By Clare Vanderpool
Award-winning children’s book author and friend of Bishop Conley
“As I grappled with this question amid the darkness and loss of joy, the moon in the desert sky became a powerful symbol to me. Because the moon waxes and wanes, there are a few days in the lunar cycle when it disappears from view. It is still there, of course, but the naked eye can’t see it.”
- A Future With Hope, by Bishop Conley
I’ve been invited to write a few words in response to A Future With Hope from the perspective of one who has known Bishop Conley over the years. In considering what I might add to the conversation, I found myself starting from a place of gratitude for the openness and transparency in his letter.
In a time when mental health is still somewhat stigmatized, and truth and transparency are hard to come by, Bishop Conley has invited us to peer into his wounds, much the same as Jesus did with his apostles. “As he spoke, he showed them the wounds in his hands and his side.” (John 20:20) Later, Jesus invites Thomas to come close, to touch them for himself. (John 20:27)
What an invitation. In his pastoral letter, Bishop Conley opens a window into a very personal and painful time, inviting us into his continuing journey to ‘wholeness and holiness.’ After reading the letter however, I was struck by another line: “Anyone who knew me, knew that I was always a positive, upbeat kind of person. My temperament never tended toward melancholy, and I was forever optimistic about life.”
Beautiful and so true. But perhaps a bit short on detail. As a children’s book author, I know the importance of fleshing out a character, showing their backstory. Since Bishop Conley has opened the window, I thought it might be helpful to pull back the curtain, for a wider view of his life journey.
Good times
I’ve had the pleasure of being friends with Jim Conley for the past 40 years. We met when I was in college and he, a young priest in Wichita. Our friendship grew during my time working in the Office of Youth and Young Adult Ministry. We spearheaded the diocesan pilgrimage to World Youth Day in Denver in 1993, weathering bus rides, McDonald’s food for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and long lines for the porta-potties. Those kinds of trials can really solidify a friendship.
Later, my husband and I made a trip to Rome with then-Bishop (Paul) Coakley to visit during Bishop Conley’s last year at the Vatican. We’ve been on many trips to Colorado, hiking and skiing. And as luck would have it, he was assigned to my home parish of Blessed Sacrament for two years before being named auxiliary bishop in Denver. But I feel like I’ve known him even longer than that.
When he was named bishop, my sister and I put together a “This is Your Life” slide show. It began with photos of little Jimmy Conley, a happy boy with a sled, a dog, a wagon. Continuing on through the gawky adolescent years of playing baseball and wearing chunky black glasses, his bedroom wall decorated with album covers of The Beatles, Grateful Dead, Led Zeppelin. Then my favorite, the long-haired college days of doing who knows what. (That’s an article for another day.) The slide show covers his years as a young priest, through many assignments, culminating with one picture of him in his new magenta bishop vestments, wearing a crimson KU Jayhawk hat. Rock Chalk.
All that is to say we’ve known each other a long time, and to suggest that you should have him play the slide show at the next big diocesan gathering. But the common thread throughout is his happy authentic self, living a life filled with faith, joy, and wonder. A few examples:
Wonder - When Bishop Conley returned to Wichita after 11 years in Rome, he had gone to an outdoor music festival and was so excited about the amazing chairs he’d seen. “They fold up and fit into a bag!”
“Yes,” I said, “they’re called bag chairs. I can get you one.” “No, I want to pick it out myself.” It’s the simple things.
Joy – There was an annual youth dinner and talent show in our parish. Our pastor got on stage, wearing a short wig as Sonny in a Sonny and Cher duo, singing “I Got You Babe,” and another time wearing a longer wig, fake-strumming a Stratocaster guitar as Van Morrison singing a rousing rendition of “Brown Eyed Girl.” The motto surrounding the performance was, ‘What happens at Blessed Sacrament stays at Blessed Sacrament.’ But there’s video of that, too, if anyone’s interested.
Faith - My husband and I were visiting one weekend in Lincoln and joined Bishop Conley for morning prayer in his home chapel. He was already at his prie-dieu, but I noticed he had a cup of coffee in the kneeler. I loved that so much. I wouldn’t have thought to have coffee in a chapel, but to me it was indicative of his relationship with Jesus—intimate and conversational.
Hard times
Knowing him over the years, witnessing his love of people, his passion for life, and his wonder at it all, it was heartbreaking to see my happy friend become anxious, depressed, and afraid. The fear and what-ifs loomed large in his mind. What if I don’t get better? What if I never return to active ministry? What if I’m stuck in this dark, joyless place?
I remember those phone conversations, and my own fumbling attempts to offer hope and encouragement, trying to figure out how to be a support and companion in this painful journey. Archbishop Coakley and I went out to Phoenix for a visit, going out for pancakes, hiking rocky trails, trying to help our friend find his way back to himself.
Reading this recent pastoral letter on mental health brought up questions I’d asked myself back then, and that many of you are probably asking now. How can I best accompany my friend, my son, my daughter in the throes of anxiety or depression, loneliness or isolation? Or, if I’m the one struggling, how would I like someone to reach out to me?
Jesus provides the best model for this kind of accompaniment. He doesn’t stand apart until we are whole or right or fixed. He doesn’t wait for doubt to clear, for faith to be solid, for sickness to be gone. He meets us where we are, drawing us into himself through love, touch, encounter.
Bishop Conley’s letter offers many helpful insights from his own experience, as well as practical avenues to wholeness and healing through medical help and spiritual guidance. But one thing he doesn’t mention in the letter is what I have seen him doing throughout his entire life—meeting people where they are—naturally finding meaningful ways to connect.
As a priest, he has encountered people of many different backgrounds, beliefs, stages of life. No matter. He will find a point of connection. He’s at his best in conversations with kids and young adults, talking easily about sports or music —Van Morrison to Weezer or the Avett Brothers. And after a hiking trip last summer, he’s added Taylor Swift to his repertoire. With his signature sense of curiosity, he asked my daughters what they liked about her music, then listened attentively as they gave him a two-hour tutorial.
Whatever the topic—baseball, books, beekeeping—it’s always about connecting from a place of genuine love, compassion, and interest. For those among us who are struggling, hovering at the edges, feeling lost and alone, receiving that kind of attention, that loving gaze, can help us feel seen and heard, allowing us to be naturally and lovingly coaxed back to life.
A Future With Hope
So back to the pastoral letter. We typically want to keep our wounds covered and tightly bound. But that’s not where healing takes place. So, thank you Bishop Conley, for showing us your wounds, for trusting us with your story, and inviting us on the journey to wholeness and holiness.
“Then suddenly, Harold remembered. He remembered where his bedroom window was… It was always right around the moon.”
- “Harold and the Purple Crayon” by Crockett Johnson
Editor's note: The full text of Bishop Conley’s pastoral letter on Mental Health, an audio recording of the letter and an interview with the bishop are at lincolndiocese.org/afuturewithhope.
