Good news for those with mental illness.

Paul, David, and the raw honesty of mental health in Scripture.

Photo by Yoal Desurmont on Unsplash

A version of this article originally appeared on 1517. Some of the themes that are referenced below are developed further in Chapter 5 of my book, Finding God in the Darkness: Hopeful Reflections from the Pits of Depression, Despair, and Disappointment. Grab your copy today!

Although separated by dozens of centuries, Paul and David share a striking coherence in the experiential honesty and aversion to self-aggrandizement in their biblical writings. (Paul only capitulates to talking about himself after the Corinthians effectively force his hand to do so [2 Cor. 11:1ff].) Instead, these two biblical writers are much more comfortable relaying their weaknesses, shortcomings, and the unforeseen dose of comfort that comes from God’s Word and Spirit amid their worst moments as opposed to brandishing their feats of pious performance. Their candor never succumbs to self-loathing or self-pity. Rather, in the light of God’s free grace, they freely confess some of the deepest hurts and pains known to man in the assurance that their Lord would not only understand but also stand in solidarity with them in their trouble.

Accordingly, as Paul begins his second canonical letter to the Corinthian Church, he vulnerably shares how a recent ordeal pressed upon him so severely that he “despaired of life itself” (2 Cor. 1:8). This isn’t an exaggerated sentiment meant to endear himself to a congregation whose trust he had recently lost. This confession of absolute honesty clarified that Paul’s spiritual fortitude was found not in himself. Instead, when faced with the unavoidable menace of grief and discouragement, he was reminded, as he reminds the Corinthians, that the only solace for despairing souls is the “God who raises the dead” (2 Cor. 1:10). David, likewise, bears his soul throughout the Psalter with stanzas that vividly portray the unutterable groanings of his troubled soul. Indeed, the touchstone of the Davidic Psalms is his free admission of his own desperation (Ps. 6:7). David felt secure divulging the darkest parts of himself because he knew the sort of God he had, namely, one who was “near to the brokenhearted” and those “crushed in spirit” (Ps. 34:18).

Not without precedent, then, the Christian church has long perpetuated a virtuous perspective of life’s trying seasons. Pastors and theologians fondly quote from James, in addition to David and Paul, reminding despairing souls that “testing produces steadfastness” (James 1:3). Much of the rhetoric of the church, therefore, posits a divine purpose underneath the bedlam of our terrestrial suffering and sorrow. Yet, for whatever reason, that rubric is too often forgotten in many modern discussions on mental health issues within the church. Tribulations are crucibles for faith and spirituality — except if that tribulation includes chronic mood swings, suicidal thoughts, and a melancholic disinterest in the affairs of the day-to-day. For one enduring this form of suffering, church leaders too often resort to unhelpful proverbs on the virtues of an industrious faith, how getting up before the sun is included in God’s “Golden Rule,” and how everything happens for a reason.

I can recall one preacher who, while preaching from Romans 15:13, insisted that in order to dispel anxiety, all one needs to do is try harder to believe in the truths of that verse. This reductive rhetoric, while commonplace within certain corners of broader evangelicalism, is harmful and only serves to exacerbate a sufferer’s pain rather than alleviate it. Tragically, the church too often categorizes the topics of depression and mental health as simple issues quickly resolved through biblical counseling and rigorous study. It is pastorally negligent and scripturally dishonest to passingly dismiss hardships such as PTSD, OCD, ADHD, and the like, let alone to publicly suggest that these and other mental health afflictions are nothing more than “noble lies” meant to palliate individuals who have never learned how to “navigate grief.” This line of thinking fails to understand mental illness and all of its variegated forms with which humanity is tormented.

Lost in this rhetoric is the basic fact that mankind — body, mind, and soul — is thoroughly corrupted by the Fall. Just like death itself, depression and other forms of mental health illnesses are the fruit of our first parents’ egregious choice in the paradise of Eden. Part of the fallout of the Fall are minds that are more than a little fragile, which, likewise, means that the ultimate remedy for mental health, as in the case of sin and death, isn’t attainable by the likes of you and me. The perfidious afflictions of mental illness aren’t vanquishable by self-made swords. No amount of spiritual discipline or mental acuity can thwart the menace of depression or any of its deplorable cousins. Just as one would visit an orthopedic surgeon to correct a ligament tear, so, too, should we feel liberated to resort to physicians whose specialty is to investigate and inquire about the abnormalities in the way we think, grieve, and process emotion. Doing so may not always result in entire healing, but it can equip us and put us in a better position to cope. 

In the end, just like Paul and David before him, the only hope for our kaleidoscopic suffering comes in the form of a God who sympathizes with our weaknesses and stands in solidarity with our infirmities. This, of course, is precisely who Christ is. He is our consummate sufferer who willingly submerges himself in the depths of humanity’s darkest sins and deepest sorrows. He isn’t aloof to your infirmity or adversity. For you who are struggling to navigate grief, cope with pain, or breathe through anxiety, the gospel announces that there is a person whose heart throbs for you. The body and blood of Christ abide as an everlasting testimony of God’s familiarity with our griefs and struggles, offering solace to every sufferer.