with you.
Jeff, Phillip, Quinley, Lucas and Madeleine. Your daddy loves you more than even the craziest minds could ever imagine. I write for you. Carry these wild words to the ends of the universe and beyond. The mentally ill God will meet you there.
Introduction
“Do not be conformed to this world . . .”—Romans 12:2
“You’re created in the image of God.” During my childhood, I heard it a million times. No one knew that I was mentally ill. I guess I didn’t even know. I thought crazy was normal and normal was crazy. People with mental illness were treated terribly around me. I knew God’s image wouldn’t be used to describe anyone like me. Nevertheless, it was. When I struggled to function, I figured God was struggling too. When I was terrified, I figured God was terrified too. I figured God knew the voices. I figured God knew the anxiety. I figured God knew the rage. I figured God knew the panic attacks. When I was told that I was created in the image of God, I believed it. After many decades of evidence that might prove otherwise, I still do.
Often, I return to those dark nights. The nights when I couldn’t see. The nights when my mind got worse. The nights when nothing seemed to exist. The nights when I begged for help. The nights behind the locked door. The nights with the voices. The nights. In those moments, I return to the nights where I was created and God was too.
“How could you write such a thing? You’re evil. God’s not sick! You are!” I come from a world where people believe that mental illness is a result of sin. These folks think that taking medicine is like feeding a demon. Needless to say, I didn’t get any sort of help or relief until long after I left fundamentalism. The further away I traveled, the more I was aware that I was mentally ill. When I started sharing what was going on with those from my past, I was belittled and treated like shit. The comments were unbelievable. “Those are the Devil’s pills! You take those and you will be doing the Devil’s work.” “You’ve left God!” “Have you considered that you’re possessed?” While I struggled for clarity in other areas, I knew for a fact that these folks were definitely crazier than I was. Such thoughts were reassuring. Regardless, I tried to engage some of what they said. Everyone I talked to wanted me to think about sin. I did. The more I considered that the incarnation of God extends both to God’s image in which we are made and to God’s presence with those who are suffering or marginalized, the more I became convinced that God is mentally ill and always has been. My mental illness wasn’t a fallen reflection of God. My mental illness was the reflection of God.
“You’re crazy. God’s not.” Though the words were different, the heartbreak was the same. When I started to share my idea of God being mentally ill, my progressive friends were just as closed off as the fundamentalists. Isn’t it interesting how people feel the need to project perfection on God when God’s image is always perfect? “Stop with all that crazy shit!” “Do you honestly think God takes psychotropic drugs?” Regardless of who was doing the beating, I felt ashamed of my condition. Humans can only take so much rejection. While exploring other theological paths, I put the mentally ill God in a closet of normative understanding. The world wasn’t ready for me. The world wasn’t ready for God. Now, I don’t care. I know I’m not alone.
“Who are you?” Ms. Ruth asked me the same question every day. When I explained that I was the chaplain, I never knew what was coming next. There were only two options. Sometimes, the chaplain revelation sent her into a rage. Part of Ms. Ruth hated God and wanted to lash out at anything having to do with God. Sometimes, the chaplain revelation made her blissful. Part of Ms. Ruth loved God with all of her heart and wanted to grasp at anything having to do with God. Ms. Ruth’s condition caused her to swing back and forth. I loved spending time with her because her condition reminded me so much of my own. I felt like I was looking into my future and learning to not be afraid. One day after a long talk, Ms. Ruth looked me dead in the eyes and asked me a deadly serious question, “Did God create us mentally ill?” Though I’d thought about it before, I didn’t want to think about it again. If God created us mentally ill, then we were perfect in our mental illness . . . perfect in our suffering. I didn’t answer Ms. Ruth right away. How could I? I was scared of what the answer could be. Finally, I raised my voice and said, “God is mentally ill.” The evil hesitancies that held me back were gone. Before she left the hospital, Ms. Ruth and I had this same conversation numerous times. Though the presence was always slightly different, God never failed to meet us there.
“God, I need your help. I don’t trust my brain right now.” I always pray this prayer with tears in my eyes. When I manage to string these words together, I’m often at the end of my rope. Looking around, I know that I’m a danger to myself and everyone else. I just keep praying. Before I understood, I figured that God would just heal me and this would all be over. In my most desperate moments, I thought that it would be best to simply end it all. While I knew this would bring healing for me, I also knew that this would bring great sickness to those I loved. Sometimes, time grows understanding. When I realized that God was with me, I didn’t need God’s help. I just needed God’s presence. When I didn’t trust my brain, I leaned into God’s brain. Then, I realized that God’s brain was just as untrustworthy as mine. Together, we prayed for a future. Though I still didn’t trust my brain, I trusted that somehow our brains could work together. I trusted that the mentally ill brain of God could partner with my mentally ill brain to make our way through the darkness. Together, I trusted that we could get to the switch and turn the light on. I believed that God would never leave me nor forsake. When I asked God for help, God did me one better and gave me the incarnation of God. We serve a sick God that cannot be destroyed by mental illness.
God has tried everything to get well. None of it worked. God had to keep on going. God is mentally ill. You cannot change what you are. When God learned to love God’s troubled mind, God became most fully God. In God’s journeys, God was able to heal and ease the mental afflictions of others because God was comfortable with God’s own mental afflictions. God continues to be guided by a troubled mind. When God accepted all that God was, that troubled mind started to heal the world.
“Who is God?” The question startled the group. Spirituality groups on the psychiatric ward usually don’t engage such direct questions. I decided to take a chance. “God is my savior!” “God is nothing.” “God is everything!” The answers kept coming until it was time for Ms. Maggie to answer. For many months, Ms. Maggie sat in one of the rooms on the psychiatric ward. Since she refused to respond to any of the staff, everyone assumed that she couldn’t talk. I did too. As I opened my mouth to try to produce meaning, Ms. Maggie spoke, “God is just as crazy as us. God lives here.” Everyone was stunned. I listened to the silence. Holiness swept the room and we all knew that there was nothing left to stay. God wasn’t with the patients metaphorically. God was with them in actuality. I never heard Ms. Maggie speak again. Despite my efforts to the contrary, the hospital sent her to the state mental hospital. I don’t know what happened to her. I only know that her words are still with me.
People think that God is way off somewhere. People think that God has nothing in common with humans. People think that God is something other. I want people to know that God is more like them than not. God exists in the image of humans. We know that from our creation. In the midst of a psychotic breakdown, I remember Tonya crying out, “I need a God that is just as fucked up as me.” A God that is not mentally ill cannot connect with those who are. Those who are mentally ill cannot intimately connect with a God who is not. By that time, I’d thought about it enough. God is mentally ill. God knows what we’re going through. God is depressed. God is manic. God has unwanted thoughts. God has multiple personalities. God has it all. I’ve met God in all of these spaces.
Homeless, Lester prayed on the ground outside of our church. For over three weeks, I just passed by. Honestly, I was scared of what he might do. Knowing that he had serious mental issues, I didn’t want to trigger him. One night, I was going to simply pass again. Then, he called out to me, “Hey preacher man! You got a God for me?” After thinking for a minute, I said, “What would you say about a mentally ill God?” For many months, we talked and dreamed. The mentally ill and God became one.
Laurie’s words were disturbing. Knowing that I studied theology,