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Picture: Elias Izoli, Untitled

“There is such terrible darkness within me, as if everything was dead… I do not know how deeper will this trial go — how much pain and suffering it will bring to me. This does not worry me any more. I leave this to Him as I leave everything else. Let Him do with me whatever He wants as He wants for as long as He wants if my darkness is light to some soul.”- Mother Theresa

Darkness. Depression. Mental Illness. Brokenness. Frailty. Error. Uncertainty. These are words and ideas we repress and shove deep inside the trunks for our heart. These are parts of us that we are too afraid acknowledge. This quote from Mother Theresa is brutally honest because she does not claim that there is no darkness. She acknowledges it but does not allow it to consume her. To pretend it doesn’t exist would be a lie, but to say that hope doesn’t exist is also a lie.

The beauty (or curse) of being human is the dualism of our nature. We aspire loftily to that which is pure, excellent, beautiful, yet we are confined to bodies which release unpleasant substances and odors and eventually inevitably disintegrate. We are both body and spirit. This is the dilemma of being human. How can I bear both the Imago Dei and the sinfulness of flesh? Shall I go on pretending as though my flesh does not exist?  What would it be like if we embraced our weakness and our physicality? What would it be like if, as a church, we corporately accepted our humanity?

In Ann Voskamp’s exemplary article on Huffington Post, What the Church and Christians need to know about Suicide and Mental Health, she shares the prayer she wishes that the church would pray and shout to each other until they are hoarse:

“We won’t give you some cliche — but something to cling to — and that will mean our hands. We won’t give you some platitudes — but some place for your pain — and that will mean our time. We won’t give you some excuses — but we’ll be some example — and that will mean bending down and washing your wounds. Wounds that we don’t understand, wounds that keep festering, that don’t heal, that down right stink — wounds that can never make us turn away. Because we are the Body of the Wounded Healer and we are the people who believe the impossible — that wounds can be openings to the beauty in us.”

“Wounds we don’t understand.” Ironically, for me, the most healing time, is when people stop trying to heal me. When people stop trying to fix me, that’s when the Lord rolls up His sleeves and starts his healing surgery. When I share my issues with fellow Christians often they reply with, “Well maybe you should pray more or fast or read your Bible more.” It makes me want to scream. What I really want is a sounding board, empathy, not sympathy.

To ignore our unhealed wounds is to over realize our eschatology. Yes, victory is won. Yes we have received salvation, but we are still on the road of sanctification and to invalidate weakness is to reject the theology of sanctification.

Voskamp continues to share how depression is a cancer of the mind. She writes, “You don’t shame cancer, you treat cancer. You don’t treat those with hurting insides as less than. You give them the most treatment.”

Depression is not a foreign concept to me. It has greatly affected my family with attempted suicides and eating disorders. It is a constant plague. And I will not act as though everything is good and perfect because it is not. Often times depression comes along with guilt and shame as if I did something wrong. But depression is not because of my personal sin. “It is a sign that this world is fallen. . . that we all have sinned.”

While talking to my small group we mentioned the relapses in alcohol and cigarettes and depression and suicidal thoughts. We asked the question, “Why?” Why do we continue to do what we hate? Why are we so weak to the temptations of flesh? I don’t know what the answer is, but I have a hunch it is in our DNA. We spoke about how even if anyone says they are without sin, they are lying. “To err is human.” Sin is the essence of humanity. We will never escape it.  So should we give up trying? Well, maybe our goal isn’t sin management, but a relationship with God our Father. Maybe the issue isn’t the distance we have fallen from our Father, but the direction of where we look. Will we look down or up?

I don’t know how to solve depression. I don’t know what the perfect meds are or the magical mantra that will cause my personal rain cloud to dissipate. I wish I knew. I urge God to speed up the healing process, so that the pain would numb. For now, my therapy is writing, getting my emotions on paper, the hate, the anger, the frustration, the disappointment, the unfulfilled yearning that will never be fully satisfied on this side of earth. I let it all out and I let Him know. This is the beauty of the covenant relationship of God. Nothing we could do would ever make him step away from his commitment to us. This is how he loves us. What would happen if we extended some of this covenantal love to our fellow brothers and sister suffering with wounds we don’t understand and wounds that we cannot fix?

The soundtrack to this post is All the Poor and Powerless