When the Dean of the Washington National Cathedral and I were conspiring about when I might speak, I think he mentioned Feb. 3 as a possibility. A sermon by me on that date would have been considerably less interesting because I was, at that point, hospitalized for depression. Or maybe it would have been more interesting, though less coherent.
Like nearly one in 10 Americans — and like many of you — I live with this insidious, chronic disease. Depression is a malfunction in the instrument we use to determine reality. The brain experiences a chemical imbalance and wraps a narrative around it.