Many people live with anxiety and depression. Are there spiritual resources that can help? And, how can we overcome the stigma often felt with depression to find lasting hope and profound peace? Let us reflect together on this present and prevalent issue. Join us.

ADVISORY: Sunday’s sermon will contain sensitive, real-world topics. Parents, please be advised.

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Life After” by Rev. Roger Peltier – Preached at the First Unitarian Church of Providence, Feb. 18, 2024

“But Reverend Roger, I disagree.”

The speaker is Max Lom, a parishioner in my Sarasota congregation best known for his premier biography of Norbet Capek, the father of the UU Flower Communion. Max’s words were thick with his own Czech heritage, and they were full of emotion.

“Reverend Roger, you say ‘Grief is the price we pay for having loved,’ but it’s too high a price!”

He was speaking about the recent death of his wife of sixty-three years, Gerta. “I tell you, sir, grief is the absence of love—it’s all pain. And its lonely.”

“But, Max, you only need to recall Gerta’s memory and your love is still there; love does not die….”

He cut me off: “But I want to…die” he whispered. Max had fallen into a deep depression and living with Gerta’s death felt too empty. I visited him twice a week trying to convince him that his life was worth living.

“Max, you have the good fortune of living in a luxury apartment with a professional staff to care for you. You are independent; you can still drive. And, you have grand-ch…”

He cut me off, again! as was his habit when he was getting agitated.

“Roger, you can’t change my mind on this! I want you to help me to end my life.”

“I’m sorry, Max, this is a request I can’t oblige.” “Please listen to me, Max,” I implored. “Life. Is. Difficult. I know this. We are spiritual beings having a human experience, and pain is part of the deal: that’s what it means to be mortal.” “I know this too: Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. You can work through the pain. You do not have to get mired in it; stuck. You do not have to suffer.” “Max, I know, life feels insufferable right now. But there are two incontrovertible truths you must consider when battling depression: First: Your feelings are valid. But they are not permanent; change will come. Second: Your pain is unimaginably real. But it does not isolate you; hope will come.”

My argument fell on deaf ears.

“Horse-shit, Reverend! It’s not that simple. Can’t you do better?”

I guess I couldn’t. Max Lom ended his life early one February morning.
My phone rang at dawn. “Reverend Peltier, my father killed himself a few hours ago.”

Sarah Lom was beside herself. It turns out Max had lost his nerve in the process of committing suicide. So, he called his daughter, Sarah. Unable to get to him in time, Sarah had to listen on the phone as Max uttered his last words, “I am so sorry for this.”

Then she heard her Dad’s last long and sobbing breath. But Sarah never quite understood what Max was sorry for, ending his life or involving her? She was confused.

Hearing this news, my heart sank, and my own depression filled the space in my chest. “I can do better,” I vowed.

* * * * *

February is not for the faint of heart. When I think of depression, February comes to mind. With its endless cycle of stark and cold grey days, the shortest month often feels like the longest.

Depression is life’s February. Time slows; Life becomes a series of empty, dark days that seem endlessly joyless. Depression is both a human and a spiritual dis-ease, robbing one of all comfort or solace. What’s needed is kindness; we all need just to be kinder.

I am recently and again reminded that everyone is fighting a battle we know nothing about: physical- and mental- illness, poverty, abuse, loneliness are all sitting with you right now. And with these, guilt, shame, and regret form the spinning foundation for anxiety, creating a constant cycle of worry leading to depression leading to more anxiety, and more depression like a record on repeat.

Meanwhile, we try to keep well-hidden, our feelings for fear of the stigma that is often associated with mental illness. What is important to remember is the difference between behaviors, which we all-too-readily judge, and illness, which is largely out of our control.

Even those of us suffering with depression need to remind ourselves, we are not bad people. But we are plagued with an illness: Depression is the embodiment of emotional stress. It is physical. Debilitating. Painful. And manageable. You could exercise, eat better, rest well, maybe take medications: this helps.

But the spiritual work will need tending too. I can give you the map that will bring you to a better place. If joy be the destination, I can tell you the quickest route to joy is by way of gratitude. (Sadness and gladness can NOT exist in the same moment.)

I can tell you that the GPS setting for gratitude starts with kindness—beginning with yourself. (Kindness automatically begets thankfulness.) And I can tell you the whole journey begins with a single step—and that first step—always the hardest—is simply the decision to do something different. To start, just put one foot in front of the other. (One step at a time, one breath at a time, while the path unfolds.) Just do what is in front of you and let the way open.

