A Christmas Reflection on Art and Friendship

 

The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference.

– Elie Wiesel

Cease and desist order in 2019?

This year has seen many changes in our life. New jobs, new music (Caz and I are musicians), new friends made, and old friendships rekindled. The most notable change in my life has been the stabilization of my bipolar cycle.

In the fall of 2017 I joined a punk rock band called Top-Notch Defective, and also started a new job. The preceding summer had been one of the worst times in my life. That spring was the last time I had been in manic delusion. I will not go into what that is like here, but the upshot is that my g.p. prescribed a mild antidepressant designed to bring me down. It worked, I came out of mania and delusion, and was able to get a job as a janitor. The only problem was that it put me into the worst depression I have ever experienced.

Before this experience, depression had been an element of my bipolar cycles, but not long lasting, and while difficult, not crippling. This depression was crippling. My desire to live was gone – not replaced with a desire to die, but with indifference. As my lead guitarist referring to medication induced depression put it: my spark was gone.

As a spouse my spark is that which keeps the romance alive. As a parent my spark prompts me to play with my little ones, it can ignite their imaginations and broaden their minds. As an artist my spark not only drives me to create, but is, along with those I love, my reason to live. That was gone. I was an empty husk, listlessly blown by the breezes and gales of daily life. Uncaring. Unfeeling. A dead man walking.

My brother called me in the fall of 2017 saying that the bassist for his band had resigned, and asking me to try out. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want another “have to” in my life. Having to get out of bed was hard enough let alone mustering the will or interest to play music. But at the urging of Greg and my wife I tried out. Long story short I got along with the guys from Top Notch Defective, and joined the band as a green and mediocre bassist (I’m no longer green at least) with zero experience playing punk rock.

Yes I play shirtless, ladies…and gentlemen

By the end of December I was working a new job, and life was looking up, but I was still completely empty.

Let me back up. I stopped taking that new medication over the summer. I was only on it for a few months (4 or 5), but the loss of any interest in life freaked me out so much that I weened myself off of it. The depression continued. No manias, no cycles, no nothing. Just emptiness. The band was work. My job was drudgery. My spouse and children were just humans I had a duty too care for. Even hosting my radio show on KZUM was empty work that I began to phone in.

Slowly the depression began to lift. As if a series of curtains that blocked me from living were being removed from my senses and emotions one by one. Slowly. We moved to a new house. Caz got a new job. The band started to get better and we played more shows. In short as life normalized, my depression faded.

Pirate Fest 2018

While I can’t “fix” the chemicals or brain malformation that make me bipolar, I have come to rely on two new environmental elements to regulate my cycles: art and friendship. While there are many other environmental factors that effect the manias and depressions that are the bane of those of us struggling with bipolar disorder, factors like family circumstances, sleep, medications, diet and exercise, I had little idea up to this year how important friendship and art are.

My closest friend moved to Indiana in early 2017 leaving a gaping human shaped hole in my life. I stopped playing music when my depression started. While I am friends with my spouse, male and female friendships outside of our marriage are very important. And I’m an extrovert. Yes I’m outgoing and can be gregarious, but that’s not what defines extroversion for me. In the Jungian sense being an extrovert means that I derive energy from other people. Being an artist and intellectually inclined means that my favorite types of people to be around are either philosophically minded, or artists or both. This year has exposed me to a number of local musicians who like me are artists. They are writers, or painters. They work with their hands and minds and senses to create, express, and interpret. My people.

Slowly but surely I have built new friendships, rekindled old ones, and become part of an incredibly diverse community of artists from a glass fuser, and a podcaster, to bass players and a PHD candidate composer, a talkative blacksmith, and a Jedi master Viking weaver (seriously).

Jimmy (center) and I hanging out before our show with Broken Skulls

I’ve also rekindled my love of religious studies. I’m reading again – thanks by the way to my friend Gordon for such a wonderful Christmas present: More Than Belief: A Materialist Theory of Religion by Manuel A. Vasquez, it’s so cool. Randy, another friend gave me his complete set of Early Church Fathers, ALL 38 VOLUMES!!! I’ve wanted it ever since my early teens. That actually says a lot about me in my teen years. When my friends were lusting after a new skateboard or their first car, I wanted 38 volumes of early christian religious texts on theology and mysticism…and the skateboard.

Finding musicians that I can communicate with artistically is so incredibly important for my mental health. When mania pushes me into a creative fervor I now have a communal outlet for that. A musician with whom I have a couple of other musical projects has bipolar disorder as well. What a hoot when we both cycle into mania and get all creative. So much fun. Another friend has hyperfocused autism, and we can sit and chat for hours about music. We actually have play dates with our kids.

