Good Company

Despair

Rereading books from my personal library, deciding which are keepers and which can go. A Reason to Live, edited by Melody Beattie (1991), is my current choice.

Two quotes on page 125:

“So if you [God] are going to deal thus with me, please kill me at once.”

“It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life.”

The title of the article in A Reason to Live: “You’re in Good Company.” These words were spoken by Moses and Elijah in Numbers 11:15 and 1 Kings 19:4. Many of the readers of the book could relate to their despair.

Glory

Where’s the one place in the New Testament where these two great men appear together? With Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration (Matthew 17:1-9).

I’ve always wondered why they were sent to the Lord at that time. I’ve heard a couple of good explanations, but you know me. I continue to question God’s choices (or man’s explanations for God’s choices).

I’ve heard some say that Moses represents the Law while Elijah represents the prophets. That makes sense, since Jesus came to fulfill the Law and the prophets. But a little part of my brain asks, “Why should Elijah represent the prophets? Was he the greatest of them all? He doesn’t even have his own book, like Isaiah or Jeremiah.”

I’ve heard some say that one link between them is that neither had a definite burial place, just as Jesus’ tomb is empty. A good observation. Moses died on Mount Nebo and was buried “in the valley opposite Beth Peor, but to this day no one knows where his grave is” (Deuteronomy 34:6). Elijah was taken up to heaven in a whirlwind without ever dying (2 Kings 2:11). But if that was God’s reasoning, why wasn’t Enoch on this mountain, too (Genesis 5:24)?

I’m fine with these explanations. There may be others that I’m not familiar with.

But as I read these words of desperation from the lips of the two who came to Jesus on that mountain in the final days before His last journey to Jerusalem, I see God’s choice from a different perspective.

In Matthew 16:21, “Jesus began to explain to his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things at the hands of the elders, chief priests and teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.” He repeats this message in 20:17-19. In between is the transfiguration.

His coming suffering must have been on His mind even as His glory was revealed to Peter, James, and John. And then Moses and Elijah appeared and talked with Jesus.

Good company for Jesus

According to Luke 9:31, they “spoke about his departure, which he was about to bring to fulfillment at Jerusalem.” Jesus would be in control of His departure, but we know from His experience in the Garden of Gethsemane that it wouldn’t be easy.

As I read this article in this book I think, What do we all crave when we’re facing a difficult trial? The good company of someone who can relate to our fears and our pain.

Is that maybe one of the reasons the Father sent these two particular men to be with His Son at this particular time? Did they remind Him of their own trials and struggles, their own despair? Did their presence and their words strengthen Jesus as He faced both human and divine judgment at the end of His life on this planet?

(I don’t mean to imply that He was so dependent on help from human beings that He would have failed in His mission if He hadn’t had this encounter. Sometimes God sends us unnecessary blessings out of the abundance of His grace.

I’ve had times when I really would have been okay without any encouragement or strengthening from others, but the Lord has gone beyond my need and blessed me through someone else’s words. I treasure those moments.

The presence of Moses and Elijah wasn’t necessary for Jesus to have enough strength to face His coming trials. It was a gift from a loving Father to His Son.)

The background

When the Israelite slaves suddenly escaped from Egypt, they’d spent hundreds of years living in poverty and in terror of their masters, with few opportunities to make meaningful decisions. As a result, they understandably experienced fear and doubt and stumbling on their initial journey.

God was patient with them and provided for their needs during their many periods of grumbling. In the book of Exodus, He rebukes them for their complaints, but the only time He punishes them for their attitude and behavior is when they worship the Golden Calf at Mount Sinai in chapter 32.

The next book, Leviticus, is mostly peaceful. The only rebellions described are by individuals and are dealt with individually (chapters 10 and 24).

Then we move on to Numbers. The first ten chapters concern commands from the Lord and the departure from Mount Sinai. But something changes in chapter 11. The outline in my 1985 NIV Bible labels it, “The Beginning of the Sorrows.” Now the Lord becomes “exceedingly angry” with them for their complaints. He sends fire to consume “some of the outskirts of the camp.”

