When was the last time you considered the mentally ill or, even much less, ministry to the mentally ill?

I have been remembering a good friend. He was my best friend during my freshman year in college. Our rooms were in the same suite in our dorm. We shared a bathroom. We took the same classes. We sat next to one another in chapel because my last name followed his alphabetically. We were on the basketball team. As point guard, I fed him the ball, and, as shooting guard, he made the shot. What a team we were! He introduced me to my wife. We double-dated numerous times. He was the best man in my wedding. We vacationed together as families through the years. We saw one another on at least a yearly basis, our friendship always picking up like we had just seen one another the week before. We shared something special.

Life changed for him, and for us, about a decade ago. He became schizophrenic and delusional. He has since lost his job, family, church, life savings, and most of his friends. I am the one friend he has not turned away from, or who has not turned away from him, depending on who you talk to. The reason is complicated. He believes that I am part of the “hijacking of his world,” that “I am in on it,” and that somehow I will finally “explain what God is up to” and “admit to his reality.” Conversation is difficult. We still share memories of the past, but life stopped for us when he became schizophrenic and delusional. He has his own reality, which is very different than mine, and everyone else’s.  He lives with the constant tension that people around him are lying to him about reality.

I was the first one to get him to go to counseling. I flew to his hometown in the southeast to accompany him on his first visit. He loves his counselor, but he has remained committed to maintaining his reality. He saw him a few times, but they decided that to meet was not helpful until my friend went on medication. Last year, he finally reached the age when he could receive a pension from the company, where he had been employed since college. He received it in one lump sum. Immediately, he dropped $50,000 on a BMW 335 and set out on a cross-country journey. By now, he must be La Quinta Inn’s favorite customer. He stopped at the Gateway Arch in Saint Louis, hoping for answers about “his mission.” He visited the Space Needle in Seattle for the possibility of a message from God. His goal was to eventually reach me in California with the hopes that I would finally have some answers for him … since I was “in on it.” His plans faltered in Redding, California, where he encountered physically painful issues. He remaine