The Inside Cover

On February 21, 2018 By seeyabubIn Christianity2 Comments

Usually, I only write my last name on the inside cover of the books I own (which is too many). Mostly in bright red pen, I emblazon “BRADSHAW” in all capital letters in the top left hand corner of most of my books. Just in case I decide to lend my precious books out and they don’t find their way home, I want the perpetrator to be haunted with the guilt of their thievery forever and ever.

But my Bible? Well, that’s a different story…

Since shortly after graduating from Miami, I’ve carried a hardcover Zondervan Bible. It’s a TNIV (Today’s New International Version) men’s Bible called Strive that I picked up at Half-Price Books. I love it, and I always have. It has great inserts with thought-provoking questions, profiles of historical figures from my faith’s past, and counters to modern-day myths associated with a man’s journey as a Christian.

This is the Bible I’ve always read since I started drawing closer with my faith after college. I read all the way through this Bible from cover to cover, which was a big accomplishment for me. I’ve marked that Bible up with underlinings and notes and circles of passages that grabbed my heartstrings or caused me to think of my faith in a new light. This was the Bible I was reading before my Dad died that has a deeply significant timeline drawn between Psalms 68 and 69—the before and after line marking my Dad’s death during my reading journey. It’s the Bible that I’ve carried with me to church each and every Sunday—on the days that I’ve wanted to go, and on the days when I’ve been so shattered by the grief I feel that I have to drag myself there. This Bible has traveled with me in countless rental cars and hotel rooms when I travel for my job. The thin plastic protective cover has started to peel, and some of the pages might be creased, but it’s never diminished the value of the precious words inside.

The words in the Bible tell the story of my faith; but the words I’ve written on the inside cover help remind me why I believe.

A year or so before my Dad passed, I made a decision about the inside cover of my Bible. I told myself that I was going to wait for the most poignant, thought-provoking, powerful statements about my faith in God and lodge them there. Once I heard those phrases, I would write them on the inside cover of my Bible. It was a pretty simple premise, but one that I took seriously.

I took it seriously because the inside cover of my Bible is precious real estate. It’s the first thing you see when you open the book. Once you use up all the space on the inside cover of your Bible, it’s gone. You can never get another inside cover.

That first quote on the inside cover of my Bible is still my favorite one.

I didn’t write the date (an addition I would add to future quotes). I didn’t note the particular sermon. I didn’t even write it in red pen! (My coworkers probably are probably shocked to see my writing in anything but red pen.) I do, however, remember the speaker who introduced that quote to me.

It was my pastor, Reverend Harville Duncan. I always loved Harville’s messages because they were intellectually challenging, thought-provoking, convicting yet hopeful. His messages always had powerful themes and nuggets of wisdom all throughout that challenged me in my faith in ways that I didn’t think was possible. He also made a somewhat-weekly LA Fitness reference which I conveniently tallied on a post-it note in the back of my Bible (and just in case you’re curious, he told 67 LA Fitness stories between 2013 and his retirement in 2016, with a +/-3% sampling error for the services I missed).

More important than any LA Fitness reference, however, was the quote from Reverend Duncan that founds its way into my Bible:

“You should not go to the Lord and tell Him how big the mountain is. You should go to the mountain and tell it how big your God is!”

It wasn’t an original quote, but it was new to me—and it was beautiful. I had never heard that phrase, but I loved it. It gave me courage that I never thought I’d need. It helped me visualize strength in the midst of difficult circumstances. I just loved it, and I knew the second that I heard it where it should belong.

I grabbed a pen from the pew in the middle of his sermon, and I inscribed the quote in my typical all capital (albeit blue) writing on the inside cover of my Bible.

It’s been there ever since; but more importantly, it’s been in my heart and mind every single day since I wrote it down.

I loved the quote—and in a few months, I would need that quote.

When I decided to speak at my Dad’s funeral, I honestly had no idea what I was going to say. I had no words for what had happened just a few days prior. What could I possibly say at that lectern to capture the love I felt for my Dad and the grief I felt in losing him? It just wasn’t possible. I didn’t have the courage.

I did something on that day that I have rarely done when it comes to public speaking. I didn’t prepare at all. I didn’t write out any notes. I didn’t rehearse my eulogy like I typically would any other time I spoke in public. I didn’t even have a general outline. I played a few things through my head during the few quiet times I had in the days after Dad’s death, but nothing would stick. I just prayed that God would give me the strength to say what He wanted me to say in that moment. I didn’t know what to say—but He did.

In an effort to try and prepare, I sat down at my desk the morning of my Dad’s funeral. Adjusting my black suit as I sat down, I said a quick prayer and asked God for guidance, perspective, and a courageous spirit. I told him how beat down I was. I told him that I had never felt this kind of pain before, and that I didn’t know what to do with any of it. I told him that I was completely lost, and insecure, and doubting whether or not I could live life without my Dad.

And then, I opened my Bible. And there it was:

“YOU SHOULD NOT GO TO THE LORD AND TELL HIM HOW BIG THE MOUNTAIN IS. YOU SHOULD GO TO THE MOUNTAIN AND TELL IT HOW BIG YOUR GOD IS.”

God wanted me to hear that message the day that I originally wrote it down, but he wanted me to live it in this new storm. That was the message God gave to me in a moment of ease to prepare me for a lifetime of perplexing grief. That was the message that God put on Harville’s heart, knowing he would need to pass it along to the members of the flock he cared for. That would be the message of my life, given to help save it.

And that would be the message I would need to say goodbye to my Dad.

I spoke at the funeral that day, and although I didn’t have a clear framework of where I wanted to head with my message, I knew that God wanted me to share this one truth. He had put it on my heart (and on my Bible cover) for a reason. This was that reason.

I didn’t talk long that day. I physically couldn’t. I talked about my Dad and how much I missed him. I talked about the sadness we felt as a family and the gaping hole we would feel in his absence. I shared some stories about his sense of humor. And I was honest with the few hundred friends and family members who had gathered to say goodbye to my Dad. The truth that, deep down, I didn’t know how my Mom and I would ever get through this. I was deeply confused, and I had questions that I feared would never be answered.

But I told them that Harville had shared an important quote with me and our church shortly before my Dad’s death. “We should not go to the Lord and tell Him how big the mountain is,” I said with slowly mustering confidence. “Instead, we should go to the mountain and tell it how big our God is.”

I looked out across the darkened sanctuary, and although I saw tear-stained faces, I also saw nods. I saw people nodding, and smiling through their grief, and encouraging my Mom and I to never give up. I saw people believing that my Dad’s death would be a huge, looming mountain; but I saw them believing that God could help us climb that mountain and conquer it with the strength only He can provide.

The mountain of grief we were facing would never, ever go away; but neither would the Almighty God who could help us climb it.

