Yesterday marked the end of a treatment and rehabilitation program that had lasted around 13 years. It began with years of active involvement in psychiatric care and, in recent years, consisted only of semi-annual meetings—which now ended due to municipal health care reforms, but also because my condition was considered “stable.” I myself confirmed to the professional that continued treatment was no longer necessary. In recent years, my “treatment” had mostly consisted of exchanging news, although I did manage to solve some practical life issues through it. I also brought my latest book to show the woman who had been working with me, and she was amazed that I had written it in just 10 days.

During these 13 years, I was eventually granted early retirement and received help for an obsessive-compulsive mental disorder diagnosed by a psychiatric doctor—one of the reasons for the pension decision. Another reason, of course, was that I’m a “dangerous lunatic escaped from an institution,” as someone once commented on an ad for my book, because I believe in the Bible and its end-time prophecies.

The professionals who treated me were always respectful, friendly, and supportive. But perhaps they had to write a somewhat “embellished” version of my mental state in the official documents, so that I could more easily be granted permanent retirement—since that kind of benefit isn’t usually handed out to “sane” individuals.

One of my Facebook friends recently wrote to me:

“Incredible. While reading, I thought—what on earth, you—marginalized?!? I must have missed something in our communication or on your page, because I never, ever thought of you as marginalized. Only as a deeply analytical and knowledge-hungry thinker who constantly seeks new angles on old truths, questioning in pursuit of the most objective conclusion possible. And I mean this in the most positive sense!!! I’ve watched with admiration and wonder from afar! To me, you’ve always seemed like a pure researcher, giving everything to your intellectual work.”

So somehow I never even remembered that you had been ‘marginalized,’ even though I do recall our messages from what I believe was your elementary school years, when you boldly stood alone against the crowd and began wearing a large crucifix around your neck! At that time, it was a striking statement—nowadays it might be seen differently, even, according to some researchers, as the early sign of a fashion trend or something trendy. But back then! In terms of the cross’s true symbolic meaning, it was still a powerful declaration—and even more than that: a public stand against the values of the world. That’s why I’ve never been able to see or think of you as marginalized!”

Even though I have no difficulty writing openly about my personal life story, the reason I may not often emphasize my own ‘marginalization’ (which began already at my school and continued well into adulthood precisely because of carrying His cross of shame) is because I don’t like the label and don’t want to identify with it anymore. I see myself rather as someone who fought the feelings of exclusion, shame, and depression brought on by that marginalization—and who rose as a winner to find his own path through that lonely road.

I am a Christian writer, researcher, and blogger. And I’m not ashamed of the prefix “Christian.” That is my profession, even if some might sometimes think I’m a half-crazed escapee from an asylum. I don’t care what people think, because they didn’t walk the same road I did. They didn’t experience the same loneliness and shame I did in order to find my calling.

And I never chose this path out of arrogance or pride, but fully aware of my fallibility—as we all are. Writing about topics like biblical eschatology carries great risk, because if we err, we not only risk our own reputation but also the name of God (which is a far graver matter). But I embarked on this path because I felt it was the calling God had prepared for me—and because only through it could I find meaning and purpose in life. Through this calling, I’ve come to feel useful in this temporal life—though I still sometimes struggle with feelings of meaninglessness and self-doubt, asking myself: “When did things start to go wrong in my life?”

During that 13-year period of care, I wrote all the material I’ve published so far—roughly the equivalent of two Bibles, or about 7,000 pages. I remember my psychologist responding to my early self-deprecation—back when I had only written 70 pages—by saying, “Not everyone can write 70 pages.” Now I’ve written 100 times that amount. Even though I failed in my formal education and became “socially excluded,” I’ve received glowing feedback on my blog and books—even from a professor of mathematics and physics living abroad, who told me he had learned a lot from my writings, even though he should, in theory, be the teacher, not the student.

If anyone dares to see divine guidance in my life, all credit belongs to God’s grace and goodness toward someone like me—a social misfit who failed by worldly standards. I have little reason to boast of my own excellence or holiness, because I find no such traits in myself. I am a forgiven sinner among fellow brothers and sisters—without titles or degrees. Our Lord had neither (“He had no credentials, no title, nor God’s glory that we should be drawn to Him.” – Isa. 53:2, translation by K.O. Syväntö), and “a servant is not greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him.” (John 13:16)

I am content that today I can call myself a writer without shame or feelings of inferiority. I don’t need academic titles to know my worth. My value and identity are found in Him who was stripped of everything and humiliated before sinners for our sake—so that your sins and mine could be forgiven before our Heavenly Father. So that we might grow into the nature of the new, better Adam, even amid the brokenness and guilt of our old nature.

That is why I am not ashamed of His name—Jesus or Yeshua—for “at the name of Jesus every knee shall bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” (Phil. 2:10–11)

He is the way, the truth, and the life—and the only door to the Father.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16)

Soli Deo Gloria

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I published this text yesterday on Facebook, which is where I’m personally most active. The post received 82 positive reactions (and not a single negative one so far). It also received dozens of encouraging and supportive comments, and served as a source of encouragement for others as well—especially for kindred spirits who have also experienced marginalization.

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