Of course, when one is in the throes of depression, one can’t even conceive of the road, or of a life without depression, let alone the entire journey. But we must keep breathing and keep going.

* * * * *

I remember my first inkling of depression. I was in New Orleans and Mardi Gras was in full swing!  I might’ve gotten a clue then as I was feeling no joy. But I attributed this to hurricane Katrina.

I was in NOLA with twenty youth for a work trip. We camped out, or rather in, what was the hollow shell of First Unitarian, with only a stone floor and stained-glass. Everything else had been destroyed: pews, piano, pulpit—all gone.

Touring the lower Ninth Ward I noticed spray-painted symbols on the houses: a vertical line marked how high the water had risen and a number above that line represented the people that perished.

This was, by itself, heartbreaking. I’d never seen such large-scale devastation. And that smell—something like rot and spice and death—never left my nose. We’d spend the days gutting any still-standing structures: ceilings came down as floors came up and the whole mess was piled into the streets.

At night we’d eat cold sandwiches and take cold showers. Except for the hot tears staining my face, everything felt desolate and cold that February. By the time the week wrapped up, I had completely lost my shit! I couldn’t shovel one more person’s personal property—photos, mementos, memories—into a trash pile to be forever forgotten. So, I sat outside and, while the kids worked, I wept. For hours.

I was feeling more miserable than I ever had. (And more than the situation really called for.) Reflecting on my surroundings, and on my own life’s grief, I began sinking deeper down. In this state I am surprised I noticed it! Amongst miles of grey, broken rubble there was a single white flower growing – a daisy.

The lesson was instant: Surviving Katrina meant hope sprouted where nothing else could grow. No matter where it’s barren, hope is being born. We just have to pay attention and look for it.

* * * * *

They say in the darkest of moments, there is always light at the end of the tunnel. In Genesis, we are told God said, “Let there be light!” Which means God created the dark first. There is a curative power in getting this—in embodying the idea that darkness is an important part of the journey: it leads us to the light.

But let me be clear: I am not suggesting we need to suffer pain for spiritual growth. But we do need spiritual growth to suffer pain. We need emotional and spiritual intelligence to deal with depression, an intelligence that begins with finding the ability to name what is happening to us.

A few Februarys ago, my life took a dramatic and devastating turn. In fairly quick succession: I suffered a critical health scare; I resigned a ministry that I dearly loved; I ended a 30+ year relationship in which I felt deeply betrayed; and I sold the only home I had ever really known.

They say things like a job change or moving a residence or divorce and such are disruptive and emotional life events, so imagine my condition trying to endure four very big life changes all-at-once! I became sad. I became despondent. Finally, I became non-functional.

There are as many descriptions for depression as there are people and mine was typical. It hurt too much to get out of bed. Or to shower. It was all I could do to walk the five feet to the bathroom to brush my teeth; so I didn’t.

I spent days and days and days in a dark room. I didn’t change my clothes. I didn’t leave the bed. All I did was cry. And cry. And cry. And sleep. For hours. For days. For months.

My mental health had very seriously deteriorated. Only, it happened in such a way that I didn’t really notice at first. By the time I could name what was happening to me, I was very lost in the shadows.

The turning point was simple but stunning. John brought me an article from the NY Times titled: “To the Wife Who Has Depression from the Husband Who Loves Her.” As John read the article to me, I quickly recognized myself in the words (depression doesn’t discriminate among, gender age, station or stage).

Like the depressed wife, I had said to John, “I won’t do it, but I really get why people would end their life—just to stop all this hurting.” John was inconsolable—grieving for the me of a few months ago. I, too, was grieving, missing life before.

I was surely and clinically depressed. (Finally I had a name for what was happening.) Coincidently, if you believe in coincidences, my clock radio—which I never used—just popped on in the middle of that same night; the song playing: Tell Your Heart to Beat Again.

I was completely undone. I felt like the song was for me, like I was being called back to life. This time my tears felt fresh, cleansing. I had somehow arrived at the very first moment of recovery, when hope comes and brings healing. I call this a moment of grace, a moment that I am sure saved my life.

I’ve never told this story before for fear of that stigma about mental illness. But I want my life with depression, and life after, to be an example for you, that if or when you are struggling, my experience might show you, there is always a new beginning.

My friends, this I know for sure:

Life is difficult. Everyone is fighting a battle we know nothing about. But pain is not permanent; change does come. We are never alone; hope does come.

So, take heart, dear ones, and have courage: Let us vow together to be better, to be kinder, and, always, to keep breathing. When the Februarys of life get you down, tell your heart to beat again. Amen.