What’s happening here?

Through every trial, God had demonstrated His tender loving care for Israel. On Mount Sinai, He made a precious covenant with them to be their God. Their departure from that mountain signals that they have everything they need to enter into a deeper relationship with Him than any group has had since the fall of mankind.

It’s time for them to grow up, stop grumbling, and start trusting Him. Time for God to start using different teaching methods.

This is when Moses asks God to take his life. He doesn’t see how he can possibly bear “the burden of all these people.” And yet he does. For forty more years.

At the Mount of Transfiguration, Jesus knew He would soon be bearing a great burden involving many people, on the cross. He and Moses could relate to each other.

In 1 Kings chapters 18 and 19, Elijah experiences a powerful victory over the false god, Baal. Queen Jezebel sends him a message vowing to kill him within twenty-four hours. He runs for his life and prays that he could just die by God’s hand. Elijah quickly plummets from the heights of success to the depths of sheer terror.

As they were talking, Jesus knew that He would soon go from the glory of the transfiguration to the intense suffering of the cross. He and Elijah could relate to each other.

In Mark 9:19, Jesus expresses exasperation with His disciples’ lack of faith, asking how much longer He’ll have to put up with them. Kind of like Moses and Elijah telling God they’re ready to be done with this life.

Jesus could relate to both Moses and Elijah. They provided good company for Him.

Good company for the disciples—and me

Shortly after the incident with the Golden Calf, Moses asks to see God’s glory. The glory of the Lord passes by him while he’s covered by God’s hand in the cleft of the rock. Moses only sees God’s back.

After asking the Lord to take his life, Elijah hides in a cave on Mount Horeb. (NIV note: probably an alternate name for Mount Sinai.) God says to him, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Elijah experiences God’s presence in a “gentle whisper.”

Moses and Elijah had indirect, yet intimate, encounters with God’s presence and glory. Peter, James, and John are there when Jesus is transfigured in all His glory. It wasn’t only Jesus who could relate to Moses and Elijah. These three disciples were in good company, too.

And I’m in good company. In both my despair and my joy. Moses, Elijah, and even Jesus went through deep emotional suffering. I can relate to them.

Moses, Elijah, Peter, James, and John all had intimate encounters with the glory of God. I don’t expect to ever see some kind of vision of God’s glory, like Jesus’ transfiguration, in this lifetime. But with the Holy Spirit within me, I can have a growing sense of His glory. I can relate to these men. I’m in good company with them in both their pain and their joy.

Part of that glory, part of that joy, is the Wow! I experience when I see new connections between different Bible passages. Moses and Elijah both despaired to the point of asking God to take their lives. That same Moses and Elijah appeared to Jesus shortly before His agonized prayers in the Garden of Gethsemane. God’s Word and His working are amazing.

 

 

 

Rejecting Wisdom

Cognitive Behavioral Therapy

Recently came across a 2023 article by Jon Haidt on his Substack, “After Babel.” He shares how his friend, Greg Lukianoff, a defender of the free-speech rights of college students, made a brilliant connection between policies implemented by American universities and declining mental health. (The irony—the policies were intended to improve mental health.)

Lukianoff had learned to apply Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) while being treated for depression. CBT focuses on thinking patterns, called cognitive distortions, that can be both causes and symptoms of depression. They’re referred to as distortions because they don’t accurately reflect reality. Learning to overcome these habits (including catastrophizing, black-and-white thinking, and emotional reasoning) contributes to psychological healing.

When we catastrophize, we look at a current issue or situation and jump to the conclusion that something catastrophic will happen if we don’t stop it or fix it immediately. I remember when I was learning to drive and the price of gasoline was threatening to skyrocket all the way up to two dollars a gallon. I thought the world would end.

It didn’t.