When my depression cycle starts, my friendships have pulled me through. The love and support of my brothers (and their significant others) in Top Notch Defective has been such a boon to my mental health. To paraphrase Tiny, our rhythm guitarist, “We don’t just like to play, we NEED to play!”

Cheers to Jimmy, Steve, Tiny and Hanna, and Jason, Troy and Jen, Jericho, Paul, Fasti and The Barony and all my new SCA friends, also Evert, David, Colin, and, my new friends Mark and Randy from PolyFaze, and to others too many to mention here. Your comradery and inspiration have not only brought me joy, but have been an important stabilizing force in the tempest tossed world that I live in inside my brain.

Pirate Fest. The first TND show Caz had ever seen.

I’m gushing. I’ll stop.

Cheers and a massive thank you to my parents, and my brother (also fantastic former TND frontman) and his girlfriend, for supporting and helping us along this road to stabilization. The Dank clan cares for one another. We are proof of that.

Most importantly, Merry Christmas to my partner in both crime and crazy, the incomparable Caz, my Bonnie Lass. Ten Years of marriage in 2019! Also since Elliot, Joey, Anna, and Rose (my children) may one day read these posts, know this: I love you more deeply than can be fathomed, more completely every day, and more truly than even my own life.

Here’s to you all in 2018 and here’s to us all in 2019!

May we get what we want, May we get what we need, But may we never get what we deserve.

With Love

Samuel James “Little” Dank

Happy New Year!

P.S. my editor (Caz) is exhausted from being awesome and needs to sleep. So the spelling grammar and poor stylistic choices are entirely my fault. Beg pardon.

It’s Time to Continue the Story Part IV: Bipolar Disorder & Mania

And certain women, which had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities, Mary called Magdalene, out of whom went seven devils, Luke 8:2 KJV

I remember hearing a podcast by the late Fr. Thomas Hopko in which he posited that “devils” in this context (see caption and pic above) meant insanity. Mental illness and indeed epilepsy has been misdiagnosed as Demonic possession in our shared history a couple times I’d say. I’ve certainly exhibited and experienced insanity more than once due to my mental illness.

A personal note to the reader of this. The following picks up where Part III left off, but this post is a confession of sorts. It is intensely honest and may surprise and shock some people who do not know me, or this side of me. I appeal to your compassion when reading this; judge not too harshly, someone in your life may be experiencing this too. Also, this may be a bit graphic. That’s your warning, so let’s jump in.

 “Be pitiful, for every man is fighting a hard battle.”

– Ian Mclaren

As a refresher: Circa 2009, Caz and I are a newly married couple with a baby on the way and Caz was unpacking her traumatic experiences at SIA.

The way I understand it, when a person starts to open up about traumatic experiences in order to seek help, they often relive those experiences. PTSD is horrifying to me. The more Caz talked the more she remembered and the worse her PTSD symptoms and seizures became. And the more frustrated I became. Seeing someone one loves go through so much emotional, physical, and psychological anguish is terrible. Especially when one is powerless to fix anything. This frustration will play a key role in the story going forward, along with bipolar mania.

Yep I’m bipolar. How I found that out is for another post, but perhaps some explanation would help now. Bipolar disorder is a mood disorder, I grew up hearing it referred to colloquially as manic depression. We cycle up and down from mania to depression and back. For this and my next post I’d like to focus on mania. The following is from this health website condensing some of the DSM criteria:

*italics added

---

Mania

The DSM defines mania as a “distinct period of abnormally and persistently elevated, expansive, or irritable mood.” The episode must last at least a week. The mood must have at least three of the following symptoms:

• high self-esteem
• little need for sleep
• increased rate of speech (talking fast)
• flight of ideas
• getting easily distracted
• an increased interest in goals or activities
• psychomotor agitation (pacing, hand wringing, etc.)
• increased pursuit of activities with a high risk of danger

---

 

I exhibit almost all of this behavior during manic episodes, but the italicized symptoms are especially pronounced. The grandiosity gets more pronounced the closer I come to delusion. Not fun.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder a couple years ago, and only in the last year have my manias and depressions become somewhat stable. Over the next few posts I am going to try to peel back the curtain of my bipolar mind and give you a peak inside. My hope is that I can come to a better understanding of my disorder (that is one main reason why I write), but also that you do as well – perhaps you suffer in similar ways or know someone who exhibits these symptoms.

There are many sides to bipolar and many states of mind that one finds themselves in vis a vi this often crippling mental illness. I will address as many of these as possible in upcoming posts including the demon of manic delusion, but I really need to work up my courage to tell that part of the story. This post is hard enough.

