Dark Nights of the Soul
First came his parents' divorce. Suddenly the safety of home became a gaping wound, hemorrhaging tears and pain, but silently, quietly, because he had to be strong for his mother and his sisters. Besides where could he take his brokenness, his anger, his rage? He was a new Christian, and Christians don’t feel these kinds of feelings. Christians are supposed to forgive, and trust God. So he was ok, fine, good, and strong. Besides, divorce was a shameful thing back then. So he buried it.
Then came the annual trip to his relatives, the one where he discovered his cousin had a stack of porn hidden under his bed. Titillated and appalled, aroused and ashamed, he sinned. And then he sinned again. And again. Surely God was repulsed. The shame of it all. The self-loathing. The curiosity. The opportunity. The fall. Again. And again. Where could he go? Who could he tell? He was a Christian, and Christians don’t do these things. Christians don’t talk about sex. How many stories had he read of ‘fallen leaders’ who had shamed their churches and shamed their families and lost it all? And now, why was he doing this? Why had God made him that way? And so he prayed. And he fasted. And went on long walks. And read Christian books that said, just say no. And took cold showers. And remained a hypocrite. And found that the only way to cope was to pretend that he was ok. Everything was fine. Oh, yeah, he struggled with ‘temptation’. But God was good. And so this, too, he buried, away and out of sight.
Then came the crowded family get-away where he shared a bed with a relative who came back late and attempted sex then and there. It was so wrong. He pretended sleep and refused to budge, and eventually the attempt was abandoned. But his mind continued to play and replay; but why? How could he be aroused? Homosexuality is an abomination, isn’t it? Why did that guy do this do him? But who could he tell? Not his mother, who so far as he could tell had never ever even said the word s-e-x. Not his pastor? What if the pastor thought that he was, you know, queer? What about his friends? No. Absolutely not. No one would understand. Someone might take it wrong. The risks were too great. And so there seemed to be no other option again but to bury it. Everything was fine. I’m doing ok. Really.
Then came the depression. Seemingly out of the blue, the first time. Oh, yeah, there had been fights with his wife, wounded feelings never amended. And, uh, he was still ‘struggling with temptation,’ all though, truth be told, it had not been much of a struggle for years. And, um, the sexual frustration, and the creeping sexual confusion. But again, where could he take it? He was too much up on a pedestal, model Christian leader, model husband and father. And men like that simply do not have problems like that. And if it turns out that they do have problems like that, retribution is swift. Marriages crumble, jobs are lost, reputations are ruined, futures are destroyed. So he dared not go there.
But the depression nearly undid him. Emotional vertigo, numbness, weariness, apathy, withdrawal, exhaustion, inability to cope, tears. Somehow, by force of sheer will, he did his duty, went to his meetings, preached his sermons, but his spouse bore the brunt of his increasing dysfunction, and finally could take it no longer. But Christian men, Christian leaders are not supposed to have these problems. Their marriages are strong, their children are above average (or is that just Keillor’s Lake Woebegone?), their ministries the talk of the town. Depression is weakness. Depression is failure. Depression is not success. Depression means one is not bearing the ‘fruit of the Spirit’.
Fortunately, a doctor friend had seen this before and suggested that he could help. Medication was prescribed. The symptoms subsided. He felt much better, relieved, restored, even. But within a year of going off his cheap cialis, he relapsed, even more severe than before. More medication, and relief again. And this time he began to realize that his depression was not from ‘out of the blue’. Rather his past was catching up with his present, and his old ways of coping were actually undoing him. Counseling helped. He got perspective. He began to share with a few friends, to let a few friends in on a few of his struggles.
He also shared some of his struggles with his leadership team. But this blew up in his face. The team became united against his continuing in ministry. He was forced to step down immediately, and the church was never told why he left, although rumors were circulated that he was ‘mentally ill’.
So the nightmare became the reality. He was forced to move. He was able to find another position, but not in a church. But then the downward spiral resumed. God was gone. Being with people was painful. His marriage was near death. All was darkness. He could no longer maintain the internal contradictions. Jibbering thoughts raised the possibility of suicide. This was rejected out of hand the first time and the second and the third. But the longer the conversation lasted, the more he could see the point. And this, finally, frightened him into getting help.
With great skill, a psychiatrist used medication to rebuild the floor for his feelings that the depression had taken away. And then carefully, patiently, helped go back and bring out the absent father, the shattering divorce, the self-medicating addiction to pornography, the sexual abuse, the homosexual tendencies, the dysfunctional way of dealing with conflict and pain. And the world didn’t end. And there is hopeful talk of recovery.