Most of the things we catastrophize about aren’t nearly as destructive as we imagine they’ll be. Human beings are amazingly resilient, both individually and as groups.

Black-and-white thinking means there are no gray areas. For example, every person is either good or evil and every action illustrates either love or hate. But in the real world each one of us is a mixed bag of thoughts and motivations. Even good people do bad things. Even bad people are capable of doing good things.

My dad used to say, ”Don't throw out the baby with the bathwater.” Wikipedia describes this as an “error in which something good or of value is eliminated when trying to get rid of something unwanted.”* Black-and-white thinking often leads to making this mistake.

Emotional reasoning uses feelings, rather than logic, in making decisions. Rational thinking alone can lead to trouble if we don’t take into account the psychological impact that a seemingly logical action can have on someone. (As a nerd, I’ve done this too many times.) But basing decisions solely on emotions rarely leads to the best solution to a problem.

Lukianoff suggested to Haidt that the behavior of many college students and the policies of many college leaders is, in effect, reverse CBT. (I haven’t had a chance to read it yet, but you can explore this idea in more detail in their 2018 book, The Coddling of the American Mind.)

Expressing deep concern about microaggressions is catastrophizing. Refusing to allow someone to speak on campus in their field of expertise because of a comment they’d made in a tweet concerning a completely different subject is throwing out the baby with the bathwater due to black-and-white thinking. Emotional reasoning is used to demand the removal of important textbooks from a college syllabus.

Universities are training and encouraging students to think in ways that have been proven to contribute to and prolong depression.

The Serenity Prayer

Then I happened to reread the “Serenity Prayer.” Originally composed in the early 1930s by Reinhold Niebuhr, a Protestant theologian, the prayer opens with, “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”

This prayer has been used successfully for many years (most famously by Alcoholics Anonymous) to help people overcome mental health issues and live better lives. But do we value its insights today?

Are we willing to accept that there are some things that we cannot change? Children have been told for at least a couple of generations now that they can do and have everything they want in this life. The message they’re hearing: Don’t accept the idea that there’s anything that you can’t change in order to get your own way.

Those who attract the most attention for trying to change the world often act like bullies or like spoiled children throwing a tantrum. Have bullies or tantruming children ever been considered courageous?

Do we desire wisdom, or would we rather just rush on to the next big thing without taking any time to contemplate whether it’s best to go there? Are we allowing wisdom to die out as we encourage electronic devices and artificial intelligence do more and more of our thinking for us?

Do we value wisdom and courage and the serenity of acceptance anymore?

Rejecting the past

Why is our culture rejecting the proven wisdom of the past? Wisdom that’s led many to better mental health. The fruit of that rejection can be seen in the increasing rates of mental health issues and deaths from despair.

A culture that lives this way weakens itself. (I’m tempted to say that it’s headed for destruction, but that might be catastrophizing.)

We seem to have adopted a definition of progress that means automatically dismissing anything old when something different comes along. No need to evaluate whether to accept the new. It’s always better simply because it’s newer. That’s how evolution works.

I saw this blatantly stated in a book about Robinson Crusoe and its imitators many years ago. (I no longer have the book, so I can’t identify its title and author with certainty.) There are probably other sources that I’m not familiar with that make the same assertion.

C. S. Lewis, in Surprised by Joy, calls this “chronological snobbery … the uncritical acceptance of the intellectual climate common to our own age and the assumption that whatever has gone out of date is on that account discredited.”

In contrast to this attitude, Lewis writes in The Case for Christianity, “Progress means getting nearer to the place where you want to be. And if you have taken a wrong turning then to go forward does not get you any nearer. If you are on the wrong road progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road and in that case the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive man.”

What if we thought more carefully before taking that wrong turning in the first place? If we automatically reject the past, can we even recognize that old right road? Or will we build a new one that takes us even further from the truth?

I’m not saying that there was ever a golden age that we can go back to if we just overcome current ways of thinking and pass the right laws. I’m skeptical of any viewpoint that claims that there was once a time and a place where a majority of people were true Christians.

