This morning our service centred around Psalms 22 and 137 and the question, "has God foresaken me?" (the answer is 'no' btw).

The sermon began with a name check of people who had hard 'dark night of the soul' type experiences:

Charles Haddon Spurgeon, John Wesley, Mother Theresa of Calcutta, John of the Cross, writer Jennifer Rees Larcombe, Rev Dr John Colwell, the prophets Elijah and Jeremiah, King Saul and possibly King David, Job and Jesus of Nazareth.

And towards the end, I included this quotation from John Colwell' book, "Why Have You Forsaken Me" (Paternoster 2009, page 99)

The cry of abandonment that Jesus cries is nothing less than our cry of abandonment: his cry is the cry of the child murdered by Herod’s soldiers; his cry is the cry of the abused slave; his cry is the cry of the woman being raped; his cry is the cry of terror from the gas chamber; his cry is the cry of despair from the one contemplating suicide; his cry is the cry of lament from the psalmist, his is the desolation of every man and woman.  Every human cry of despair is unique and particular – the particularity of individual suffering is not abolished at the Cross – but every human cry of despair is echoed in his cry, he enters fully into our desolation, our sin, our pain, our abuse, our dying, our death; he becomes what we are, that we, through his entering into this desolation, might become what he is, the true humanity that is our destiny and calling.

The aim of the sermon was, essentially, to name the fact that so often we put on a 'happy Christian' mask when we are hurting or doubting or questioning or whatever, because we fear ridicule or rejection, to normalise such experiences and to offer a little bit of hope, a candle in the darkness.

Challenging stuff to reflect on, but worthwhile.

I ended with this prayer from John Colwell's book )p 75):

Dear Lord,

In a world characterised by so much pretence

It is such a relief to pray to one who honours honesty.

You know our hearts, in any case;

You know the pain we carry, the fears that oppress, the despair that engulfs;

You know the disillusionment that would mask your light and leave us in darkness.

Forgive us, dear Lord, for every attempt to hide from you.

Thank you that you are more than sufficient to handle our fears, our anger, our desolation.

Without shame we turn to you again

In the name of Jesus, the one who cried out in honest forsakenness

Amen.

100% of women will experience menopause, some naturally, some surgically, some chemically and some (me!) all three.  Some will glide through it with few or no symptoms, others (me) will have a lot.  Yet, generally speaking, we don't talk about it.

For women who are ministers, there is an additional, if unspoken factor, thankfully not present in my congregation, which is that, theological objections aside, menstruation, childbearing and menopause each render women unsuitable for the pastoral roll.  Afterall, a minister who gets moody or broody or whatever is (evidently) no use.  Unless you are a woman who happens to experience some of the same things, in which case it might be remarkable helpful.

So I was pleased last night when BBC2 Scotland aired a programme called "The Insiders' Guide to the Menopause" available here until 16th March 2017.

I was plunged into effective menopause in 2010 by chemotherapy, which was then maintained by Tamoxifen.  In 2016 surgical menopause was added and, as my GP observed, you are about the right age now.  So a quadrauple whammy really. Over the last year the menopausal symptoms have continued to get worse, so much so that I recently described myself to my breast consultant as 'a menopausal monster'.  He, being the amazingly supportive man he is, went to great lengths to normalise this even saying, "we did this to you", and talking about the importance of quality, as well as quantity, of life.

For women who have had breast cancer, the options for treating menopausal symptoms are very limited, and GPs tend to opt for low doses of antipdepressants as these (allegedly) reduce flushing and help even out mood swings.  A week ago, my own GP prescribed a low dose of citalopram and I'm waiting to see if it is going to work for me... at the moment I have a lot of physical side effects and no obvious benefit (unless having almost no emotions is better than being irritable and snappy, not entirely convinced!) but we'll see.

I suppose then, there's a double taboo going on here - menopause and antidepressants...

So, true my open and honest, stubborn self, I've chosen to "out" myself as someone for whom menopause is difficult and long lasting (six and a half years an counting... at least another four to go) in the hope that, just maybe, someone who reads this will be reassured that she is not mad or bad, that it is quite normal and natural to feel like this, and that there is help out there.

For anyone who is experiencing menopause, there's a good website called menopause matters

For any brave men who have read this far - thank you, just by doing so you are helping your partners, colleagues and friends.