A few weeks after the funeral, as life began to ease its way into a difficult new-normal, I got an unexpected gift from my Uncle Lee. Lee was my Mom’s only brother, my Dad’s only brother-in-law. Dad and my Uncle Lee may have been brothers-in-law, but they had a bond of brotherhood that was enviable to this only child. They grew up as teenagers playing softball together. They played pick-up basketball together with members of our church from the time I was little. They would always count on one another for help with big household projects, appliance repairs, and the ever-occurring backyard swimming pool problems. I think Uncle Lee and my Dad always got along with one another because they are unbelievably similar—for all the right reasons. They are two of the most hardworking individuals I’ve ever known. They provide for their families without ever begrudging the hard days and long hours. They are each humble to a fault, never boasting or seeking credit for the amazing work they do. I know that when my Dad died, Uncle Lee was just as devastated as anyone else—and rightly so. My Dad had been the brother that he never had, and now he was gone.

In the immediate aftermath of losing my Dad, Uncle Lee was one of the first people on the scene—and one of the last to leave. He stayed with my Mom and I anytime we needed him. He helped us with countless chores and projects around our homes, cutting our lawns and helping with other repairs. He was there for emotional support, even though he was grieving himself.

His personal grief was real, but he always found a way to make sure he was a source of strength for my Mom and I whenever we needed him. I’ll never be able to thank him enough for the support he gave us, and his gift to me after losing my Dad inspires me in new ways every day.

His gift was a sign—a beautiful sign. Uncle Lee wanted to give me a reminder that the words I spoke at Dad’s funeral were more than just words; they represented an undeniable truth. He knew that I would need to do more than remember those words—I would need to live them. So, to help me remember, Uncle Lee made me a beautiful sign that read: “Don’t tell GOD how big the mountain is, Tell the mountain how big GOD is!”

I cried like a baby when I saw that sign for the first time. I ran my hands to and fro across the sign as I read the words and wept at the thought of losing my Dad and living life without him. But I also smiled and nodded my head through the tears because I knew those words were absolutely true. I knew that those words would guide me through the unchartered waters of grief and loss. I would go to that mountain of grief and despair, and I would let God guide me to the peak. This sign was an overflowing of the love in my Uncle’s heart. I’ll always be thankful to him for loving my Mom and I, and I’ll always have this sign to remember the courage and belief he had in us to overcome.

And let me tell you…I’ve needed the reminder many, many times.

Those words would become a mantra to me in the months and milestones that passed after losing Dad—and they still are. Especially in the weeks that followed after losing him, I would recite those words to myself over and over and over again first-thing every morning. I would wake up from a restless, nightmare-laden night. I would take a few deep breaths, trying to shake away the reality of losing my Dad. I would dread having to face the world without my Dad by my side. And on those days when it was hard to believe, I recited the words that I knew would carry me through: “Don’t tell God how big the mountain is; tell the mountain how big God is.”

On nights filled with paralyzing pain, I would have trouble peeling myself off of the couch. There were many nights when I would collapse in the floor of my living room, convulsing and weeping at the mere mention of my Dad’s name. And in those horribly painful moments, I would say those words again: “Don’t tell God how big the mountain is; tell the mountain how big God is.”

And on days when Satan crept into my mind and tried to convince me that my Dad’s death from suicide was unforgiveable, I would beat back his ploys with the truth of God’s love. I would remind myself that God doesn’t just love a chosen few. He chooses to love all of us—including my Dad, mental illness and all. And I would say, with a smile on my face and an eye towards the heavens “Don’t tell God how big the mountain is; tell the mountain how big God is.”

That beautiful sign hangs above the window in my home office, my favorite retreat nestled in the back corner of my home. It’s the office my Dad helped me paint. It’s the office where he installed a beautiful chair molding to help me execute the vision I had for a lovely baseball-themed workroom. And there, above the window where I stare out and daydream, hangs the sign that my Uncle Lee made me with the words that have carried me through my grief. I look at it often, especially when I write. I let it remind me God has a bigger purpose for our pain. He doesn’t demolish the mountains in our lives. He grabs us by the hand and helps us navigate the terrain until we reach the mountaintop.

I live my life relying on those words. I live those words knowing that they were written in the inside cover of my Bible for a reason. That reason is bigger than anything I’ll ever be able to explain on this side of Eternity; but I still trust them. I believe that they are true because they’ve carried me this far. No mountain will ever be too big for my God, and every time I open my Bible that truth jumps out at me—both on the inside cover, and in every single story those pages tell.

Dad, You were always so courageous and so brave, and I wish I had more of that in me. You never let a daunting challenge intimidate you. You believed in your ability, and you believed in your God. Ironically, it was watching your brave example that prepared me to survive the grief of losing you. You taught me that I could do anything if I believed in God and let Him lead my way. Dad, I don’t focus on the one battle that you lost with depression. Instead, I focus on the many years that you fought successfully and conquered your sickness. You tried so hard—for me, for Mom, and for those who loved you. You fought the hardest fight of your life each and every day, and you were unbelievably brave. I’ll always remember that. I’ll always live my life through your example. And until I can see you again and tell you just how courageous you truly were, seeya Bub.

“Then David continued, ‘Be strong and courageous, and do the work. Don’t be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord God, my God, is with you. He will not fail you or forsake you. He will see to it that all the work related to the Temple of the Lord is finished correctly.’” 1 Chronicles 28:20 (NLT)

Grape Heart

On February 13, 2018 By seeyabubIn Christianity, Mental IllnessLeave a comment

As my family walked into church, we were each handed a snack-size Ziploc bag containing two items: one raisin, and one grape. The greeter smiled at us as he handed them out. Dad and I looked at each other and wondered….had our church converted to a different fruit-worshiping denomination since last week? Should we run?

For what seemed like an eternity, the morning announcements were given, the worship team sang, and the offering was collected. And the entire time, no one said a word about the bags of grapes and raisins. Did these people really understand the weirdness of what had happened when they came into the sanctuary this morning?!

Or wait…we did actually arrive on time to church that morning (a rarity in my family). Maybe they had been handing out grapes and raisins to the folks who showed up on time my entire life?! Maybe we had been missing out on the rewards for my entire life!

If all you get for showing up early is a grape and a raisin…I’ll take my extra 30 minutes of alarm-snooze—repeat. Wake me when they start giving out tacos and twenties.

If curiosity killed the cat, there was a vicious feline slaughter going on inside my brain during the beginning of the worship service. It just didn’t make any sense.

Finally, when our Pastor (Ted Herold) took the stage, he referenced the bag and its contents. And even though my Dad never explicitly told me this, the sermon that followed was my Dad’s favorite sermon that he ever heard. I’m positive of that. Dad always enjoyed Pastor Ted’s sermons, but I know how much he enjoyed this one, and I’m thankful for it.

I don’t remember the specific Scripture that Pastor Ted used that morning, but I do remember the message and I do remember the illustration (job well done, Pastor Ted!). It’s been stuck in my mind and my heart ever since that morning.

Pastor Ted instructed us to open our baggies and pull out the two contents: a red grape, and a wrinkled raisin. For the next few minutes, he actually had us compare and contrast the two items as a congregation. Dad rolled the grape and raisin around in his work-worn hands, and I looked on still wondering what was going on.

The raisin, the congregation agreed, was pretty lifeless. It was shrunken and wrinkled and shriveled. Pastor Ted asked the group “Does anyone here even like eating raisins anyway?!” A few of us raised our hands (I didn’t seek them out, but I didn’t hate them either), and Pastor Ted laughed. He then asked us to eat the raisins and react, as he feigned disgust from the front of the sanctuary.