When Christianity is acceptable and popular, I have to question how many people are actually born again and how many are simply following the current philosophy without thinking it through and without any real repentance and change of heart. Jesus said, “But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it” (Matthew 7:14).

And I’m not anti-progress. I’m thankful for the developments in human thinking and technology that have occurred within my own lifetime.

Advances in medicine have led to longer, fuller lives. Personal computers have simplified the writing and rewriting process (thank You, Lord!), among many other benefits. We’re seeing greater equality between the races and the sexes. Pollution has been reduced and cleaned up.

Several decades ago, experts made great strides in understanding and treating mental health disorders. Talk therapies, like CBT. Medications that, when used wisely, can save lives. Now those advances are being replaced by newer ideas. Not because they didn’t work (when applied properly), but simply because they’re older.

Just as certain college policies can be seen as the opposite of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, rejecting the wisdom of the past can be seen as the opposite of progress.


*Recently, other writers have called my attention to some painful examples of how Wikipedia distorts the truth and refuses to change their story when their bias is pointed out to them. With those examples fresh in my mind as I was editing this post, I was tempted to find a different source for the explanation of this expression.

But then I realized that that might be a perfect example of throwing out the baby with the bathwater.

Should I use Wikipedia for its beneficial articles? Or should I stop referring to it because of the obvious bias in other entries? Does citing Wikipedia in this blog imply that I trust it completely? What if I can’t tell how inaccurate an article is and I accept, and even spread, the false teaching that it promotes without realizing that I’m doing that? I’m still struggling with these questions.

 

 

 

Praising and Cursing

Thankfulness and bitterness

Jeremiah 20:13-14: “Sing to the Lord! Give praise to the Lord! ... Cursed be the day I was born!”

In just two verses, Jeremiah expresses the extremes of thankfulness and bitterness. Unlike the psalmists, he pours out the thankfulness first, then the bitterness.

Isn’t that backwards? Aren’t we supposed to work our way up from pain and doubt to singing and praise? Are we allowed to follow Jeremiah’s example?

Yes! That’s one of the reasons I’m so thankful to the God of the Bible.

He knows who we are. He knows how quickly we can plummet from praising Him to wanting to die. So He gives us the examples and the encouragement in His Word to express ourselves honestly (even when it means venting anger and self-pity) and to keep coming back to Him no matter how low we’ve fallen.

The Christian life is never a smooth and easy road from repentance and conversion to Christlikeness and glory, always walking in perfect faith, with no setbacks and no stumbling. We shouldn’t expect it to be. We shouldn’t expect it in ourselves or in other believers.

And yet, Christians seem to feel a certain pressure to believe that we can defeat our fears and doubts effortlessly, trust God completely in all circumstances, and shun sin every time. Doesn’t God promise us that He’ll enable us to do all that right from the start (1 Corinthians 10:13, 2 Corinthians 5:17, Ephesians 4:22-24)? And if we do slip up, all we have to do is repent and it will never happen again.

When I was participating in a small discussion group at a church several years ago, the pastor leading us defined repentance as a total 180-degree turn-around. Period. Permanent. Anything less isn’t true repentance.

I understand that that’s the literal meaning of the word. I know that God expects and enables me to continue becoming more like Jesus. But I look at real life and wonder if anyone has ever truly repented, if that pastor’s definition is accurate.

How often do my thoughts and behavior turn around completely, never to turn back again? How often does my genuine sorrow and regret for having fallen short of my Lord’s high standards result in never again disappointing Him in that same way? How often does my turning away from doubting His love and provision result in never again facing that same doubt? Not very often. We’re all slow learners.

Jesus seems to take the opposite view from that pastor when He says in Luke 17:3-4, “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him. If he sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times comes back to you and says, ‘I repent,’ forgive him.” Sounds like Jesus expects us to keep repeating our sins, even after truly repenting.

