Sunday Service: How Do We Help Each Other? May 24th, 2015

How Do We Help One Another

By Reverend Tom Capo

Delivered on 5/24/2015

      A lot of things drew me to DuPage Unitarian Universalist Church last year: your hunger for social justice/social action causes, your hands-on involvement with PADS and Bridges, helping homeless individuals and families, your eagerness to embrace the use of technology on Sunday mornings.  Another quality that made this church stand out for me was the way you take care of each other, and in particular, the Pastoral Ministry Associates, or PMA, Committee.  Revitalized in 2012, the PMA have been able and effective partners in ministry.  They call people, write cards, monitor our Joys and Concerns Facebook page, and generally reach out to the people here in this community who are in crisis, in need, in pain.  This past year our PMA Committee created an on-call schedule to keep track of and follow up with the many members and friends in need.  And one of the things I love about this congregation is that many of you have formally or informally reached out to people in need in this congregation to give them help and/or support.  This winter and spring in particular, have seen an uptick in the number of members and friends who have needed some support, and I have been so gratified and impressed by the consistently nurturing and caring responses this community offers.  DuPage Unitarian Universalist Church is truly a community of love and truly understands how important expressing that love for one another is.  

      And yet, this community, we, are not like one of Shakespeare’s fictional characters.  Our bounty is not “boundless as the sea.”  And so many times, though we love truly and deeply, we don’t find that “the more [love we] give… the more [we] have” to give.  While there is truth in how our hearts can grow as we share our love with one another and with people in need, unlike a fictional character, our love is not infinite.  We are human, and like it or not, we have limits.  

Many of us have been working long and hard this year helping members and friends who are in need, and I’ve wondered about whether some of us might experience some compassion fatigue.

“You cannot say, I need you

So you say, I like your shoes

I cannot say, I see your gods have failed you

So I say, your eyes look so sad

You fold your arms, the sentences for my crimes is life

I lean in, let’s look at those chains

You look past me, eyes wide, I am alone

And the night is coming for me

My heart pounds

Knowing what waits there

Your breath stops to keep

The next door locked and shut

But my left foot

Is already in it

Outside the trees

Are restless with light

In the settling quiet

Each filament of dust

Streaming in from earth or star

Delivers us, mote by mote

From the hour of undoing

Into the hour of mercy

On what wings

We cannot say”

This poem was written by psychotherapist, mystic, and poet Frances Hatfield. 

      I want to be clear that we will always have people in need in the congregation and we should be willing as a community to step up and be there to help them.  This sermon is not about telling people who are in pain, who are suffering, to “suck it up.”  This sermon is about how we care for others and care for ourselves.

About that homeless, mentally ill, and intoxicated man

**Editor's Note:  The service on Sunday October 12th was an incredibly moving sermon on the easily forgotten human element of homelessness.  The following post was written by DuPage Unitarian Universalist Church congregant, and frequent blog contributor, Ruth Elliott.**

Today the service was about homelessness. I wrote this in the Spring, and thought it was appropriate for the blog today. - Ruth Elliott

Dear Well Intentioned Friend,

I know your intentions were not unkind when we talked the other day. I'm certain you had no idea the affect your story would have on me, and I'm somewhat ashamed I didn't speak up more clearly at the time.

Okay, here's the thing. Your story? About your daughter's dance class being threatened by a lone homeless man, the one where the instructors bravely hid all the girls (who 'were practically dressed in bikinis') in the locker room to protect them? The story where the lone homeless man who may have been intoxicated, who likely was mentally ill  (spoken with your voice lowered), had come into the lounge near the studio and sat down to watch the tv, you remember? Do you remember telling me how horrified you were, what danger these girls were in. Do you remember when you first described the man that I said, poor thing, he was probably just looking somewhere safe to rest?

Here are some things I didn't tell you. I have worked with homeless people for the last ten years. Yes, many are mentally ill, many are alcoholic or addicts or both. All of them suffer greatly. All of them are human beings, who love and are loved by someone. I didn't point out that mental illness and substance abuse are medical illnesses, just like cancer, or diabetics. I also didn't mention the reason many of them are homeless is because of inadequate resources to treat these disorders,and the tremendous negative stigma that goes along with being homeless, with being an alcoholic, with being an addict.

At one point while you were describing in great detail how horrifying and dangerous this man was, I did manage to quietly say, just like my son. I don't think you caught my meaning. I don't think you understood that what I was saying was that my son is homeless, that my son is mentally ill, that my son is an addict, that my son has curled up in all sorts of places trying to get some sleep, some comfort. I don't think you realized that while you talked about saving these girls from this threat, all I could see is the countless cruelties that the homeless, mentally ill suffer, that my son suffers. The diseases themselves and the heartbreak they cause to families are bad enough, but the stigma that well intentioned people attach to them and then use as a justification to treat them badly, as something less than human, and something not worth compassion, or love or comfort, the stigma is the worst of it all.

Change mentally ill to someone with cancer, with diabetics, suddenly it seems horrifying that someone suffering from cancer, or uncontrolled diabetes would be ostracized, would be seen as a threat to children.

