Spiritual this and that

My church, Lane Memorial United Methodist.

I talked with my minister last week about my spiritual beliefs and the effects of obsessive-compulsive disorder on them, and I wanted to share some of our conversation.

We had discussed my OCD a bit in emails but had never talked about it. I was fortunate in that I didn’t have to explain everything. He’s read some of this blog, so he knew going in what OCD is and some of how it affects my spiritual life.

I told him about my doubts that I carry with me about God and asked whether or not I was a hypocrite for coming to church and sitting with people who seem to be such faithful believers.

Some of my doubts are, I believe, results of my OCD. My struggles with prayer and with being “right” with God are directly tied to it.

  But I’ve also always had a lot of questions about God, and it seems like it’s sometimes hard to get good answers from the usual sources.

He assured me that I wasn’t a hypocrite and that I needn’t worry about having doubts and fears about who God is and what place He plays in my life and in the life of others.

We also talked about mental illness in general. I was pleased that he understands that mental illness is not a rarity nor is it something to be ashamed of.

It was reassuring to me and I believe to all people with mental illness who attend our church that he has this healthy and open attitude towards those of us who struggle with these disorders.

Class update

Yesterday I attended my second session of the open discussion class at church, where we are studying Brian McLaren’s book A New Kind of Christianity.

When I talked with my minister last week, he told me that he and the class facilitator had envisioned a class where all who had questions could come and feel free to express themselves. It would be a “safe place” for people like me who had questions about God but might not feel comfortable expressing those questions in a general group setting.

We’ve just started the book, but it seemed like all the participants are already engaged, as I am.

The book asks 10 questions to start a conversation about Christianity. It’s a book that will have us doing a lot of exploring: “We need not a new set of beliefs, but a new way of believing, not simply new answers to the same old questions, but a new set of questions” (p. 18).

Some of the questions are the following: How should the Bible be understood? Who is Jesus and why is he important? What is the Gospel?

This class is going to push me and challenge me, and I believe it will help me on my spiritual journey.

Last Monday, I had my first class on Holy Communion and I’ll have my second class tonight. I am learning more about why we do what we do during Communion.

The minister is also asking for our input on how to make the worship service a better experience for all.

A spiritual quest

So I’m on a spiritual quest and feeling a lot better about it than I have in the past. I am less encumbered by OCD, partly because I’ve given up (for the most part) the chants and prayers that used to color my spiritual life.

And I’ve given them up only after a lot of effort and sitting with the anxiety. I’ve ended up not praying a lot, but I am meditating more, and I talked with my minister about saying prayers that have already been written. I am not worrying about praying, though.

I’ve also stopped obsessing over being right with God. As with the praying, that’s taken a lot of effort.

The OCD still waits in the wings of my spiritual life, but I know it’s there and plan on keeping it there as best I can.

I am a seeker, and I’m confident that I will be on a spiritual journey for the rest of my life.

And I’m confident that that’s OK.

Are you a seeker? What kind of journey are you on when it comes to the spiritual (not necessarily religious)?

Learning: The role of ritual

The word ritual can have terrifying connotations for people with obsessive-compulsive disorder.

The compulsive rituals we perform to try to alleviate the anxiety caused by obsessions result in even more anxiety. They become the source of much pain and much waste.

Religious rituals are especially difficult for me. I’ve written about my scrupulosity and my particular problems with praying.

Lately, however, I’ve been thinking about religious rituals in a more positive light.

In the years after I left religion behind in my 20s, I made brief forays back into spiritual practice, but I continued to eschew what I considered to be meaningless rituals.

During church services, I wondered what was accomplished by response readings, recited prayers and ceremony. What did those rituals have to do with finding God, with learning to live a good life?

I came back to formal religion over seven years ago, for various reasons. One was that I wanted to have a home for my spiritual questions.

I have been happy with my decision overall. I must admit, though, that the rituals in my United Methodist tradition at one time did not mean a lot to me. They were exercises to participate in until we reached my favorite part of the service, the sermon.

I think differently now.

What I have been learning is that rituals have a way of bringing me to a place where I am ready to seek God’s presence.

The book “The Case for God,” by Karen Armstrong, helped to launch my meditation on ritual.

In the book, Armstrong traces the ways that God has been perceived and practiced since man had the first inklings that there was perhaps more to the world and to life than what he could see or experience with his other senses.