One of the dark sides of bipolar is what I refer to as negative mania. For years I would have what Caz would come to call fits – episodes of intense frustration that would often include hair pulling, fist biting, body tensed in rage and hand wringing. Basically the behavior of a toddler or child who is non verbal and/or on the spectrum except I’m well over 225 pounds, and have a booming voice.

I know now that these outward symptoms are a manifestation of my inability to cope with the intensity of bipolar mood swings. I refer to these fits as negative manias. The internal symptoms are most often characterized by an overwhelming desire to kill myself. I would be driving down the street and have the most intense urge to veer off and ram my truck at high speed into an embankment. I have a vivid imagination, and during a negative manic episode I would sometimes envision stabbing myself in the neck, almost feeling the warm blood run down my arm and torso until I faded away.

Negative mania is scary for those around me because I am highly irritable and very intimidating. During these episodes I am short tempered, and loud. I have punched holes in walls, kicked dents in cars (only mine), and broken numerous small nick knacks and sundries. God. Writing this makes me nauseated with guilt.

These are not your typical mood swings, but bipolar mood swings. My bipolar disorder manifests in an intensity of feeling, and the stress of my partner practically becoming disabled, our financial strains and my poor sleep schedule (not to mention working nights in an emergency room) exacerbated these negative manic episodes during our early years as a couple. These problems would continue until Caz made me see a psychiatrist and get on medication…but that’s for later.

Now that I’ve front loaded some of the horror of my bipolar experience (except the delusions), next time I’ll tell you about the positive side of manias.

 

The following selfies are an attempt to depict what negative mania looks like.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

It’s Time to Continue the Story: Part III Seizures and PTSD

And lest I should be exalted above measure through the abundance of the revelations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I should be exalted above measure.

The Second Epistle of Paul to the Corinthians chapter 12:7

One theory about what Paul’s thorn was is that he had a seizure Disorder. I always thought that that was more likely an explanation than the theory that he was gay. Of course there is the eyesight theory… But enough of my biblical geekery! I have another blog for that. On to seizure disorders!

What an apt description, disorder. Seizures take your (somewhat) orderly life and upend it. Caz has a seizure disorder. Her seizures are grand mal and scary. Like demon possession scary. Her triggers are emotional stress and lack of sleep. Turns out PTSD is quite a stressor, and anxiety along with a bipolar spouse and one child – soon to be two – were a recipe for lack of sleep. Also, unlike some people with epilepsy Caz’s seizures do not alleviate her depression. To clarify I am speaking from my perspective as a spouse of someone with seizures, not having experienced them myself.

Early on in our marriage Caz began to talk about her experiences at SIA, and they were negative, even traumatic. She had been at SIA a few years after me and the more she began to speak of her experience the more concerned I became. Not only because of the horrible things Caz experienced, but also because as Caz unpacked her trauma her seizures worsened. To be honest I was also frustrated because I felt alone in a marriage with someone who was progressively becoming more and more disabled. In fact later on she would even look into filing for disability. Bills piled up without a second income, and tensions grew. She had to quit her job. She started new medication (just in case we got pregnant). And then we found out she was pregnant.

With unpacking all the trauma, physical and hormonal changes, and new medication her seizures increased in frequency and her health worsened. Since the new seizure meds weren’t doing the trick, I encouraged her to see a therapist. I was working night shift in the emergency room at the time and we had good health insurance.

The story if our first experience with a therapist, while both alarming and funny is also an important foundation story for things to come. So I would like to excerpt it here. Without further ado here is Christian Therapy? 

edits in {brackets} and ellipses  …

---

 

“You don’t need confession anyway! You are washed in the blood of the Lamb!”

– One of Caz’ first therapists

{early on in our marriage} our priest (wisely) suggested that Caz should get professional therapy for what would later be diagnosed as PTSD … We went to a therapist recommended to us by a parishioner at our church. I will refer to this therapist as Esther (not her real name). Esther was a Christian. We were very particular that her therapist be a Christian.

… I would like to share a quote that pretty well sums up my thoughts at the time on mental health:

“[W]e must also remember that we are physical beings susceptible to illness. Our brains are organs and organs can become ill. In this respect, depression should be seen not as a mental illness but rather a neurological malady that can be easily and successfully treated. The research shows us that the best way to treat depression is by counseling and medication… Since God is the true physician of our souls and bodies, when people in our communities suffer depression we must be discerning in who we refer them to when psychotherapy is recommended. Secular therapist[s] can make us feel good, but only God can really heal us! This is precisely why for people of faith, God must always be allowed to be the third presence in a counseling session.”

