Several years ago, during my seventh year of priesthood, I started to develop an anxiety disorder and depression. It runs in my family and I thought that, as I was in my mid-thirties and not showing the major signs as some members of my family had, that perhaps I had escaped mental illness. But then during my seventh year of priesthood, I started developing panic attacks. And they would almost always happen at Mass. You see, not only was I stressed out from the work of being a priest. I also dreaded preaching.
It wasn’t always like that. When I first became a priest, I had great excitement about preaching. I thought, “I get to inspire so many people! It’s going to be awesome!” But after seven years, I learned that not everyone wants to hear the truth or likes the truth. I learned that not everyone has a sense of humor. I learned that many people have unreasonable expectations. And I learned that not everyone is mentally healthy. Put that all together and I started to see that preaching was dangerous.
And that danger made me restless. Anxious. And as I started to doubt whether I was making a difference, it became dreadful.
I even started to think that Jesus’ words about the “yoke being easy” was a lie. To take a page from Father Schroeder’s puns: I felt that the yoke was on me.
I carried on like
that for about three years. Then the pandemic hit. People started talking more
about mental health. And going to counseling didn’t seem to have the stigma
that it once did, so that’s what I did. I went to counseling and started seeing
a good Catholic therapist.
Let me take a quick detour in this story.
In my days at seminary, I had learned that the human person is comprised of his intellect, his will, and his passions (or emotions and appetites). The intellect was made to arrive clearly at the true and the good; the will was made to follow the decision of the intellect; and the passions were meant to serve that endeavor by providing strength and zeal.
But with mental illness, the intellect is often broken, the will weak, and the emotions – well, they can be a mess.
One of the more memorable lessons of my time in counseling was what I call the analogy of the rollercoaster. Imagine there are two people watching people ride a rollercoaster. Most people, when they watch a rollercoaster, will have one of two thoughts. They will say, “Wow! That’s looks exciting!” Or they will say, “Ugh! That looks dreadful!”
In both cases, the rollercoaster has stirred something in them. It has actually stirred the same thing in them. They both see danger. The emotions have been piqued. Now comes the analysis of the intellect. Only one has come to the conclusion that in the danger there is an adventure worth going on. Only one sees a good and happy ending. How you see the ending will determine whether the stirring is anxiety or excitement.
That’s one of the problems with having anxiety for a while. It keeps pressing on you, depressing you. And you start wondering whether anything good can come of going on the rollercoaster again. But you keep on getting stirred up. Life is dangerous. Every day, I had to face that danger and go to the pulpit to give a homily. It was my rollercoaster.
Ok, back to the story.
So, during one of my therapy sessions, my counselor gave me a great insight. “Father,” she said, “what if the emotion you are feeling which gives you anxiety is simply the same emotion that gives you excitement?”
That is to say, once upon a time, I saw the pulpit as an exciting rollercoaster. During my panic attacks, I saw it as a dreadful one. What had changed? It wasn’t the rollercoaster. It wasn’t the danger. It was that I now knew the danger. I knew the weight Jesus’ yoke could have on my shoulders.
My counselor challenged me. She said, “Go to Jesus and learn from Him.”
In the storm, did Jesus freak out? What about when He was in front of Pilate? Or battling the devil? Did He get anxious when the crowd rejected Him? He was peaceful, restful through it all. And why?
Because He loved His people.
And He knew how it would end.
And He knew He was loved by the Father.
Those three things: He loved His people; He knew how it would end; and He knew He was loved – this would make the yoke easy and the burden light again.
So, I took this to my chair at Mass. When I felt anxiety, I would have to remind myself, “Self, this is just a stirring. The same kind of stirring as before a rollercoaster. Sure, it is dangerous; but love is dangerous. Love always entails a risk. But it is exciting. I get to inspire people today. It will end well. There is glory and heaven. And through it all, the Father loves me.”
I started praying differently. I used to pray: “Lord, please don’t let me make a mistake.” Now it’s “Lord, help me to laugh when I do.”
I never thought I
would have to intentionally practice good mental health. I just always presumed
I would be mentally healthy. I never thought I would have to take medication for my brain -- or for cholesterol. But here we are.
And I’m thankful for it. I’d like to think it has made me more humble; and more compassionate to those with depression and anxiety and those who just struggle with daily tasks that so many of us take for granted as always being easy.
In sum, I like to think it humbled me enough to finally come to Jesus in submission to His command: "Come to me."
And when I came to Him, I discovered that coming to Him wasn't really a long distance, even though it felt like it. He was always there. The yoke wasn't strapped simply to my back, but to His as well.
The more I learn that from Him, the more I cast my worries upon Him, the more I find I can stand up here with excitement and not dread.
That He has kept His promise that this would give me rest -- well, that has inspired me all the more to tell you about it.
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