Tasty? Maybe. But not as tasty as a grape.

Then, Pastor Ted went on to have us describe the grape we had in our hands. The grape was robust, especially compared to the raisin. The grape was full of life. The grape was colorful. The grape was bright. Essentially, the grape (although technically the same fruit) was everything that the raisin was not. Pastor Ted asked us to eat the grapes, and then describe it. They were tasty. They burst when you chewed them. They were juicy. Once again, all the things that the raisin we had previously ingested could not be.

That’s when the teaching began.

Pastor Ted asked us to think about the raisin and the grapes as metaphors. Metaphors for our heart. And he asked a simple question: “Do you have a grape heart? Or a raisin heart?”

If you had a raisin heart, your heart had lost its life. Your heart had shriveled into a fraction of what it used to be. Your raisin heart was lifeless, even dead. Your raisin heart had no brightness to it, no vividness. A raisin heart was empty. A raisin heart had nothing to give. It had been disconnected from the vine for too long.

A grape heart, on the other hand, was much different. A grape heart had life. A grape heart had energy. A grape heart had robustness, nearly bursting from the contents inside of it. A grape heart was so full of love that everything about its character was noticeably different from a heart that was empty, both inside and out.

And he continued to pose the question: “Do you have a raisin heart? Or a grape heart?” Do you have a heart that is shriveled and lifeless? Or do you have a heart that is bursting from all the love it contains? The message was simple. Jesus wanted His followers to live with grape hearts, not raisin hearts.

I’m sure we talked about that sermon on the way home and over lunch, because Dad would continue to bring it up throughout the years. And he would bring it up in typical Dad fashion.

Any teenager can get a bit….annoying; and I was no exception to that rule. At the top of all my annoyances? My impatience. I’ve always had trouble waiting for things, and I’ve never liked having to slow down.

My Dad, however, was different. He never, ever let the pace of life get the best of him, and I’ll always admire him for this. In fact, I strive to be like him in this way (and many others) more and more each day. Yes, his slower pace of life frustrated me beyond belief at times, but as I look back on his life, I am deeply envious of his ability to actually sit back, enjoy the moment, and escape from worry. I wish I had more of that in me.

I remember one time specifically when something had gone wrong with my car—which was not unusual. My brakes were squealing like a toddler on the playground with a pulled-pigtail, and I had been telling my Dad about it for what seemed like a month. Alas, there was still no repair, as my Dad was the family mechanic. Finally, with all of the teenage dramatics I could muster up, I went off on my Dad. I told him that I really needed him to fix the issue with my car. I told him that he always put things off. I told him that the squealing brakes were a safety issue. It was likely that I might slam into a tree or pedestrian because they wouldn’t function properly. Was he really this careless when it came to the safety of his only son? I told him the brakes were hurting my social life, which was already difficult enough to navigate with a silent vehicle. Girls wouldn’t even look at me if I had squeaky brakes. And if they didn’t look at me, I could never find someone to be with. Did he really want grandchildren? Well if he did, he better get to fixing those brakes!

After my tirade of nauseating complaints, my Dad just looked at me, months removed from that sermon, and delivered the ultimate comeback:

“You’ve got a little raisin heart,” he said. “You need a grape heart.”

Good luck coming up with a witty retort for that one. I had nothing.

I wasn’t the only victim of the “raisin heart” accusation. As all husbands and wives do, my Mom and Dad would occasionally bicker about things that needed to be done around the house. Mom, the keeper of the most immaculate and well-cleaned house I’ve ever seen, would grow frustrated with projects that would pile up around the house that my Dad had promised to take care of. He had promised to repair the holes in the wall from our fallen Christmas tree, but there were still two huge bolts in the living room from many, many years ago. He promised to clean up the garage and organize his tools (by the way, how much did he spend on that new Dewalt accessory?!), but there was still only room for one car in a two in a half car garage. And don’t you even get her started on that breaker that keeps shutting off every time we used the microwave and space heater at the same time! (My Dad has been gone for nearly five years, and that one still isn’t fixed…)

Dad, with all the sincerity and coolness that he brought to every situation, would simply look at my Mom with a loving smile and say “You’ve got a little raisin heart. You need a grape heart.”

Her comebacks to that were as nonexistent as mine.

Dad would use that refrain many, many times throughout the years to shut down arguments. And the sad part is—it always worked! We always, always let him get away with it! For all the times he used that line, we were never able to come up with a legitimate response.

Probably because we knew, deep down, that he was right. And also because my Dad lived with a grape heart each and every day of his life.

It’s easy to say this after someone is gone, but I would have said it when he was alive too. My Dad lived his life with more love than anyone I have ever known. My Dad lived his life so that others around him knew he loved them. In essence, my Dad lived with a grape heart, just like Pastor Ted had encouraged us to do many years ago. Dad lived with so much love that his heart was bursting at the seams. He lived with so much love that his heart was constantly overflowing with the love he felt for others and the world around him.

In true grape heart fashion, my Dad did more than tell people he loved them (which he often did). My Dad showed people that he loved them. I can’t even begin to recount all of the times that my Dad would show up at someone’s house who needed a repair. From installing ceiling fans to electrical repairs, my Dad was “that guy”. He was that guy that you knew would show up if you needed help with something. He was that guy who would show up to help you not out of obligation, but because he legitimately wanted to help. He didn’t do this for the gratitude. He didn’t do this out of any self-righteous desire to show how smart and talented he was. He did this because he had a grape heart—a heart bursting at the seams from all the love that it contained.

My Dad embodied the grape heart message long before he heard it, but I know that sermon left a lasting impact on him and the way he lived his life. Months and years after he heard that message, Dad still talked about it and made references to it. When it came to sermons, my Dad was a simple guy. He didn’t need complex theology. He didn’t need complicated or fanciful rhetoric. All he needed was the Scripture. All he needed was a bag with a grape and a raisin.

All he needed was a message of love.

Maybe you’re confused like I am. Maybe you’re reading and wondering how someone with this grape heart could succumb to a death from suicide. How could a person with a grape heart feel like life was unlivable?

As confused as I was at first by my Dad’s death, and on many days I still am, I think that his grape heart was precisely the reason why his depression could so severely manipulate his mind. Dad loved people, and he didn’t want to let them down. He never wanted to disappoint those he loved. Being “that guy” with a grape-heart attitude towards life, my Dad couldn’t bear to admit when he needed help and when he needed saving. Dad relied on that love for life, and when his depression got particularly strong, it preyed on his heart. His depression preyed on a misconception that if he let people down, they would think he didn’t love them.

I wish I could tell him we could never, ever be disappointed in him. I wish I could tell him that we would never stop loving him.

Above all, I wish that I had loved my Dad with more of a grape heart.

My Dad taught me how to love people. He taught me that grape-hearted people need to put hands and feet to the idea of love. Saying you love is one thing, but showing is confirmation of that love’s reality. I am learning day by day because of the example my Dad gave me. I don’t always do it perfectly, and the many times that I failed to show my Dad I loved him are examples of that. In spite of all my regrets, however, I’m thankful that on that fateful day when I saw him for the last time, I told him that I loved him. I told him how much he meant to me. I told him that we needed him in this life—not for what he did, but for who he was.

