something or question something. The same is true with this book. There are no solutions here. There are lots of questions. Questions that made me think.”
—Mike Renquist, President/Owner, OnSite Training and Consultation
“‘God is sick.’ So begins Jeff Hood’s challenging The Psychosis of God. It is a much-needed look at God through the lens of mental illness—both Jeff’s and God’s. Grounded in liberation theologies, which explore God through the lens of oppression and marginalization, and in queer theology, which maintains that God is found in those who are strange or non-normative, it will be especially helpful for those who are mentally ill. It will also be welcome for those who cherish hope-providing inventiveness in theology. This is an intensely personal volume which no one but Jeff could have written—desperate, off-the-chain, encouraging, and brave. A masterpiece.”
—Ellin Jimmerson, Radical Baptist Prophet
“For anyone who is tired of normative theology, which continues to rehash propositional statements from people in power, this book by Jeff Hood will be an eye-opener. It will challenge you and broaden the way you think about God and faith. At times it will feel like heresy. But at times you will experience liberation. Hood continues to take a risk in the way he thinks about God in order to free the prophetic imagination.”
—Danny Cortez, Southern Baptist Exile
“I have come to depend on Jeff Hood to help me think about matters of theology in a fresh, imaginative, and insightful way. I am exceedingly grateful for his passion.”
—Lee Ann Bryce, Queer United Church of Christ Pastor
“The Psychosis of God invites us all into the holy discomfort of an imperfectly perfect God through the lens of mental illness. Dr. Hood so vulnerably and candidly gives sight to how ill-equipped the church universal is in getting over its own stigmatization of mental illness. Hood shares with us the good news that no mental instability of any kind can ever separate us from our innate divinity, we always remain God’s holy creation, simultaneously imperfect and perfect. This is what it means to be human.”
—Kyndra Frazier, Queer Licensed Social Worker
“Once again, Jeff explores a new way of exploring the depths of the Divine. What I enjoy the most about reading Jeff’s work is how he pushes boundaries and challenges me to examine my faith in refreshing ways. Because of this book, I’m thinking and rethinking the who, what, when, where, how, and why of God once again.”
—Kyle Tubbs, Peace of Christ Church
“Jeff has the unique ability to place God across the kitchen table from us through his writing, which creates the intimacy necessary to discuss such topics. Nothing is off limits while all is still held sacred. I admire his ability to witness to mental illness with honesty, humor and compassion.”
—Bojangles Blanchard, Queer Baptist Prophet
“My father, also a pastor, always said that those we labeled ‘crazy’ among us were actually the closest to God. Jeff Hood breaks down that assertion in The Psychosis of God and takes it one step further, claiming God’s self is mentally ill. In a country where over a quarter of the population has a diagnosable mental disorder in any given year, Hood’s provocative book will challenge you to wrestle with the reality of mental illness and the Imago Dei, providing a path of liberation for us all.”
—Kristin Stoneking, Executive Director, Fellowship of Reconciliation
For the Crazy
Foreword
When I met Jeff Hood, I knew mental illness was part of the package. However, I had no idea what that meant. Over the past five years, I’ve gained tremendous insight, though I also understand that the human mind is something that can never be fully known. Kind of like God. The mind knows in part and the mind is known in part. That means that there is much we do not know about ourselves, and there is much we do not know about God. What do we do with the mystery of it all?
In the summer of 2011, I was living in rural central Texas working as an artist. There weren’t many people around my age, so online dating seemed like a good option. I knew it would open my world to folks I might not cross paths with otherwise. I’ve always loved adventure, and it seemed like a rather adventurous thing to do. Two years into the endeavor, I found myself disillusioned with the process and the people I was (or wasn’t) meeting. I met a few diamonds, but no one that fit the bill for a life companion. I lamented to my friend Sarah, sad that I felt so out of place in life. I was moving away from my family in a theological sense, and I wanted to find someone who understood the world the way that I did. The next morning, I received a message from a guy named Jeff. My first thought was, wow—this guy doesn’t look like all the other guys (he was wearing really cool glasses). There was also something familiar about his face. It sounds cliché, but I felt like I already knew him. Over the course of the next few days, as I traveled and camped in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of Norther New Mexico, Jeff and I shared long phone conversations. Early on he told me that he had a mental illness. It was shocking, but I appreciated his transparency. Our relationship moved rather quickly from there. We met in person over the next few weeks and continued our relationship long distance. We decided to get married, so two months after we met we married.
Since then, life has been a blur. We moved to Tupelo, Mississippi so that Jeff could pursue graduate studies at the University of Mississippi. I painted, taught art lessons and worked at Starbucks. I was doing community theater when I found out I was pregnant with twins. In the meantime, I was offered a full scholarship and teaching fellowship to the doctoral program in art education at the University of North Texas. That spring brought with it the deepest depression I have ever witnessed in another human being. Jeff constantly talked about suicide. He struggled to get out of bed in the mornings. We prayed together at night, and he would always say, “God, we pray to you because we don’t know what else to do.” Jeffrey and Phillip were born at the end of May. Phillip had some breathing issues and spent a week in NICU. I thought it was the end of the world. Postpartum depression was in full force. I was sleep deprived. A hormonal wreck. I felt doomed. We hadn’t been married a year and we were dealing with the crazy web we had woven.
After a few visits with different psychiatrists, Jeff received a new diagnosis and started on new medicine. Things got worse before they got better, but eventually we found a point of relative stability. We moved to Texas when the babies were three months old and I started PhD work. I loved it. It was my bliss.
After lunch at the park with the babies and my friend Channelle, I realized I had a significant sunburn. When you are pregnant you are more susceptible to sunburn. My suspicions were confirmed by a home pregnancy test. I was happy, though I wondered what this would mean for my studies. We kept going.
Quinley was born in a therapy pool in our living room in early December. Jeff was the best birth partner. He stayed in the water with me at the end and applied counter pressure to my back for an hour or more. He is loyal and determined—a theme that often resounds in the vessel of our marriage. I again struggled with postpartum depression. I remember that Jeff and I were arguing, yelling at each other one morning. I left to go take a shower. Sobbing as the water splashed down on my face I knew our marriage was falling apart. I thought it was over . . . based on one fight. My ability to reason logically was completely shot.
After the birth, Jeff lost his mind. On multiple occasions, Jeff described seeing things that were not there. There was no way to make it stop. Jeff kept swinging back and forth between mania and depression with a touch of paranoia and hallucination thrown in. I didn’t know what to do. I just prayed. The days and nights got worse before they got better.