– Fr. Terrence McGillicuddy 

Caz and I sat together on Esther’s couch doing the initial interview {I refer to the therapist as Esther in the original post, but honestly I can’t remember her name now}. Caz was telling the therapist her story and I was filling in the gaps. I recall Esther explaining to us with the visual aid of a white board, how stress and anxiety would negatively impact our unborn child – this did not alleviate our stress and anxiety. Then Caz began to go into deeper detail about her experiences under Fr. Paisius DeLucia at St. Innocents Academy {details I’d not heard myself}.

One of the ways DeLucia terrorized his students and parishioners was in the sacrament of confession. This had been especially traumatizing for Caz and she was just beginning to deal with this trauma in a positive way.

{So} there Caz was, in a dim garden level therapist’s office, opening up for the first time to a therapist about her terrible experience in confession and what do you think the therapist did?

She started to preach. All about Jesus, and being saved, and “You don’t need confession anyway! You are washed in the blood of the Lamb!” The typical protestant line of argument against “traditional” Christian practices like confession. {She was African and had a gentle lilting accent}

She preached. She witnessed. She Testified. And she freaked us the fuck out.

She showed no regard for the fact that the abuse Caz experienced was in a Christian setting in the name of Jesus (triggers anyone?). She showed no respect for Caz’s religious convictions. And she sure wasn’t using evidence based therapy (maybe she was saving it for after the sermon?).

Needless to say, Caz did not return to this therapist.

---

 

Since that initial therapy session, Caz has seen a few more over the years, tried different medications, and has found not only a treatment plan that works, but also a modicum of closure as you will see. That being said, PTSD is still a major factor in our life.

It was after that initial experience with therapy that Caroline realized she needed to reach out to others who may have been going through the same things she was. Others who had left SIA.

Very few people she contacted left the Academy under pleasant circumstances. Most left in shame, convinced for a time that they could not find salvation outside of the Academy, or in anger, so hurt that they left Christianity entirely. And the stories of life in the academy began to follow a disturbing  pattern. A pattern of cult brainwashing, verbal and emotional abuse, and a culture of insulation from the outside world so familiar to Caz and I as Order kids.*

I will go further into those stories and the concerns they presented as we go on, but for next time I want speak about the thorn in my flesh: bipolar disorder. Bipolar is a mood disorder, and can make the lives of those living with that person hell. So I am going to attempt to be as honest as I can without harming my loved ones. Buckle your seat belts folks because you’re in for a ride.

Til next time,

Little

*For explanation see Appendix A or this post

 

The Pain of Memory

Sam wrote recently about our wedding, and how it was overcast by the less than delightful presence of Paisius DeLucia. Why was he even there? Because my sister was getting married the next day–we decided to have our weddings back to back so that family would only have to travel once)–and she lived (and still lives) in the academy community. So, there we were, gearing up for our wedding, and the academy arrives. I remember that I was wearing a pink t-shirt, jeans, and white tennis shoes. DeLucia’s daughters came in first, to the hall, and saw Sam, and his youngest runs up to him saying “Sammy!”. Sam lived at the academy for a year, and was like an older brother to them. She didn’t even notice me. I asked Paisius to be in our wedding because he was physically present and I still felt obligated to him, like I had to ask him. So, I had my wedding being celebrated with the p.o.s that abused me as a part of it. Damn hypocrite he is, all smarmy and nice. Makes me sick to think of it, him pretending to be so humble when he was asked.

I’ve realized just how much hurt and anger I still have toward Paisius. I worked through a lot of stuff, but there is still so much. My wedding is a blur of sorts, completely overshadowed by the trauma of having Paisius there. Not to mention my ex-boyfriend (although we “kept company”, not dated) being there. That was just weird. Think about it! How would you like to look out at the congregation and see your ex?? The service itself was nice, actually, but the reception was just stressful. Sam and I had chosen a playlist, but I felt like I couldn’t relax and enjoy the music at my own wedding because it was secular, and the whole academy was looking down on me. And for those of you who would say that it is all in my head, trust me, it was not. I lived in that community. I would have judged the hell out of anyone who had secular music at their wedding. Of course, secular music means anything not “traditional folk”.

I remember parts of the reception. I remember the fantastic cake that my mom made. Tiers of victoria sponge cake sandwiched with jam, flowers all around it. I think it tilted to the side a little 🙂 I remember that Nezhla helped make it. That is a fond memory. I do remember dancing with Sam, but I have a concurrent memory of the academy people standing close by, feeling judged, feeling unable to just be myself. We do not, as Sam said, have any wedding photos up in our house. It was too traumatic to even look at the photos. We have, somewhere, a disk of the photos, but I haven’t looked at them. I think I am now at the point where I could frame a photo and have it on the wall…but that is over nine years later!

