Must We Die At Your Doorstep

Matthew 25.36 I was naked and you clothed Me. I was sick and you visited Me with help and ministering care, I was in prison and you came to see Me.

The trite clich~ "Christians only kill their wounded" is very appropriate when talking about Christians with illnesses. I am not speaking about the illness and damage the wrecks havoc on the human body. I am speaking of an illness that at times robs us of our dignity, leaving us to stand naked, with our pain being poured out before the world. An illness that almost commands that others run from us. An illness that keeps so many of us trapped inside what others would call their home, we call our prison.

What is the name of this illness that separates brothers and sisters in Christ? Let me shout the name of the illness; MENTAL ILLNESS. Oh, Lord, this writer has chosen a topic that is a very big can of worms. Watch out! The worms are getting free! As a church of most of the body of believers in Jesus Christ, we have persisted in just staying on the fringes of the response that was given to fellow mentally ill Christians from the dark ages.

The big stride forward that most churches have taken is this: we will allow you to sit in our pews and share in our fellowship dinners with us. Thank you very much for letting us out of the attic. We promise not to foam at the mouth or let any demons speak from us.

This is not something I stood in line for at the time I was conceived. Due to tne sinful nature of this worid1 I have inherited my illness much like many people are of this world, I have inherited my illness much like many people are prone to dying of cancer.

This illness is so infamous. It is all consuming. It strikes the victim down when they are at their lowest. It leaves us standing, naked with our emotions raw1 hurting, out of control.

My naked emotions have been placed upon a gigantic rusted platter. My nakedness revealed to the world. Sometimes by me, sometimes by the ones who love me, sometimes by my brothers and sisters. See that very large black lump in the middle? It is my pain. Smells awful doesn't it. Looks twice as bad. Yes, that is the part of me that has lashed out at others when what I really wanted to do was to be held in love and peace.

Do you see the red lumps clustered like grapes off to the upper right corner of the platter? Oh, you say you feel sick looking at it. I am not surprised at your reaction for you see, that is the sexual abuse I endured for many years. Now those two small red pieces there were given to me when the person most would call their father molested me twice as a young child and when he raped me as a teen. And all those tiny little red ones, those are all the times my aunt molested me. That medium size one is when I was raped at 15. The rest of those larger ones, was the sexual abuse I endured during my first marriage.

The blue odd-shaped circles, they look like a huge bowl of blue potato chips, don't they? Don't eat them. You will gag. You might even find yourself picking yourself off the floor. Those are all the times I was hit with a razor strap, or a 2x4 or punched in the face like a punching bag. Even though the miss-shaped circles are blue, they will taste of blood.

See the dark green cubes? No, that is not envy. Those cubes hold are the painful words that were thrown at me. Yes, there are many, that is why they are spread through-out this platter. Words of hate, fear-inducing words, shame-filled words. There are so many cubes because I have heard all of their contents many, many times. I have been battered by them most of my life.

The purple diamonds? Are you sure you want to know? Why it is you, my brother and sister. They are also from loved ones. These are words that have stripped away what little cloth that was on all these raw, naked emotions. Words like, "You need to trust God more. He will take care of this," or "Now we know that all things work together for the good who love the Lord. You do love God, don't you," or "If you just had enough faith, God would have taken care of this a long ago," "You are still in sin, that is why God has not healed you yet." My two favorites (written tounge in cheek) "Are you demon possessed, and Do you hurt anybody?"

No, I am not demon possessed. Maybe demon harassed, but then, why have you stripped away more cloth to ask? Why are you not covering my nakedness with prayer? No, I don't hurt others. Only myself. I'll tell you one day about my razors blades and what it feels like to run them over my legs and stomach to stop the non-relenting internal pain.

And to my loved one, you have stripped me completely to show the world what you have to endure and what a saint you are. I will not deny you the right to be angry and tired of having as a mate one who is so trying because she is DID. I really do feel remorse of you coming home to a different person every night. But why, why in God's name have you spread my nakedness all over the place to show your customers and fellow co-workers. Is it not enough that I do that very thing so well myself? Do you also have to bring more shame to me?

Please start clothing me. Stop saying that I don't have enough faith, faith has nothing to do with YOU acting. It is your obedience that is needed. Stop saying that I don't need to go and get counseling. Would you tell another brother or sister not to go to the hospital while they are in the midst of a heart attack? I think not. When I am at my ugliness, I need the warm coat of God's love placed upon my naked emotions. Stop showing off the platter of my pain. Instead, gently, in love wash away the pain with God's love. Put those naked emotions on a platter of gold. He does. He even cleanses them with His tears. Cover the platter with a fine silk cloth with the word, Agape, stitched onto the silk.

Did you know that mental illness is a sickness? Most of the time it is biological. Did you know that you can not catch mental illness by being near one of us? More important, did you know that most of us did not want to be this way? Did you know that we also need a visit, to know that we are not being dismissed as ones who need to be kept in the attic?

And like any illness, there are different types of "visitation" that we can endure. Some of us can handle actual visits, if properly prepared to interact with you. Please, don't just drop in on us. I seldom answer my door when I am not expecting anyone. There are some of us who can handle telephone visits. Ask those who know us if we can.

Do you have any idea what a card would mean to us? Do you know how priceless that visit is to us? Why do you have such a hard time visiting us and ministering to us? I am not asking that you put me on some schedule to visit. I do know that God has spoken to some of you, and you have not obeyed. I have lost out on being ministered to, you have lost out on a blessing.

For many of us, our homes are prisons. I work hard to leave my house just to go see my counselor. If I need something from the store, I have to build myself up for about two days before I can leave my house. I seldom answer my phone I have an answering machine to let me know if the caller is safe for me to talk to or not.

There was a song titled, "I'm on the Outside Looking In." I am on the inside, looking out. Looking out with so much yearning in my soul to be accepted as a 'normal" person. Wanting so much to go to school and volunteer in my community. I would love to be able to take my son somewhere to have fun without worrying which of my out. And even more upsetting, how much of the outing and my beloved son's reactions will I, the central me, remember.

Do you know who visits me in my prison? Other people who are in their prisons who also have a computer and access to the internet like I do. On a cold impersonal screen, I see letters typed out to form sentences crying out for help much like I do.

On this screen, I see answers being sent back, "Hold on," "Don't give up," "Don't cut yourself," "Please don't kill yourself. I will miss you so very much." Mercy and love from a cold screen. I also type hope to the unseen faces behind the letters of pain.

I type on my cold plastic keyboard, praying that God answers my whispered pray that He sends someone to help them. Maybe I need to start praying that Christians will start listening to Him. Asking for someone to be sent doesn't do much good if the person refuses to go.

My visitors in my prison are unseen faces on a cold, hard, inhuman screen. They are the ones who hear my loud, silent screams. It does little good to scream out loud.

You run the other way. If you came to church on sunny Sunday morn and found my lifeless body, would you finally stop running from others who also need your help? Would taking one of my razors and opening a vein, letting my blood stain your precious sidewalk into church get your attention?

What if I were to write on the outside of the building, with my life's blood as I was dying, a plea that you help others like me. Clothe them, minister healing to them, visit them in their prisons, would you listen? If you found me dead in front of your church, would you finally repent and minister to these who are sick?

I think not. One has already died for those of us who are mentally ill. The only Son of God.

When are you going to start listening to and obeying the very One that you claim you worship?

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