And now, almost five years removed from his death, I still need him. I still need his grape heart to love me and lead me. I still need the example that he set. I will never stop needing my Dad. Even though he can’t be here with me, I feel him near on so many days. Nearly every day in a different way, I’m reminded that his grape heart beats on.

Every now and then, usually right when I need it most, I hear a new story about my Dad that I hadn’t previously heard. I love hearing those stories. When I learn something new about my Dad, it’s like he’s still alive. If his new stories live on, so will he. And usually, those stories are always centered around the love he showed to someone. It’s the lunch he bought for someone he saw at a local restaurant. It’s the tool he leant to a neighbor or the well he helped install when a neighbor’s water went out. It’s the lengthy conversation he had with someone who was hurting deep down. It’s the car engines he fixed, the funny cards he gave, the jokes he told, the hospital visits, and so many more wonderful examples of grape-hearted love.

I’ll always remember that sermon and the way my Dad reacted to it. He didn’t just listen. He learned, and he lived differently as a result. He did more than eat a raisin and a grape. He let that grape heart of his change the world around him.

And I’ll always love my grape-hearted Dad.

Dad, I can still go back to that specific Sunday morning and remember the quizzical look on your face when we were handed that baggie with a grape and a raisin. I can remember and picture the way you engaged in that illustration. I can remember you always reminding me many Sundays after that about how I needed to live with a grape heart. But more than all of those memories, I remember the way you lived. I remember the way you loved others. I remember the way you lived and loved with a grape heart every single day. I’m trying to live more like you because you always showed people that your love was more than a sentiment. It meant something and it made a difference. It’s hard to find people who love others the way you did—and the way you still do from above. I still feel your love each and every day. I still feel your love guiding me through all the good times and the difficult times, and I’m thankful that your grape heart lives on. I wish I could tell you this in person. I wish I could give you the praise that you deserved. Until I can see you again and give you a big hug, seeya Bub.

“Let all that you do be done in love.” 1 Corinthians 16:14 (ESV)

The Church Must Speak (Part 3): Solutions

On August 24, 2017 By seeyabubIn ChristianityLeave a comment

Note: This is the concluding piece in a series on mental illness and the Christian church. Before reading, please read the introductory message on the silence of the church (Part 1), and the previous post on the stigmas that cause this silence (Part 2).

Silence pervades our pews.

Silence pervades our pulpits.

Silence causes Christians to continue hurting unnecessarily.

And we should do something about it.

Yet, the church largely recoils when they have a chance to address the stigmas that cause this silence.

A head on attack is needed. It’s time for Christians to put on the armor of God and face this enemy down once and for all.

We can talk about the silence, and we can talk about the stigmas. But we have to talk about the solutions to make any real and lasting change.

I’ve said this a few times in this short series, but I feel the need to say it again. I’m not a trained minister. I didn’t go to college for theology or ministerial education. I’ve never led a church from the corner office or the pulpit.

But I have sat in the pews brokenhearted. I have watched people in the church, like my Dad, feel like their struggles with mental illness and depression are still unspeakable. I’ve felt the deep wounds of suicide and the loss of a loved one that results.

And I want to do something about it.

So, I set out to write this series knowing that I would end right here. I knew that I would end my writing about the church and mental illness from a vantage point of productivity and action. I knew that solutions would be the end game.

To some, these solutions might seem obvious, and others may find their churches are already doing these things (which I hope is the case). But for me and my vantage point on the larger Christian church in America, I think enacting these five solutions would help the church became the leader in the fight against mental illness.

Solution 1: Pastors and ministers must find the courage to speak from the pulpit about mental illness. Pastors and clergymen: You’ve been called by God to lead your flock—the entire flock. And that includes members of your flock who suffer from mental illness.

God has given you a tremendous responsibility, and I don’t envy the job he’s entrusted to you. You have a difficult mission on this Earth, no doubt. There is unbelievable responsibility heaped upon your shoulders. But you’ve been selected for this job by God for a reason, and you are more equipped than you think to lead your congregations on this issue.

As I mentioned in earlier posts, research has shown that most pastors who avoid preaching on the topic of mental illness do so because they feel unprepared and unequipped to talk intelligently about the topic. This can no longer be an excuse. Pastors and church representatives should take the responsibility to be active learners and to seek out the information they currently lack. I’m not saying that all pastors should have to earn a doctorate in psychology, but I am saying that they should find ways, both formal and informal, to familiarize themselves with the topic. Maybe it’s a book. Maybe it’s a YouTube series. Maybe it’s coffee and a conversation with a local mental health professional in your community. No matter the method, it’s time for pastors to buckle down and understand the ins and outs of depression, anxiety, suicide, and all the other mental illnesses that our fellow believers suffer from.

If 20% of your congregation suddenly lost a family member to cancer, I’m sure you would do whatever it took to learn more about the disease and how to cope with sudden and instantaneous grief. If 20% of your congregation had to file personal bankruptcy, I’m sure you would take this as a cue to learn more about God’s plan for our finances. You might even preach an entire series on God’s perspective of wealth, money, and tithing.

So why do we not treat mental illness with this same level of interest and seriousness?

Studies have shown us that it is very likely that at least 20% of your congregation is suffering from some form of mental illness. So, it’s time for you to be a student again. It’s time for you to equip yourself with knowledge. We can’t just hide behind the excuse that we aren’t equipped to talk about the subject as a cop out. We live in the greatest information age of all time. Yes, we may have to work and be studious to understand it, but I believe God has called you to do that.

Solution 2: Churches should provide education campaigns to their entire congregation (not just those who are suffering) to help counter the dangerous stigmas that exist. Learning and listening cannot be the sole responsibility of church leaders if we expect to win this fight. Churches and congregations across the country must offer and engage in active, intentional educational campaigns to fight back the dangerous stigmas that prevent us from serving the mentally ill. The church should play a more active role in offering education and awareness programs intentionally designed to defeat these faulty beliefs once and for all.

Each church might deliver this differently, which is the beauty of the community God has created. In the 12^th chapter of Romans, Paul beautifully articulates the brilliance of the Christian church, saying that each member (and in effect each church) serves a different purpose in the larger family of Christ. All churches are connected by a common belief system, and there can be no division between us on our foundational beliefs, but God brings together a diverse group of believers for a reason. As a result, their translation of God’s values into particular actions and programs might vary from group to group, as long as they are grounded in the mission and love of Jesus Christ.

Church leaders should pray seriously about how their flock might best engage with the topic of mental illness. For some churches, it might be a sermon series on mental illness. For others, it might be a small group discussion or a Bible/book study. It could be a guest sermon from a Christian counselor who serves those who are suffering. And for others yet, some believers might learn best by actually engaging with the mentally ill at a local treatment facility. No matter the delivery method, Christian believers of all functions within the church, from those at the most powerful positions to the individuals who just worship every Sunday, must fight ignorance with knowledge and information. Walk a mile in their shoes. Work to understand what you don’t understand. Jesus came down to walk among us, and we should also walk amongst those who are hurting.