I remember going to my sister’s wedding the next day, and the after party. The academy did their amazing, incredible, out-shine the entire world, performance, complete with native Alaskan dancing. They had their parlour games they played afterwards–that was a thing they were doing for weddings at that time, I guess, and Sam and I joined in, at least I did. We stayed fairly late, and at one point Paisius said something to the effect of you should go, you are newly married, and I stayed just to spite him. Grown up, I know, but trauma is odd. Taking control in the tiny ways that you can, right?

This is a beginning of new writings, I hope. I have much more to say, though it may come out slowly.

– Caz

Research Paper

Sociology 101
https://www.academia.edu/s/49195e7afb/a-fathers-socialization-introduction?source=link

Prologue: #NoStigmas

When Neil Armstrong took that first historical step and said “That’s one small step…”

Buzz Aldrin reportedly saw the American flag, much further away, blow over during launch. Nevertheless, any footprints made by the famous astronauts undisturbed by takeoff are, in fact, there to stay.

I’ve never seen the man in the moon. I just got glasses again. And I tried, once more, at 34 to see the man in the moon. I see A beautiful celestial object orbiting the tiny blue dot in the vast oneness of the entropic motion relative to the singularity that banged bigly.

OK I meandered a bit, but the point is that I’ve never seen the man in the moon. Ever. Not when I was a child, not when I first put on glasses in the sixth or seventh grade (12ish.) Not as a shepherd in my 20s. And not now. I finally realize this a few days ago when the moon was full and beautiful and completely inscrutable and once again, even though I had just donned my new glasses just craters and light.

I can’t see a face! Why? I googled it, found the pictures where the face is pointed out. I can barely see it. And only with visual aids.

When I began to put together the things that I had been thinking for quite some time. Things that concerned me.

I see patterns everywhere. I am a systems thinker. I meta man. A pan gendered cishetero dude. I am capable of very far outside of the box thinking. And I can’t see your fucking face in the moon!?

I have recently come to suspect that I have a rather unfortunate yet perhaps ultimately fortunate – well, you’ll see whether he gained anything in the end.

I’ve begun to suspect what has apparently been obvious to more than one person that I have rather severe PTSD. But in order to suspect this I was originally led to suspect that the original diagnosis of depression and anxiety had masked BORDERLINE that had been masked by the third fear, the fear that I really am highly intelligent. You see I fear and am wary of feeling good about myself for something positive. I trust that comes from the trauma Me and Mine have experienced.

I am in consultation weekly with a therapist. And I am still taking medication. However I am pursuing research and presenting it to my therapist and we have been finding alternative treatments for the symptoms of whatever is wrong with me.

And I came upon something that make sense of all three avenues of self searching. It’s not Autism, but Aspergers.

This is the story of how a Baggins had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbors’ respect, but he gained – well, you’ll see whether he gained anything in the end.

-JRRToken

XOXO

#LittleDank

Link

nature, nurture, and WTF am I?

Hello my friends. I prefer friends to readers, critics, offenders, and offendees. Friends encompass all of those under the assumption of empathy.

#LittleDank here, touching base and letting you folks know that I am beginning the next book in The story of my life series. Part one was Its Time to Tell a Story; Book 2 is going to be titled “nature, nurture, and WTF am I?”

Book 2 will be specifically dealing with identity issues, genetic predisposition, emotional, psychological, and physical function and malfunction. Familial traits Will play a big part in the development of the story, but will not be the focus as with book one.

Moving roughly chronologically continuing where book one left off, I wish to make sense of the last 20 years of my life. I am looking forward to hiving this book finished by the 20th anniversary of my exposure to the hypocrisy, cognitive dissonance, trauma, lies, pain, and violation that is sexual molestation. As is to be expected I will continue to write about the cult leaders and gurus in my life, but I wish to take a new tack and focus on the inner world of psychosocial development. How does a bright and idealistic Adolescent  become an angry cynical disillusioned 35-year-old high school dropout, mentally ill father of four, hovering round the poverty line.

– #LittleDank

Post script: this is the first of three books in my four plausibly five part series on the Trinity and Incarnation. This is going to be my masters thesis connecting the studies of feminist and gender theory with second temple Judaism/early Christian mysticism, Buddhism, and anthropologically based “pagan worship”, in the hopes to identify a threefold commonality shared in all social, religious/philosophical/mystical, and humanist sciences. In short I am studying the threefold way as applied to the observable binary. My apologies for the obscurity, but clarity will ensue…maybe

Bad Christians?