Reality

One of the strengths of Alcoholics Anonymous is the recognition that an alcoholic in recovery usually returns to his old habit at least one more time. Do they kick him out of the group at that point? Do they tell him that he never really repented of his drinking in the first place, since he’s doing it again?

No! They help him get back on his feet. After additional falls, and with the group’s support, he can eventually stop drinking. He can look back and tell you the number of years that he’s been sober. Initially, he could only give you the number of days he’d made it through before starting over at square one again.

The Bible is real. In Jeremiah chapter 20 we have a prophet, chosen and trusted by God to preach His word to the people, saying in one breath, “Praise the Lord!” and in the very next breath, “Cursed be the day I was born!” That’s an example I can follow.

Not because I want to. Not because I don’t really care about pleasing God. But because I’m human.

Jeremiah’s example

Verses 1 through 6 of this chapter describe how Pashhur the priest, “the chief officer in the temple of the Lord,” has Jeremiah beaten and placed in the stocks for the prophecies that he’d declared. As soon as he’s released, Jeremiah pronounces a scathing rebuke against Pashhur and a dire prophecy about Judah.

At this point, I’m filled with admiration. This guy’s got guts. He’s speaking God’s truth to one of the most powerful religious leaders in the country when he’s just been released from a painful and humiliating punishment for his earlier offensive prophecies. Don’t think I could do that.

This is a great man of God. I want to be just like him.

Until I read the next section (vs. 7-10). Depending on the translation, Jeremiah starts out by accusing God of deceiving, persuading, enticing, fooling, tricking, or forcing him to do what he’s been doing. The general sense is that God isn’t playing fair and Jeremiah feels used. How could the same man who stood up so bravely for his Lord suddenly turn on Him and question His very character?

Jeremiah then complains about the life God has called him to. Because his message is one of violence and destruction, he’s ridiculed, mocked, insulted, and reproached. Including by his friends. And yet he can’t help proclaiming that message.

Verses 11-13 express his faith and hope and thankfulness. He knows that the Lord is with him and that justice will prevail in the end. He asks the Almighty God to avenge him for his undeserved suffering. He praises Him in his gratitude. Back to the good-guy, this-is-what-a-prophet-should-be personality.

Until he steps off the cliff and curses the day he was born. He continues along that line for the next four verses. The passage ends on a negative and depressing note.

What are we to think of this waffling prophet? His great courage in facing Pashhur. His bitter complaint as he questions God’s trustworthiness. His praise for the Lord’s faithfulness. His height of brief but intense thankfulness. His plunge into despair.

Should we try to be like him? Yes, when he’s at his best. But I’m not sure that that’s the right question to ask. I should be asking, “Am I like him?” Honestly, I’m more like him when he’s doubting and grumbling than when he’s speaking boldly to the one who has so much power over him.

But even in his complaining, Jeremiah sets a good example for me. He addresses his words to God as a sort of prayer. He doesn’t go to the people around him, badmouthing Pashhur and telling others how the Lord has disappointed him. He works through his confusion and bitterness and weariness in God’s presence. And those moments of strength and conviction follow. Even if they don’t last.

So I’m thankful for this book of Jeremiah. It’s a hard read. There’s so little in it that’s uplifting. Unlike the book of Isaiah, there are few promises of a glorious future. But there’s the example of a great prophet expressing exuberant thankfulness, only to fall into despair in the very next verse. I can relate to that.

And I’m thankful that at this time of year, nearly every year, I can honestly celebrate a day of Thanksgiving without immediately following that thought with cursing the day I was born.

 

  

Broken Body, Broken Mind

The emptiness

Sitting down to do my morning Bible reading. A few chapters in Job, one of my favorite books.

Having a hard time of it lately. A new chronic digestive problem struck six months ago, sending me to the emergency room for diagnosis and treatment. It’s generally manageable by diet alone, but occasionally medication is needed.

Many people my age have this condition. It runs in my family. And yet I feel completely alone in my suffering. Why?