Let me add an important note: If you are offering these programs solely to those who are suffering, you really are preaching to the choir (pun absolutely intended). Yes, service programs and support groups are extremely valuable, and I’ll discuss this later on. But education campaigns are intended to develop empathy in those who do not understand or identify with the pain of mental illness. That’s why I believe it is important to offer these types of discussions in prime-time settings. Don’t relegate the discussion of mental illness to a time slot that will miss the majority of your parishioners. Bring the discussion into the light. By talking about this topic during a traditional worship service that involves all church members—both the sufferers and those who are not afflicted—you remove the guilt and stigma attached to mental illness and chip away at the secrecy that prevents many from seeking help. These programs will only make monumental change within the Christian community if they are offered to both those who are suffering and those who are not.

Jesus came to this Earth to be one with us, His believers. Let your congregations learn how to be one with those who are afflicted with mental illness.

Solution 3: Churches shouldn’t feel the need to treat the mentally ill themselves, but should instead be able to connect the suffering with adequate resources and support. Church leaders say they often avoid discussions about mental illness because they are unequipped to treat those who are suffering.

No kidding!

The mentally ill don’t come to your churches to be treated. They come to feel loved. And validated. And important in the eyes of God.

Your job is not to treat the mentally ill. The role of the Christian church is not a treatment facility. The role of the Christian church is a mission of advocacy. Find those who are hurting—and then find them the help they need.

Pastors, church leaders, and congregation members—you do not have an obligation to treat the mentally ill, nor should you attempt to without proper training. You do, however, have an obligation to help these sufferers find appropriate treatment. God calls you to serve, and this is service.

I believe all churches should be well-connected throughout their communities. With medical doctors, and financial planners, and business owners, and educators, and, yes, mental health professionals. So, when a mentally ill brother or sister walks into your church and asks for help, your answer should not be “Sorry about your luck—I don’t have a degree in that.” Your answer should be “I’m sorry that you’re suffering. Let’s work together to find you someone who can help.”

Churches can play a more prominent role in the battle against mental illness if they are able to connect those who are suffering with mental health counselors who might be able to counsel them, diagnose their problem, help them find medical treatment, or create a plan to avoid further pain. Churches can be the conduit through which those individuals find their remedies. Churches can help locate these counselors, make calls with nervous individuals to schedule appointments, pay for co-pays or fees, and a whole host of other compassionate behaviors that Jesus Christ encourages us to live out.

Start small, my friends. Maybe it’s just creating a list of mental health professionals in your community that you can give to someone if they are suffering. That could be the difference between life and death for the person who receives it. Whatever it is, don’t feel the need to be the treatment. Understand your role as the path to treatment, and live it out in each and every interaction.

Solution 4: Churches must build trust among smaller circles in an effort to unify the entire congregation in community. Can you imagine sharing your mental illness in front of your entire congregation? Probably not. But could you imagine sharing it within a small group of fellow believers whom you trust implicitly? Christian community can be found in large groups, but I think it’s often found in smaller, more personal settings.

We don’t have to share our struggles with the entire congregation. We should, however, have small communities and circles within our larger church families where we can share the deepest and darkest corners of our souls with one another.

It’s time for the Christian church to begin normalizing and validating the hurt and pain experienced by those with mental illness. Support groups go a long way in this effort.

In order to normalize the prevalence of mental illness, people who walk into our churches shouldn’t feel like they are the only ones who are suffering. In order to make that happen, we have to show those who are hurting that, yes, Christians suffer too.

Although education and awareness campaigns should reach the entire church (both those who are suffering and those who are not), support groups should be more insular and more safe. Support groups should be a safe haven for the mentally ill to gather with other believers, let their guard downs, and feel a sense of companionship in their similar struggles. Just as churches might offer support groups for grieving widows, divorcees, or singles, churches should create a venue for men and women with similar struggles to come together and share their burdens.

These support groups, ideally, will serve as the baby steps to open a church-wide conversation about mental illness, vulnerability, and common suffering. To expect someone to go from unspoken prayer request to congregation-wide confession is unreasonable. Instead, we should give our parishioners incremental opportunities to strengthen their resolves and experiment with vulnerability. You don’t have to share your struggles with the entire church to achieve Christ-like community.

Remember this: Jesus shared many teachings with everyone he encountered, but he chose to be the most vulnerable with a small group of only 12 ordinary men.

Solution 5: Including but not limited to mental illness, the Christian church must create a culture of openness free of judgment. Mental illness is unique, but it also shares many of the same tendencies with other worries and self-perceived weaknesses. And it’s finally time for the church to say that weaknesses are built into God’s plan. Weaknesses are natural.

How many times have you gone to church in your Sunday best after accumulating the woes and baggage of your Monday-through-Saturday worst? How many times have you sat in the pew, feeling like life could fall apart at any moment? How many times have you walked through the church doors with a smile on your face and the weight of the world weighing on your heart? You’re worried about your job, your finances, your home, your family, your self-image, and everything that comes along with life on this planet. Then, a fellow worshiper walks up to you with a smile on their face and says “Hi! How are you today?”

And with all this weight and all these burdens, you answer “I’m doing good!”

I’ve done it. I still do. And I feel like a coward every single time.

Brothers and sisters, I ask you this—if we can’t be broken in the church, where can we be broken? If it’s not safe to be vulnerable in the house of God, then just where else do we go? If I can’t go to church and feel that it’s okay to not be okay, where else should I turn?

There should be a directive on every church door in America that reads “Leave your mask at home.”

It’s time for the church to do more than open our doors. It’s time for the church to open our eyes, our ears, and most importantly our hearts.

So, we must actively monitor our reactions when people share their struggles. We must eliminate the judgmental looks and side conversations that arise when someone mentions they are suffering from depression or anxiety or suicidal thoughts.

This one is a little more simple with less concrete steps, but this is how I approach it. I think we should react to people sharing their hurts, fears, and shortcomings the same way Jesus would have reacted. If someone shared a deep hurt, do you think Jesus would have casted them a judgmental look in return? Would he have turned around and gossiped with the disciples and betrayed that person’s trust? Would he encourage that person to just “snap out” of their sin?

Or would Jesus hug that person? Would he cry with them? Would he tell them that there are ways to overcome their sickness? Would he walk next to them and protect them? Would he tell them that even in the midst of the darkest storms, God still loves them?

That’s the Jesus I know. That’s the Jesus I love. And that’s the Jesus I serve.

So, the easiest solution is this: We should treat the mentally ill the way Jesus treats them. With unconditional love, unrelenting compassion, and unbelievable fellowship.

I’ve often thought about what I would want the church to look like if I could make all my wishes and solutions come true. I’ve thought about the stances and actions I’d like to see the church take. And all this thinking brings me right back to where I started…

I’d love to go to church and never hear the phrase “unspoken prayer request” ever again.

I would love to be able to walk into a church and say “You know, I’ve been struggling with the weight of anxiety this week.” Or “I feel like I’m just not quite myself, and I don’t know why.” I long for the day when anyone suffering from mental illness could freely voice their concerns without judgement or undue criticism.

And I’m committing to the fight.

The church must speak, and we are the church.

Are you ready to start talking?