Here is a paper I wrote for class. My first paper since going back to college this fall. 

“Bad Christians”

As a Christian I was often in despair over my sins. I remember all too well the feeling of “total hopelessness” and that “total certainty of [my] own perdition.” One of my favorite parts about leaving Orthodox Christianity is that I don’t have to live that “dismal existence” anymore. I’m no longer “waiting for death.” Bearing this in mind imagine my surprise when my father (an Orthodox presbyter) gives me an issue of The Orthodox Word with an article by Alexander Tkachenko entitled “Bad Christians.” This article not only asks why so many contemporary Orthodox Christians “don’t know how to love themselves,” but also why many “don’t even want to.” He asserts that Christians can and should love themselves, laying out a theologically sound argument for this assertion and offering not only personal anecdote that is supremely relatable, but also presenting evidence from Scriptures and “the Fathers” that provide an excellent defense for this claim.

In the editors’ introduction to “Bad Christians” we learn that Alexander Tkachenko is a Ukrainian scholar who has been a columnist for the well-known Russian Orthodox journal Foma (Thomas), whose “insight and wit have made him a favorite with readers in Russia.” Although originally published in Russian for a Russian audience this article addresses a universal problem with Orthodox Christian life. If I were still an Orthodox Christian it would have been extremely helpful, however, as an aspiring religious scholar it provides an illuminating perspective on an aspect of Orthodox praxis that is fraught with misunderstanding.

“If we’re such believers, then why do we feel so bad?” This opening immediately grabbed my attention and gave the author standing. I thought “hey, I’ve asked that question too!” Tkachenko goes on to quote a Russian saying that “Christianity is when you do good and it makes you feel bad.” By opening with such bluntness and humor he immediately puts his audience at ease. He strengthens this ethical appeal with a personal tone, being relatable in how he questions his experience as a Christian. For example: “Why did the joy of my initial conversion to God turn…into such a dismal experience?” Throughout the article it’s sentences like that that make Tkachenko’s message so strong. He ends his introduction by asking again this question that many Orthodox Christians have asked: “Why is it that contemporary Christians frequently don’t love themselves?”

“Can a Christian love himself?”

Instead of directly answering his opening question, Tkachenko asks another: “Can a Christian love himself?” By questioning the validity his opening question – and proving it with his answer – he opens the mind of his reader to a broader skepticism, giving them a chance to question their underlying assumptions about the Christian life and certain elements of it that are taken for granted. He is urging his reader to ask themselves if they even should love themselves. For the answer, he points to the Judeo-Christian phrasing of the Golden rule “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” The answer then is an emphatic Yes! Loving thy neighbor is predicated on loving one’s self. That Christians should love themselves is the foundation of his whole argument, and is made even more effective because it sets up the theme of Love; calling to mind deeply Christian phrases like “God is Love” and “the greatest of these is Love.”

Tkachenko goes on to assert that Christian’s unwillingness to love themselves is explained by misinterpreting Christs words in the gospel of Matthew “If any man come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross, and follow Me” as code for hating one’s self. What follows next is an incredibly elegant three stage argument that employs a personal tone, and ethos, pathos, and logos to undermine his audience’s inclination to misinterpret self-denial and taking up one’s cross as a reason or even excuse to avoid loving themselves. This argument is perfectly tailored for his audience. First he quotes St. Philaret of Moscow:

“To deny oneself does not mean to leave one’s soul and body without consideration and without care, but only to deny the passionate attachment to the body and its pleasures, to temporal life and its prosperity, and even to delights of soul that are drawn from unpurified nature; to the desires of one’s own will, and to the favorite understandings of one’s personal philosophizing…”

Emphasizing the last two lines:

“But what is this self-renunciation needed for? Because without this, the desire to follow Christ would remain unrealizable.”

Next he interprets St, Philaret for the contemporary layman comparing passions and sins to baggage: “It’s impossible to set out on a long hike with a backpack stuffed with all kinds of junk that isn’t needed for suck a trip.” Tkachenko also uses words like “burdened”, “exhausted” and “weight” to prime the reader for this Then after making this connection in the minds of his readers he quotes Matthew 11:28-30:

“Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

This technique is most effective for Orthodox Christians. In particular Russian Orthodox and those in the more traditional conservative strain. Just the type to read The Orthodox Word magazine. First Tkachenko gets their (“our” might also be appropriate because I grew up steeped in this culture and haven’t fully recovered) ears to perk up at the sound of what I call Jesusy negative self-talk; pseudo-self-deprecation or false humility is common among Orthodox Christians. Then he namedrops and quotes St. Philaret who is not only familiar to his readers, but is also held in high regard by them. He finishes the argument off with a Scripture passage (Matt. 11:28-30) that specifically targets the hope Christians have in a kind loving God, the kind of God that would take your baggage – help you out so to speak. Lastly Tkachenko goes for the pathos gut punch by asking “can we, dare we, not love ourselves when Christ loves us?