When I have that sense of discomfort in a certain part of my gut, it’s always accompanied by weird emotional symptoms. A gloomy darkness. A heaviness. A gulf between me and God. As the discomfort passes, so do the other symptoms. Does anyone else with this condition experience that?

I’m afraid to ask.

Afraid of facing skepticism or judgment. Afraid of being told that it’s all in my head, that a good psychiatrist can fix it. Or that I’m just feeling sorry for myself or giving in to fear. While self-pity and anxiety tend to enter the picture whenever I get sick, with this condition it’s not that simple. There’s some kind of strange connection between my gut chemistry and my brain chemistry.

Can anyone else relate to this? Or am I truly alone?

This latest flare-up has been especially hard emotionally and spiritually. Those symptoms have been building up as time passes. Now the physical discomfort comes and goes throughout each day, but the bad feelings continue 24/7.

It started on a Sunday afternoon. I wanted to get over it without taking medication, but made a mental note to call my doctor for a prescription if it went on for too long.

Somehow I misplaced that note.

The gut symptoms improved little by little for the first week. Then they kind of plateaued. At the same time, the emotional symptoms bogged down. God drew further and further away. A sort of spiritual deadness hit. I reached the point where I was wallowing in the dark, begging for healing, wondering where He had gotten to.

Over the decades, I’ve learned many ways to draw nearer to Him when I’m hurting. I tried them all. Nothing worked. Like Job in 16:6, “If I speak, my pain is not relieved; and if I refrain, it does not go away.”

God, why won’t You heal me? Why are my emotions stuck in such a difficult place? Why do I feel so far from You? Why don’t You pull me in closer?

A week and a half after the worst of the symptoms hit, I was filled with fear and dread. Fear that this time it was more hopeless than with previous episodes. Dread of a drastically reduced diet for the rest of my life. Fear of being told that I needed surgery. Fear of losing my independence.

Then somehow that mental note popped back into my head. I called my doctor, got a prescription, and began to heal again. But I had another minor episode when I’d almost used up the medication, and God was still too too far away.

The refilling

So I sit down for my morning Bible reading. It’s in Job, but it’s not touching me, reaching me, strengthening me like it usually does. There’s a wall inside that I haven’t been able to break through.

I’ve written before about how Job actually struggled emotionally and spiritually. He didn’t just take his suffering in stride, as some evangelicals seem to think. They cite chapters 1 and 2 as evidence of his unshakable faith.

But I look to chapter 3 and hear him cursing the day of his birth, followed by the heart of the book where he openly challenges God, and I’m grateful for the model that he provides, because I need to know that God can handle our questions and complaints with compassion.

As I’m reading the opening chapters this time, my heart is heavy and my spirit is lonely. I’m more critical of my own thinking and assumptions. Job really did say some pretty profound things in chapters 1 and 2. It’s not until chapter 3 that he seems to fall apart. What happened?

First God allowed Satan to attack Job’s family, servants, and belongings. Job’s faith remained strong. Then He allowed Satan to attack Job’s body. Job broke down.

There could be different reasons for this change. Coincidence. The straw that broke the camel’s back. The natural irritability and self-pity that come with illness. Moving through the stages of grief from denial to anger.

Or Job could be so self-centered that even the loss of his children didn’t affect him that much. It was only when his own body was damaged that he couldn’t handle it. That seems to be what Satan expected. With all the uprightness attributed to Job at the beginning and end of the book, though, that doesn’t seem likely.

Then something I’ve never thought of before comes to mind: Maybe the physical changes in his body included physical changes in his brain chemistry. Wow.

Did Job, my hero, my role model, go through the same thing I’m going through? Did Satan’s attack include not just the natural emotional response to physical distress, but a biological change that brought on almost irresistible* emotional and spiritual symptoms?

I can’t say an absolute yes, that’s definitely what happened. But it would explain so much. Job’s strength in chapters 1 and 2. His weakness in chapter 3.