Dad, Although I miss you terribly, I am envious that you are living in the absolute perfection of heaven where all your pain is gone. I know that you are now in a perfect relationship with God—the one that he intended when he created mankind. I hope that I can find the strength to bring this world as close to that perfection as humanly possible. I think about all the times that I didn’t support you when you were suffering the way I should have, and for that I will always be sorry. But, I’m doing my best to make up for my shortcomings. I’m trying to be to others what I wish I would have been to you all along. Dad, I wish I could have created a place where you felt it was okay to admit that you weren’t feeling well and that you were hurting. I promise to make that a reality for all those who are still suffering. And I’ll honor your memory all along the way. Until I can see you and tell you all these things face to face, I’ll always love you. Seeya, Bub.

“For this reason, take up all the armor that God supplies. Then you will be able to take a stand during these evil days. Once you have overcome all obstacles, you will be able to stand your ground.

“So then, take your stand! Fasten truth around your waist like a belt. Put on God’s approval as your breastplate. Put on your shoes so that you are ready to spread the Good News that gives peace. In addition to all these, take the Christian faith as your shield. With it you can put out all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Also take salvation as your helmet and God’s word as the sword that the Spirit supplies.

Pray in the Spirit in every situation. Use every kind of prayer and request there is. For the same reason be alert. Use every kind of effort and make every kind of request for all of God’s people.” Ephesians 6:13-18 (GW)

The Church Must Speak (Part 2): Stigmas

On August 16, 2017August 16, 2017 By seeyabubIn Christianity2 Comments

This is Part 2 in a special three-part series on the Christian church and mental illness. Please make sure you check out Part 1: Silence.

Unspoken prayer requests are unspoken for a reason.

I know that not every unspoken prayer request is related to mental illness; but I do think that a large majority of those who suffer from mental illness are afraid to make it known.

And the last place they should be afraid is the Christian church.

But they are.

When I started this series, the easy part was realizing that the Christian church largely stays silent on the topic of mental illness. The difficult part was understanding why. Why would a caring, loving church stay silent on a topic that affects so many parishioners who sit in the pews week in and week out? Why would the church choose to stay silent when people are broken and hurting? When lives are being lost? When families are being torn apart?

There’s a reason why those unspoken requests continue to remain unspoken.

The stigmas that surround mental illness, although mostly untrue, are just as pervasive in the church as they are in any other institution in our society. And these stigmas are preventing people from finding the peace they deserve—and the love that Christ wants them to experience.

So what are these stigmas? What are these faulty thoughts surrounding mental illness and suicide? Why are they still alive in the modern church? How foolish are they? And what can we do to counter them? I have my ideas.

To prevent these stigmas from spreading, we’ve got to understand just how faulty they actually are. So, for the rest of this post, I’m going to ask you to engage in a bit of a metaphor with me.

I want you to imagine that a man comes to your church with a broken leg. He hobbles in on crutches. A huge, fiberglass cast holds his shattered bones into place. After some uncomfortable shuffling, he eventually finds a pew near the back of the church in an attempt to avoid the eyes of his fellow worshipers.

Now, imagine that you notice this man. And imagine that you immediately judge him negatively because of his broken leg. Or you question his walk with God. Or worse…you completely ignore him and his pain.

Crazy, right?

If someone has a broken leg in the church, we don’t ask any questions about why their leg is broken, but we offer to help. In any way we can.

If someone in the church has a brain function or thought process that is broken, however, our reaction is very, very different. And this differentiation is at the heart of the stigmas that prevent the Christian church, largely, from serving the mentally ill.

That, my friends, is the heart of my argument. Although the response and treatment for an injured leg and an injured brain are vastly different, our Christian response to each of those injuries should operate from the same exact place of love and compassion, not judgement. We must counter the stigmas; but to counter them, we have to call them out, one by one. Although there are many stigmas about mental illness that run rampant in both the church and everyday American society, I believe these three are the most particularly dangerous and damaging.

STIGMA 1: If you suffer from mental illness, your spirit is weak, your faith is low, or you are distant from God. Situate this stigma in the context of the conversation we had just a moment ago. Imagine if I had the audacity to question the physical or spiritual fortitude of the man with the broken leg. “Man, you must have some pretty weak bones there fella,” I would say to him. Or “That’s what you get for not drinking enough milk!” Or worse, imagine if I said, “Wow, what did you do to make God so mad that he broke your leg?!” If I ever responded to anyone with a broken leg with an attitude like that, everyone in the church would immediately call me a hypocrite. They would call out my lack of compassion—rightly so!

But there are believers in the Christian church each and every day who make those same judgments about their brothers and sisters who suffer from mental illness. They secretly call them crazy. They avoid interaction with these people. They question whether or not they actually believe in God at all.

This type of thinking is completely unacceptable.

I can’t speak to the root of each and every person’s own individual struggle with mental illness. I can’t say with 100% certainty that all cases of mental illness have nothing to do with a larger spiritual battle. But I can say that believing every case of mental illness stems from a person’s personal walk with Christ is foolish.

And I can also say I’ve encountered this stigma.

No, I’ve never interacted with someone after my Dad’s death who comes right out and says, “Your Father must have been mad at or distant from God,” but they don’t have to come right out and say it. I can see it in their eyes. I can tell that they don’t want to engage because they think of my Father as someone who must have had little faith in God.

But I can tell you that my Dad believed in God. He believed in the power of the Cross. He loved Jesus—and more importantly lived his life in a way that showed people how much he loved Jesus. But my Father’s mind was highjacked by a horrible, complex, and devastating disease. Just like someone who loses a family member to cancer or heart disease, I lost my Father to suicide. Suicide, a debilitating disease that clouds the mind and warps the senses stole my Father. In fact, I think my Father’s faith is probably the thing that allowed him to fight as successfully as he did for so long.

I think one of the most Christ-like things we can do is admit that sometimes, we just don’t know why certain things happen. And I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t always understand depression and mental illness. It could be spiritual, for some. It could be neurochemical and physiological for others. It could be brought on by dire circumstances or a whole host of other influences. But, like Jesus, I want to listen to people who are hurting. I want to listen to people who are suffering, hear their stories, and help them find comfort in the arms of Christ. And if I automatically assume that every battle with depression is entirely spiritual in nature, I’m missing the point of Jesus’ ministry—and so is His church.

STIGMA 2: Suicide is the unforgivable sin, and if you’ve ever entertained it or had suicidal ideations, you’ll never be forgiven. As a Christian, you should just know this isn’t an option. Somehow, we’ve come to believe in the church that suicide is a sin that is elevated above any other—and, unfortunately, we lump mental illness into this bucket of “unforgivable sins” that don’t actually exist.

Go back to the poor man I described in the previous section with a bum leg. Put yourself in his shoes (and cast). Imagine if someone told you that your struggle to stay healthy must be a punishment from God for some sin you had committed. Would it make you want to serve Him? Or would it scare you?

I don’t know about you, but I serve a loving God. I serve a compassionate, forgiving God. And I serve a God who says I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist. Return to me, for I have redeemed you” (Isaiah 44:22, NIV).

Unfortunately, there are a whole host of people in the larger Christian church who, whether consciously or underneath the surface, believe that there is something unforgivable about mental illness and suicide. I don’t understand this, and I never will.