Eventually all I could see was someone treating my son with the horror and disdain you very eloquently described, all I could see was the pain and the humiliation he has suffered. All I could see was my little boy being threatened, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing I could do to save him. All I could feel was all the pain and the heartbreak of the last several years as I fought to keep my son sane, sober and safe. You see, my well intentioned friend, I too am a mother, a very protective one, and I do understand the overwhelming desire to protect my children. My daughters took dance when they were young, I did my time sitting in studios, going to recitals, I do understand that part, to this day I would do anything to keep them safe. I also love my son with the same intensity, and I have done, and still do everything I can to protect him. Sadly with his disease part of doing what's best for him and my daughters is to let him hit a bottom so he can hopefully one day come back to me.

I couldn't tell you any of this. All I could do was to cover my face to hide the tears and run away. When I got to my car I sat for a very long while until I stopped crying and could drive home.

The other thing I didn't tell you is what I may have in common with the homeless man, I'm an alcoholic. I was raised by one and am related to several. The disease runs rampant in my family. I've been told to say I'm a person in long term recovery, meaning I'm sober and have been so for quite some time. I don't generally tell people this, because unlike, say cancer survivors, there aren't any coloured ribbons, or fun walks for alcoholics or addicts, even the clean and sober ones. People don't look at you as someone who has fought - and remains constantly vigilant - against a chronic and deadly illness, and survived, people see a drunk, an addict, someone who has a flaw in their moral character, someone who cant' be trusted, someone you can't leave your children with (yes, I have been at the receiving end of all these attitudes) people look at you as something that is less than normal people. That's why I don't generally share that about myself. That is also why when you told me about the homeless man the first thing I felt was empathy for him, and the pain he must feel at fear and loathing that he experienced in your daughter's dance studio, and likely just about everywhere else he goes.

I didn't tell you any of this, because these things are usually too raw for me to say out loud. These things have brought judgement and negative stigma on me and my family, and some days I'm just not up to saying out loud that this is wrong. This is so very wrong. That it is not okay to view people as less than. No is less than anyone else. I think if people could get that straight in their heads the world could be a more compassionate and beautiful place.

So, maybe, next time you see a homeless person, someone who is mentally ill, intoxicated,maybe, you could let some compassion enter your viewpoint, and not let fear guide your thinking and actions, maybe you could lead with kindness and compassion, just a little at first. Or maybe you could, just for a moment, reexamine the way you view the homeless, the mentally ill, the addicted, the alcoholic. Maybe that could be a start.

Unbroken Circle: Mental Health Awareness

DUUC Editor's Note:   May is Mental Health Month.  In addition to the national advocacy for and awareness of mental health issues our congregation has been working on creating an atmosphere of understanding and care in regards to mental health.  We recently hosted a training seminar for Mental Health First Aid  and our pastoral care group is working to strengthen our community as a place for support.  In this blog post one of our congregants, Paul Sellnow, explores the taboo behind mental health and shares with us a piece of his own journey.  For more information on mental health issues and awareness visit the National Alliance on Mental Health. 

A few days ago, one of my coworkers arrived at the office just before lunchtime and announced "I'm late because I had to drive my wife to the doctor's office. She broke her arm roller skating last night." He did not seem the least bit embarrassed by his wife's apparent lack of rinkmanship, nor did he appear to have any reservations about her character or strength of will.

Most of us are comfortable talking about physical injuries and ailments. I've broken three bones, and each of them has a story behind it. I'm not the least bit squeamish telling you that I have had my gall bladder removed. I hesitate slightly when mentioning my incident with thyroid cancer, only because the "C" word can cause needless consternation on the part of listeners. (Completely treated, more than five years ago, no cause for concern.)

Other topics in our lives may be more intimidating. Some of us may feel awkward talking about money or political views, concerned that relationships with those of different positions may be strained. Some of us may be reluctant to discuss sexual orientation or religious beliefs, worried that family or friends may not approve and may even break off relations and cut us out of their lives. These can be difficult conversations, but a healthy respect for the inherent worth and dignity of the other person will often get us through.

Mental illness, however, retains a stigma in many people's minds despite years of progress in diagnosis and treatment. I've never heard anyone arrive late to work saying "sorry I'm late, my wife had a schizophrenic episode and I had to have her committed." Yet everyone should know that mental illness is a brain disorder, not a character flaw or a lack of willpower, and definitely not a choice. We should be able to talk about it as openly as we would an appendectomy or tonsillectomy.

Life with addiction, mental illness and stigma

DUUC Editor's Note: Our fellow congregant,Ruth Elliott, has graciously shared with us her family's journey of addiction, mental illness and facing the stigma that goes with each. Ruth previously shared this story with our congregation and we appreciate her sharing it again here.

It started about 9 years ago with a handwriting tutor.  In grade three Graham’s handwriting was terrible. I found him a handwriting tutor and drove him there three times a week until we realized it wasn’t having any effect on his handwriting. Over the next year it became clear it was something more than sloppy penmanship, it was like his brain was going way too fast for his hand to keep up. I found him a psychologist, had him tested and to absolutely no one’s surprise he was diagnosed with ADHD, and so started a long and inglorious period where I became an expert on 504 education plans, communicating with teachers, school social workers, and psychologists. I learned everything I could about the –constantly changing - prescribed medications and while I was at it I tweaked his already pretty healthy diet in an effort to improve his concentration and focus. At some point he told me he was seeing colors that weren't there, I had his eyes checked – all normal, and chocked it up to an intelligent and creative kid’s imagination.