Armstrong writes that before the matter of belief became so important, ritual was deemed the way to make myths come alive and become meaningful. She places a great deal of importance on the role of ritual:

“Religion is a practical discipline that teaches us to discover new capacities of mind and heart. . . . It is no use magisterially weighing up the teachings of religion to judge their truth or falsehood before embarking on a religious way of life. You will discover their truth—or lack of it—only if you translate these doctrines into ritual or ethical action.” (The Case for God, page 10, e-version)

She writes further about the role of ritual:

“Many thousands of people find that the symbolism of the modern God works well for them: backed up by inspiring rituals and the discipline of living in a vibrant community, it has given them a sense of transcendent meaning. All the world faiths insist that true spirituality must be expressed consistently in practical compassion, the ability to feel with the other.” (The Case for God, page 14, e-version)

I am learning that one way I can prepare myself to practice compassion is to attend my church’s services and participate in the rituals. Doing so helps to prepare me to listen more intently to the scriptures, to the sermon and to the quiet voice within.

During the service, we listen to the reading of the scriptures based on the lectionary. After the reading of each selection, the leader holds up the Bible and says, “The Word of God for the people of God.” The congregation responds, “Thanks be to God.”

We sing hymns. We sing the Gloria Patri.

We listen to the minister’s sermon, based on the scriptures that we have heard.

We read as a congregation an affirmation of faith, usually the Apostle’s Creed or the Nicene Creed.

All of this gives me much to ponder, including the unity of us all.

During communion, we first pray for forgiveness. We then greet each other in peace before taking part symbolically in Christ’s Last Supper.

There would normally be all kinds of red flags flying around me with any talk of forgiveness and prayer.

And to be honest, I have yet to begin a personal prayer practice.

But in a group setting, I can follow along with the words that were written long ago. I don’t have to make up the words and worry that I haven’t said the right ones.

Being with others also helps. It’s not a ritual that I’m doing alone. I don’t feel alone.

What do you think of rituals? Do you participate in any rituals that are comforting, that go beyond the rote to become meaningful? Or does the thought of participating in any rituals make you uncomfortable?

Does OCD have a purpose?

I remember a time when I didn’t obsess about sin, dirt, and danger, when I didn’t wash my hands until they were raw and pray constantly in attempts to rid myself of that sin, dirt, and danger.

According to current theories of the causes of this anxiety disorder, I was probably born with the tendency towards having it. So I in essence never lived a pre-OCD life. But memories from my early childhood remind me that I did live a short time without obsessions and compulsions.

Have you ever read articles about people who suffer from a particular disease, who seem to think they were meant to have the disease so they could help others with it?

I am fascinated with that idea.

Behind the idea that a person is meant to have a disease is the notion that there is a higher purpose, a higher power and a plan at work.

I’ve been obsessed with finding out my own purpose for years. I’ve written dozens of “mission statements” for myself. None satisfy me for long. None adequately address the part of me that identifies with OCD.

Though I have experienced many good things and many successes, OCD still plays a big role in my life, though sometimes it’s subtle.

I don’t know if I believe God or a higher power created me to have OCD. I believe in God, but I don’t understand Him to be a person-like figure who had me in mind when He gave out the OCD.

I’m comfortable with the mystery of not knowing for sure who God is, because I know I’ll never know for sure during my time on earth. It’s one of the few mysteries I’m comfortable with.

That comfort did not come easily, but that’s for another post.

Even if a higher power did not “give” me OCD, I have it and it has affected my life to the point I cannot easily imagine life without it.

So what am I supposed to do with it, and the depression and general anxiety that have been along for the ride for most of my life?

One of the quotes I included in my last post, the passage from the Gospel of Matthew, speaks to my belief about what I’m supposed to do with my life: serve others.

How I’m supposed to serve and help others is not always clear to me. And I definitely need to improve in how much and how I serve others.

But the meaning of my life will be in how I use what I have—OCD and all the rest—to help others and realize who I truly am, a creation of the Divine.

I treasure the memories of my pre-OCD life. For much of my life, I have washed and counted and checked and sought reassurance. I have wasted time and water and soap and talents. I have forgotten who I am and have identified with OCD strongly enough to push me to the brink of suicide.

But as a friend recently posted about herself, I am what I am.

Do you ever wonder about your purpose in life, and how your OCD, anxiety, depression or whatever your challenges may be fit in?