal components to recovery: hope, empowerment, self-management, and a meaningful role in a group. Although churches cannot cure mental illness, they can offer hope through services like this and through the understanding that God welcomes and loves each of us. Churches can empower individuals and give them meaningful roles in their life—the opportunity for service, the opportunity to worship God, the opportunity to be supported and loved in a community. They can be that imperfect and yet welcoming island that we are all rowing towards. It isn’t an easy thing to be a church like that. Just like the Jewish people who returned home to Jerusalem, we are charged with the difficult task of rebuilding our home. We must be a place that cries out, “Comfort, O comfort” to the people.

Here at Fourth Church, this imagery feels especially true. We are a small, serene island in the midst of a busy and chaotic city. One need only to step into the Garth or the Sanctuary to experience a sense of comfort from the stressors of life. We are called to be a place of comfort, a place of welcoming in this city. We called to be a home to all people.

· · ·

Whenever I think back to that worship service at MacNeal Hospital in the mental health wing, I can’t help but think of the word exile. Those patients were each exiles from their homes, some furiously rowing to try to make it home, some rowing aimlessly because they didn’t know where home was. We, as a church, are connected to the Jewish exiles living in Babylon. We are connected to Jesus who moved among those marginalized by society. We are meant to be God’s all-inclusive love to the world—a home for those who don’t have a home.

When Second Isaiah proclaims, “Comfort, O comfort my people, says the Lord. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term,” that patient at the MacNeal worship service stated, “I think it’s about God’s love. God wants every person to come home. God is the shepherd watching over his sheep and will keep each of us safe. God will help us all the time. We just need to trust in God.” God is calling each of us from exile—those who feel exiled from their families and friends through mental illness, those who feel lost because of that mental illness. God is calling us to that difficult journey of recovery—and it is difficult, for we all know that rowing isn’t easy. But we are rowing home to God, and God’s love and embrace accepts each of us for who we are. Thanks be to God for that gift. Amen.