Some evangelicals won’t like this idea. One reason I’m having a hard time getting my memoir published is because there are many Christians in positions of power who deny the possibility that biology can directly influence emotions.

Some publishers won’t consider my manuscript because it clearly declares that my first depressive episode wasn’t cured through spiritual practices. They helped a lot—they saved my life!—but only an antidepressant could restore my brain to its normal functioning.

There’s a link between our physical bodies and our minds and souls. Changes in brain chemistry can badly damage our emotions and our spirits.

I always feel so alone and misunderstood when this happens to me. But now, for the first time in my many years of being blessed by reading this precious book of Job, I’m seeing something new and profound. Job himself just might have suffered from the same problem. (And if he did, then maybe other people in the Bible did, too.)

I’m not alone.

I’m in good company.

The company of one who was declared by God to be blameless and upright. One whose story God has chosen to include in His inspired Word.

And God loves me enough to come to me when I feel like He’s so far away, and to open my eyes to see an incredible truth that I’ve been missing for all these years.

My head collapses onto my folded arms on the desk in front of me. I cry hard. I release the tears that have been bottled up inside, unable to escape for the last couple of weeks even though I’ve tried to let them go. I pour out the pain and frustration and emptiness. And, eventually, the joy. God has brought me home to Him once again.


*A note to my evangelically-correct friends who might think I’m saying that we have no responsibility for thoughts and emotions that spring from biological causes: We might not be able to control the thoughts and emotions themselves at the instant when they strike, but we have at least a little bit of control over how we handle them.

The more we practice responding in more biblical ways to the feelings that seem so unmanageable, the better we’ll be able to handle the next attack. Christians also have the Holy Spirit inside strengthening us when we’re at our weakest, enabling us to deal with these challenges in more godly ways.

 

 

Love Your Neighbor

 My neighborhood

Arriving home from church around 8:30 on a Wednesday night. Noticing two police cars parked in front of a house down the street. No flashing lights. No other emergency vehicles. Just dark, silent, ominous police cars.

Ominous because I’d seen them twice before in the last ten years or so. Both times, the officers were responding to a suicide.

What kind of neighborhood do I live in, if there might have been three suicides in a small cluster of homes in just ten years? What kind of terrible, painful, unendurable suffering is going on here?

It’s an upper-middle-class development. Homeowners buy new cars, remodel their houses, and upgrade their landscaping on a regular basis. Pay hundreds of dollars a month just to watch television through cables and satellites and streaming services. Hire people to clean their homes and mow their lawns. Send their children to private schools.

Me and my neighbors, we have it all. All the money anyone could possibly need. And it hurts.

My response

I begin praying for the situation, whatever it might be. I know that a young man who lives across the street from the police cars has been struggling with depression lately. I don’t want to jump to any conclusions, but the fear and shock of what might have happened hit hard. My first prayers are for him and his family.

I also pray and think ahead about what I would say if it turns out that a neighbor's loved one took his own life. I’m not good at speaking off-the-cuff. I know the best thing I can do is listen, but I want to be prepared to offer a few words of sympathy and support. Not a memorized speech, just something to get me past that tongue-tied feeling to where I can maybe minister to a suffering friend.

I reflect on two ideas from my own experience with suicidal depression that have helped when I’ve talked to someone who’s lost a family member in this indescribably painful way. The thread that connects them is that we don’t have as much power over other people’s lives as we think we do.

First, people have a natural tendency to accept more blame than they actually deserve when someone kills herself. Yes, parents and peers can inflict terrible emotional injuries by their words and actions. Distant or harsh relationships, abuse, and bullying can trigger changes in the brain that result in major depression and suicidal thinking.

But a person can also have a genetic tendency to that same faulty brain chemistry, leading to symptoms right from birth or ones that get switched on by a relatively mild trauma. Someone without this vulnerability has the resilience get through the same kind of trauma without becoming suicidal.