 

But I’m a bad Christian

On the heels of this elegant preaching, Tkachenko deftly switches to personal narrative, drawing his readers into a story most will relate to pointing out that despite all the arguments we still feel like “bad Christians”. He then proceeds to dismantle this assumption with an excellent theological argument that makes a powerful distinction between “sins” and what are often called “passions” or fallen human inclinations. To sum this up Tkachenko says “A modern Christian…often does not realize what the difference is between sins unto death and sins not unto death, between sins of thought and passions.” This is what leads good Christians into that miserable existence that Tkachenko opened his article with. He lays this out logically with a hypothetical. “If I, without committing any mortal sins, am living in a foretaste of eternal perdition rather than of the resurrection…if eternal blessings are already inaccessible to me, then let me at least try tasting sinful delights – I’m done for anyway.” This excellent psychological point however was undercut by blaming the cause of this type of thought on the Devil. While it may be an effective appeal of pathos to an Orthodox Christian, it seemed out of place in this otherwise erudite argument.

Joy making Sorrow

At this point in the argument, Tkachenko knowing his audience addresses one of the main arguments against loving oneself, an argument I have used personally: “The Holy Fathers abased themselves, used harsh language against themselves, and accused themselves of the most horrible sins, and so we should also do that.” The Orthodox hagiographical tradition and penitential prayers do support this argument. But again, he deftly deconstructs this common misunderstanding of saints by likening God’s goodness to radiance, saying that “within His radiance the saints saw themselves as sinful, unworthy of this divine purity, which can even highlight flaws in angels.” Going on he writes that the saints unlike us, were not in a “dejected state of abandonment,” but in a “profound closeness to God.” Thus, making them more conscious of their own unworthiness and prompting them to even greater depths of repentance that would in turn bring about joy. Here he quotes St. Symeon the New Theologian on how Christians must work towards that “joy making sorrow.” This quote is an effective use of both Logos and Ethos in that St. Symeon is a clear rational writer, but he is also one of only three saint in the Orthodox church with the title “theologian” giving his words a weight in the minds of his readers that very few other saints bring.

After some more commentary on how to “love oneself in a Christian way,” Tkachenko quotes from St. Ambrose of Optina, St. Seraphim of Sarov, and St. Ignatius Brianchaninov, three prominent 19th century Russian saints; an excellent use of ethos since all three are held in high regard by his audience. The Seraphim quote is worth reading in part:

“We must condescend to our soul in its weaknesses and imperfections and endure our shortcomings as we endure those of others; however, we must not become lazy, but force ourselves to the better…Courageously move yourself to amendment, and in the meantime, strive to preserve peace of soul.”

These quotes are interwoven with harsh criticism of this false asceticism of self-hating Christianity using the iconography of the parable of the Publican and the Pharisee to illustrate his points. Bad Christians ends with a personal appeal.

Tkachenko, in an excellent use of ethos, affirms the validity of his argument referencing his own struggle with this “naïve and crafty ‘self-abasement and humility’…” and how he doesn’t want to waste his life on that “stupid confusion.” In this vulnerable appeal Tkachenko uses words like “learning” and faith affirming phrases like “I know he never left me,” that artfully tap the Christian clichés while maintaining his unique message. He ends by rewriting the aphorism from his introduction: “Christianity is when u do good, even when you feel bad. Because when you’re doing good, Christ is always standing beside you.

And of course, that’s when I’m right back to the cold comfort of atheism. The assertion that the ghost of a dead Jewish rabbi is standing beside me brings no hope or aid as I attempt to live an ethical altruistic life. Tkachenko’s argument may have helped the15 year old me struggling to become a strong Christian man, but then I wonder why was it that I was never exposed to this way of understanding the Christian life? And if I was exposed to it (I most certainly was through example), why did I like many others, fail to absorb and actualize this message of Christ centered self love? The fact that this article needs to exist is a meta critique of contemporary Orthodox Christianity.