Charles Stanley is one of the most knowledgeable Christian speakers and scholars of our time, and I remember being given a copy of his book Emotions by my pastor, Harville, after my Dad’s death. I tore through page after page because I loved Stanley’s approach to dealing with our emotions (more on Stanley’s book in the Library section), but then my heart froze when I got to page 243 in a chapter entitled “Despair.” My eyes fixed on the word “suicide”, and I began to panic. My palms began to sweat because I was afraid of what might come next. Stanley is a Baptist minister who started his career behind the pulpit in the 1970’s, and I made assumptions about his beliefs on suicide. I worried that a man like Stanley—a studied and learned man—was going to tell me something about my Father’s eternity that my heart couldn’t bear to hear.

And then, with the tenderness I needed in just that moment, Stanley penned the words that my broken heart needed to hear. He wrote:

“Now, before we move on, let me clear up a misconception I frequently hear repeated. If you or someone you love has attempted suicide, please be assured that it is not the unpardonable sin. Some believe it is because the person does not have the opportunity to repent, but nothing in God’s Word suggests suicide will not be forgiven” (p. 246).

I put down the book, and I began crying. God knows my heart, and He knows I’m a natural skeptic, and he knew that I would need the perspective of a Biblical scholar like Charles Stanley to convince me that my Dad’s heart—and his Eternity—belonged to the Lord and Savior he served.

And it’s not just Stanley. After reading his book, I sought out more and more perspectives. And everywhere I looked I found the same thing from Christian scholars I knew I could trust—mental illness and suicide are not the unpardonable sin.

But the words of men shouldn’t be enough to convince us. Those of us in the Church should let everything we do be dictated by the Word of God, and nowhere in the Bible am I able to find evidence that those who suffer from mental illness or suicidal ideations are not welcome at the foot of the Cross.

In fact, I find example after example of broken, hurting people finding comfort in the arms of Jesus Christ.

Don’t miss what I’m saying—I don’t want to minimize the devastating impact of suicide. It’s horrible and it’s irreversible. It leaves a chaotic imprint on the hearts and minds of those who are left behind to deal with the trauma, anguish, and confusion. My Dad’s death has put questions on my heart that I know I’ll never have answers to on this side of Eternity. This one isn’t easy. We have to find a way to talk about mental illness and suicide in the Church without encouraging emotionally vulnerable and hurting people to do something they might regret. We have to let them know that even though all of our sins are forgiven, it doesn’t erase the collateral damage that a suicide might inflict. In showing God’s love, the suffering and potentially suicidal person will hopefully see the love of a fellow Christian that will encourage them to find help.

But in order to even bring those people into the conversation, we have to make them feel loved. And sending them the signal that their pain is unforgivable will immediately close off their path to the Cross.

STIGMA 3: I want to help you, but I don’t know how. In the Lifeway study that I shared last week, a large number of pastors who said they don’t regularly talk about the topic of mental health in their churches brought up a common reason for avoiding the subject: they said they aren’t prepared to help those people who are suffering. They worried that they didn’t have the knowledge or academic background or expertise to aid the mentally ill and potentially suicidal, so they avoided the topic all together.

Guess what? You’re more equipped than you think you are. We all are.

Let’s jump back to my metaphor once more. Imagine going up to the person with the broken leg in your church and saying “I would love to help you, but I’m not a doctor and I don’t know anything about how to mend bones. So best of luck!” It’s ludicrous, but it’s also what we are doing with mental health.

Pastors and church leaders, you are right. I don’t expect you to have the same knowledge as a trained clinical professional in the field of psychology. I also don’t expect you to have the medical knowledge of a physician, but I do expect you to talk about dealing with tragic illnesses. I don’t expect you to have the training and knowledge of a financial planner, but I do expect you to talk to Christians about their finances and God’s perspective on money and wealth. I don’t expect you to have the scientific background of Einstein, but I do expect you to talk about how Christians should treat the gift of God’s Creation.

So yes, I expect you to talk about mental illness, even if you don’t have all the answers.

You may not have the academic training or credentials, but you do have the wherewithal and perspective on the power of the Holy Spirit to direct hurting and broken people to the resources they need. No, you may not be able to fix the problem yourself—but isn’t that the point? Isn’t the true message of following Christ a desire to let the Holy Spirit work in our lives to pick us up when we can stand no longer? Isn’t the point of the Church to bring together people with different talents and functions and backgrounds to serve God and serve one another? You might not be able to solve the problem for that person, but you can pray for a solution. You can pray over their problem with them and pray for answers from above. Those answers may come in the form of a Christian counselor, a medical physician, or a clinical psychologist or therapist who can help that suffering person find the treatment they deserve.

I’ll say it as clearly as I know how: A lack of knowledge is not an excuse for a lack of empathy.

And that help is exactly why I write. I don’t point out the faults of the Christian church’s approach to mental illness purely as a critic. I come to the table desperately seeking solutions. I come to this conversation with a positive and optimistic belief that, together, God’s people can unite as a strong army in the fight against mental illness, depression, and suicide. I believe that we can counter these stigmas head on in our congregations and communities, and I believe we can change the world, just like our Father calls us to do.

I recognize the silence. I know there are stigmas.

What do we to counter all of this?

I’ll offer those solutions in next week’s conclusion.

Dad, I’m ashamed to say that it took your struggle and your death for me to realize just how hard the struggle to overcome mental illness really is. And it took losing you to soften my heart for other people who are hurting. It took watching you suffer to realize that mental illness is complex and hard to understand. It took your hurt for me to understand that mental illness is unpredictable and so very difficult to counter. It took losing you for me to understand how the judgement of mental illness weighs on an already heavy heart. It took losing you for me to realize that there are simple ways to help hurting people that might make all the difference. Dad, I think about you each and every day, and I think what more I could have done as a son and as a fellow follower of Jesus Christ to help you find the comfort and peace that you deserved. But I know, deep down, you’ve found an abundant and everlasting peace in Heaven. I would do anything I could to have you back here with me, but for now I’ll fight to help others who, like you, are hurting and fearful that they will never find acceptance. I love you, Dad, and I miss you dearly. Until my fight is complete, seeya Bub.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18 (NIV)

The Church Must Speak (Part 1): Silence

On August 10, 2017February 11, 2018 By seeyabubIn Christianity2 Comments

From the time I was little, I grew up in churches where the pastor would beckon for prayer requests from the pulpit. Over those next few minutes, the pastor would look out over the congregation and field requests from the flock. Physical ailments, family struggles, and difficult job situations always prevailed.

Usually, about halfway through the list of prayer requests, someone would raise their hand and ask for prayer for an “unspoken request.” Then, the pastor would ask the congregation if there was anyone else with an unspoken request, and a spattering of hands would shoot towards the rafters.

I remember people asking for prayer for sick family members and neighbors. I remember prayer requests for job situations. But in the litany of prayer requests that were offered, I can’t remember a time in my life in the church where someone asked God to heal their particular struggles with mental illness, depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, suicidal ideations, or any of the other brain illnesses that plague our society.

But I heard and saw the requests for prayer regarding unspoken (and apparently unspeakable) issues. And it wasn’t until my Dad died from suicide that I began to connect the dots between mental illness and unspoken prayer requests.