In my case, my genetic makeup, combined with a period of unusual stresses, created a chemical imbalance in my brain that compelled me to indulge in obsessive thoughts of self-harm. I couldn’t blame my parents or anyone else for the depth of my gloom. My natural brain chemistry was at fault more than they were.*

I don’t have any formal training in psychology. I can’t analyze every situation to determine what factors, either in-born or environmental, lead a particular person to kill himself.

But the few people I’ve known who’ve blamed themselves for a loved one’s suicide were taking far more responsibility than the situation logically demanded. I can use my experience with suicidal thoughts to help alleviate any undeserved guilt that family members may be carrying for contributing to a death.

Second, people have a natural tendency to blame themselves for not recognizing when a loved one is close to suicide. But depressed people can be very good at hiding their pain.

I was. Partly out of shame. (What would people think if they knew what I was really feeling?) Partly as a way of coping. (If I acted happier, I felt a little better. This strategy has been proven to boost a depressed person’s spirits, but it can also be a function of unhealthy denial.)

I don’t think any of my friends or family members even suspected that I was actively suicidal.

In a support group for depression and anxiety that I was leading at my church many years ago, my group members were often smiling. They seemed so normal, even happy. I had to remind myself that they were hurting more deeply than they appeared to be or they wouldn’t be in that room.

When someone blames herself for not realizing how much a loved one was suffering, it might not be her fault at all. That person might have put on a very good show of being okay, just a little down. It’s always easier to see the warning signs after a suicide has occurred.

I can use my experience with suicidal thoughts to help alleviate any undeserved guilt that someone may be carrying for not recognizing the depth of a family member’s depression.

(As it turned out, it wasn’t a case of suicide this time.)

My responsibility

My mind moves on from “What do I say?” to “What’s going on here???” In my neighborhood and my country.

We have so much. So much more than we could ever possibly need. And yet we’re missing something vital. More people are dying “deaths from despair” (from alcoholism, drug abuse, and suicide) than ever before. Even with all our material advantages, we’ve lost our sense of hope and purpose. How do we pull out of this?

I’ve wondered in recent years whether I (or any Christian) should live in an affluent neighborhood. Wouldn’t it be more biblical to give away more of my income and live more modestly (Matthew 19:21)?

I’ve been through some relatively lean times lately. I’ve struggled to pay all my bills. I’ve cut my expenses as drastically as possible.

I’ve looked into many options for moving into an apartment or a smaller, less expensive house in a different area. But God has locked every single door that I’ve tried. Instead, He’s provided for my needs.

Maybe I really am where He wants me to be. Maybe I can have an impact for good and for God if I stay right here. Wealthier developments can be the most godless ones.

About a year ago, I started walking in my neighborhood more often. I’ve met a few new families that way. They’ve shared some of their sorrows and challenges with me. I’ve struck up friendships with, and silently prayed for, people who support some of the most unbiblical worldviews.

Maybe I really do belong here. Maybe I can make a difference.

And yet I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to live among people who see Christians as ignorant haters. People who disdain the very idea of the God of the Bible. It hurts too much.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say when the conversation turns to divisive topics. I want to experience the comfort of having neighbors like the person described in Proverbs 30:8-9. Those who aren’t poor enough to turn to crime or rich enough to believe that they don’t need God.

And so I circle back to praying. This time for myself.

For the compassion and strength to share a neighbor’s pain without being destroyed by it.

For the wisdom and guidance to know what to say when awkward subjects come up.

For the sensitivity to the Holy Spirit’s leading to make small changes in my habits, like walking around my neighborhood more often, so that God can increase my ministry to others. It’s amazing how much He’s already used that one little choice.

And for a heart that truly desires His will for me even when it hurts, not one that puts a higher priority on my own comfort.


*For a compassionate, Christian perspective on the vast difference between normal highs and lows vs. the warped thinking of major depression, check out Why do Christians Shoot Their Wounded? by Dwight Carlson.