 

Unknown, editor. “Bad Christians.” The Orthodox Word, vol. 52, no. 1-2, ser. 306-307, 2016, pp. 4–16. 306-307. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In this rhetorical analysis I wanted to place a textual analysis of Tkachenko’s argument into a contextual analysis based on my personal experience of contemporary Orthodox Christianity as well as my academic interests in the study of religion. I think I accomplished this, but I’m not sure that the personal anecdotes about atheism would work if I were to write this paper in a religious studies context. In other words in that context my fear is that making this personal would be great for logos and pathos, but not so much ethos. The audience I had in mind while writing was an intelligent reader who had at least a basic knowledge of Christianity and specifically Orthodoxy, but not much more. I expect my reader to look up a word they do not understand, but I don’t expect them to Wikipedia nuanced theological concepts. The other audience I was writing for perhaps in a subtler way was practicing Orthodox Christians, specifically my dad.

I like my in-depth analysis of his word choices, rhetorical devices, and structure. My main concern is that my analysis could be longer and more detailed – more quotes and analysis – but I didn’t want to lose my readers interest by splitting hairs too much.

 

Christian Therapy?

“You don’t need confession anyway! You are washed in the blood of the Lamb!”

– One of Caz’ first therapists

A little over five years ago our priest (wisely) suggested that Caz should get professional therapy for what would later be diagnosed as PTSD. We were newly married and she was  pregnant with our first child. We went to a therapist recommended to us by a parishioner at our church. I will refer to this therapist as Esther (not her real name). Esther was a Christian. We were very particular that her therapist be a Christian.

I’ve written, and will continue to write, about my own mental illness and my struggles to come out of denial and seek help, so I won’t dwell on that here. Instead, I would like to share a quote that pretty well sums up my thoughts at the time on mental health:

“[W]e must also remember that we are physical beings susceptible to illness. Our brains are organs and organs can become ill. In this respect, depression should be seen not as a mental illness but rather a neurological malady that can be easily and successfully treated. The research shows us that the best way to treat depression is by counseling and medication… Since God is the true physician of our souls and bodies, when people in our communities suffer depression we must be discerning in who we refer them to when psychotherapy is recommended. Secular therapist[s] can make us feel good, but only God can really heal us! This is precisely why for people of faith, God must always be allowed to be the third presence in a counseling session.”

– Fr. Terrence McGillicuddy 

Caz and I sat together on Esther’s couch doing the initial interview. Caz was telling her story and I was filling in the gaps. I recall Esther explaining to us with the visual aid of a white board, how stress and anxiety would negatively impact our unborn child – this did not alleviate our stress and anxiety. Then Caz began to go into deeper detail about her experiences under Fr. Paisius DeLucia at St. Innocents Academy. One of the ways DeLucia terrorized his students and parishioners was in the sacrament of confession. This had been especially traumatizing for Caz and she was just beginning to deal with this trauma in a positive way.

There was Caz, in a dim garden level therapist’s office, opening up for the first time to a therapist about her terrible experience in confession and what do you think the therapist did?

She started to preach. All about Jesus and being saved and “You don’t need confession anyway! You are washed in the blood of the Lamb!” The typical protestant line of argument against “traditional” Christian practices like confession.

She preached. She witnessed. She Testified. And she freaked us the fuck out.

She showed no regard for the fact that the abuse Caz experienced was in a Christian setting in the name of Jesus (triggers anyone?). She showed no respect for Caz’s religious convictions. And she sure wasn’t using evidence based therapy (maybe she was saving it for after the sermon?).

Needless to say, Caz did not return to this therapist.

This was our first experience with professional therapy, and I know that this would not be characterized as a “normal” experience, but I think some of the flaws with “faith based” therapy are illustrated here. I’m not advocating here for all therapists to be atheists or that the the patient’s faith be excluded from the therapy session, but I am asking this question:

Should the therapist, as Dr. Darrel W. Ray of the Secular Therapist Project has put it, “allow their religious, spiritual or supernatural beliefs to inform their therapeutic approach”?

Suicidal Tendencies

I remember lying in my bed with a knife pointing over my sternum, daring myself to plunge it in. Wanting so badly to have the courage to die. And I had no idea why. All I knew was pain. Internal pain. Pain of heart and mind. Pain that would come unheralded and unbidden, leaving my miserable and alone.

At the time, I was fourteen, but these suicidal thoughts and ideations would plague me into my early thirties, along with intense bouts of black depression and random plunges into anxiety. I will delve more deeply into anxiety in another post.

It is interesting to note that these suicidal thoughts came, not only in times of intense spiritual struggle and faith, but also in times of calm and even “practical atheism”.

They persisted for so many years that they became part of the canvas upon which my daily life was painted. A desire to die, to be released, to end this pain, the pain of existence was as natural to me as the desire for sleep or food or pleasure. In fact, it disposed me towards a more hedonistic approach to life. Existence is painful, so I will soak up what joy there is in life; whether it be joy induced by physical pleasure, or the joy of an all night vigil.