The Christian church must speak.

God’s people need to hear it.

I need to hear it.

And God wants His Church to speak—I’m confident of that.

I grew up in the Christian church and I am still a proud member of the Christian church, and I’ll be the first one to admit this unfortunate fact: Largely, the Christian church in America remains silent when it comes to the issue of mental illness.

My accusation is not an original one. Listen to Perry Noble, the former pastor of NewSpring church and author of the book Overwhelmed: Winning the War Against Worry. Noble has had his own struggles with depression, and the church wasn’t a place that was equipped to heal his suffering:

“In late 2008, I sank into a black hole that I now know was depression. It was the darkest time of my life, and I honestly wanted to die. I was so desperate to find relief that I seriously thought about ending my own life. And it wasn’t because I didn’t love Jesus, but rather because I had allowed my life to get out of control.

Believe it or not, people [who belong to the church] on the right side of the cross struggle with depression.

The sad thing is that in all my years of church work, I can’t recall hearing a single message on the subject of depression. I’ve even heard church leaders say that if a person is dealing with depression, it’s because of some unconfessed sin that needs to be dealt with.”[1]

Listen to Dr. Frank Page. Page is the president and CEO of the Executive Committee of the Southern Baptist Convention, and a pastor for more than three decades. Personally, Page knows the pain of depression in a way few others could understand, as his daughter Melissa tragically lost her life to mental illness and suicide. In a special study I taught at my church, Paige writes:

“We readily pray for one another when we’re dealing with sickness, surgeries, cancer, or some chronic illness. Mental illness, on the other hand, is not often mentioned. Mental illness can take many forms, and it is estimated that 1 in 10 people suffer from depression. People suffering from mental illness are all around us, including the church. Instead of ignoring the issue, let’s consider a far more positive approach.”[2]

(Both of these authors have amazing books that I’ve listed in the Library section of Seeya Bub if you’d like to check them out and read more.)

Listen to nearly any pastor in the Christian church today, and I think that if they’re being honest they will readily admit that mental illness is often something that is either ignored or could be discussed more within their own congregation…until it’s usually too late for someone.

Listen to the numbers. Lifeway Research conducted a comprehensive survey in 2014 where they talked to pastors about mental illness and the response of the church to these issues. In that survey, Lifeway asked how often pastors speak to the church in sermons or large group messages about mental illness.

3% of the pastors surveyed said that they spoke about the topic of mental illness several times a month.
4% said they spoke about mental illness at least once a month.
26% said they spoke about mental illness several times a year. And an overwhelming 66% of the pastors surveyed said that they spoke about mental illness once a year, rarely, or never at all.[3]

So…7% of pastors are speaking about mental illness regularly, and 92% either infrequently or never discuss a topic plaguing a large number of Americans and certainly congregation members.

The reality is this: People who sit in the pews week in and week out are suffering from these issues. I’ve suffered, my Dad suffered, and countless Christians that I’ve had conversations with have had these same struggles. But for some reason, the church doesn’t speak to them.

And I believe people all throughout Biblical history have suffered from depression, even if they didn’t have a formal name to put to it. In the book of Psalms, David swings back and forth from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. And boy, are those lows really, really low. Take a look at Psalm 6 where David says:

Be merciful to me, LORD, for I am faint;O LORD, heal me, for my bones are in agony. My soul is in anguish. How long, O LORD, how long? Turn, O LORD, and deliver me;
…I am worn out from groaning; all night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears. My eyes grow weak with sorrow; they fail because of all my foes. (v. 2-7, NIV)

Sounds a lot like some stories I’ve read from those suffering from mental illness…

The Apostle Paul accomplished more than any man in the church after Jesus Christ, in my opinion. He had more to boast about and be happy in than anyone, but some propose that even he suffered from a period or bout of mental illness. 2 Corinthians 12:7-9 shines some light on this claim:

Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. ⁸Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. ⁹But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (NIV)

And don’t even make me get started on that poor Job fella…

I’m confident that God included these Biblical examples in our history to offer comfort to those who are suffering centuries later. If men like Paul and Moses and David and Job and Noah could suffer and still be loved and used by God, so can I. So can you. So could men like my Dad. I think God is telling us that it’s okay to not be okay…but that it’s not okay to stay that way. That’s where the church should come in.

Whether they are talking about mental illness or not, our churches are all sending a message about mental illness; unfortunately, the signal sent through silence is not the one that I believe Jesus wants us to send. When the church is silent on the topic of mental illness, it sends the message that the church doesn’t care. Or worse, that the church knows people are suffering but refuses to do anything about it.

This all comes back to my belief (not my original words) that the Christian church should be a hospital for broken people, not a museum for perfect people. If there is anywhere that people with mental illnesses should feel free to talk about their struggles, it should be the church. If there are any people that should be trusted confidants and judgement-free sources of help and support, they should be God’s people. If there is anyone that should be able to tell those with mental illness that God loves them and wants to see them healed, it should be God’s mouthpieces here on Earth doing the encouraging.

Jesus makes it clear in Matthew 11:28: “Come to me, all who are tired from carrying heavy loads, and I will give you rest” (GW). I know my Dad and the millions of others who suffered from mental illness felt tired. I know they felt weary. Jesus didn’t tell them to take their problems somewhere else because the church isn’t equipped. He said to bring those troubles to His feet.

We can’t be silent anymore. Jesus doesn’t want us to be silent. He wants His church to speak. And speak we must.

In the next few weeks, I am going to embark on a journey through this blog to encourage the Christian church and all believers to reflect on what they can do in the fight against mental illness, depression, and suicide. This is an important fight. It’s a fight for our lives and the lives of those we love.

In the next part of this three-part series, I will talk about the faulty thinking that I feel is at the root of the church’s silence. I will dig deep into the myths of mental illness that have paralyzed the church’s progress in this fight.

I’ll conclude this series by talking about solutions. I think Jesus commands His church to serve those who are suffering, including the mentally ill. I’ll talk about the practical solutions that will make the church relevant in this battle, and the need for all churches to stand up and speak out.

Above anything I write, I ask in this moment and in the weeks to follow for your prayers. I am not trained or educated in theology. I am not a pastor. I am, however, a hopefully-humble servant of Jesus Christ, and a grieving son who longs to protect others from the fate that found my Father. I ask that you pray for me in the days and weeks to come as I write, share, and engage. I hope you will ask God to direct my hand in everything that I do through this series. I’m speaking because I wish the church had spoken to my Dad. I speak because I want the church that I love dearly to speak, too.

I speak with the hope that some other boy will be able to sit in the pew next to his Dad longer than I did.

Dad, Since the time I was a little boy, you always taught me the importance of my relationship with Jesus. But you always taught me that my relationship with Jesus always needed to be reflected in my relationship with other people. I can’t imagine how many times we must have went to church together when you were hurting more than I ever knew. I wish I knew what to do then. I hope that I know what to do now. I’m trying my hardest to change the world around me, to make it a better place for those who are suffering like you did. Thank you for giving me a lifetime of inspiration, Dad. I’ll never get over losing you, but until we are together again, seeya Bub.