But questions remain. Are Job’s friends right after all? Did he get what he deserved? Where was God in all this? Making some celestial point by means of adolescent trauma? Could it be that the parents were meant to be God’s love and care in his life but missed the mark? Could it be that the church family was meant to be God’s grace and mercy in his life but missed the mark? Could it be that he himself was meant to be God’s love and provision for his spouse but missed the mark? Could it be that the church which had asked him to minister in their midst was meant to be God’s compassion and grace in his brokenness but missed the mark? Could it be that God primarily works through means, but that when those means misfire, God’s mercy and compassion and love and provision and grace remain absent from the mix? Finding no partner, does God then leave us to our own devices? God certainly promises somehow to make all things work for the good for those who love him and are called according to his purpose, but such things do not work in a vacuum or appear ex nihilo.
So does God hear prayer? Or answer? Is God at work, even when it’s dark, and silent, and no fixed points remain? Is suffering ever redeemed? How about the mistakes one makes? The wounds one inflicts? Or the sin one commits? Does God restore what the locusts have eaten? Or is that a promise intended only for its original context? Will the darkness ever pass? Will we ever see his light? Or must we always pass this way not by sight, but by faith?
Then came the annual trip to his relatives, the one where he discovered his cousin had a stack of porn hidden under his bed. Titillated and appalled, aroused and ashamed, he sinned. And then he sinned again. And again. Surely God was repulsed. The shame of it all. The self-loathing. The curiosity. The opportunity. The fall. Again. And again. Where could he go? Who could he tell? He was a Christian, and Christians don’t do these things. Christians don’t talk about sex. How many stories had he read of ‘fallen leaders’ who had shamed their churches and shamed their families and lost it all? And now, why was he doing this? Why had God made him that way? And so he prayed. And he fasted. And went on long walks. And read Christian books that said, just say no. And took cold showers. And remained a hypocrite. And found that the only way to cope was to pretend that he was ok. Everything was fine. Oh, yeah, he struggled with ‘temptation’. But God was good. And so this, too, he buried, away and out of sight.
Then came the crowded family get-away where he shared a bed with a relative who came back late and attempted sex then and there. It was so wrong. He pretended sleep and refused to budge, and eventually the attempt was abandoned. But his mind continued to play and replay; but why? How could he be aroused? Homosexuality is an abomination, isn’t it? Why did that guy do this do him? But who could he tell? Not his mother, who so far as he could tell had never ever even said the word s-e-x. Not his pastor? What if the pastor thought that he was, you know, queer? What about his friends? No. Absolutely not. No one would understand. Someone might take it wrong. The risks were too great. And so there seemed to be no other option again but to bury it. Everything was fine. I’m doing ok. Really.
Then came the depression. Seemingly out of the blue, the first time. Oh, yeah, there had been fights with his wife, wounded feelings never amended. And, uh, he was still ‘struggling with temptation,’ all though, truth be told, it had not been much of a struggle for years. And, um, the sexual frustration, and the creeping sexual confusion. But again, where could he take it? He was too much up on a pedestal, model Christian leader, model husband and father. And men like that simply do not have problems like that. And if it turns out that they do have problems like that, retribution is swift. Marriages crumble, jobs are lost, reputations are ruined, futures are destroyed. So he dared not go there.
But the depression nearly undid him. Emotional vertigo, numbness, weariness, apathy, withdrawal, exhaustion, inability to cope, tears. Somehow, by force of sheer will, he did his duty, went to his meetings, preached his sermons, but his spouse bore the brunt of his increasing dysfunction, and finally could take it no longer. But Christian men, Christian leaders are not supposed to have these problems. Their marriages are strong, their children are above average (or is that just Keillor’s Lake Woebegone?), their ministries the talk of the town. Depression is weakness. Depression is failure. Depression is not success. Depression means one is not bearing the ‘fruit of the Spirit’.
Fortunately, a doctor friend had seen this before and suggested that he could help. Medication was prescribed. The symptoms subsided. He felt much better, relieved, restored, even. But within a year of going off his cheap cialis, he relapsed, even more severe than before. More medication, and relief again. And this time he began to realize that his depression was not from ‘out of the blue’. Rather his past was catching up with his present, and his old ways of coping were actually undoing him. Counseling helped. He got perspective. He began to share with a few friends, to let a few friends in on a few of his struggles.
He also shared some of his struggles with his leadership team. But this blew up in his face. The team became united against his continuing in ministry. He was forced to step down immediately, and the church was never told why he left, although rumors were circulated that he was ‘mentally ill’.
So the nightmare became the reality. He was forced to move. He was able to find another position, but not in a church. But then the downward spiral resumed. God was gone. Being with people was painful. His marriage was near death. All was darkness. He could no longer maintain the internal contradictions. Jibbering thoughts raised the possibility of suicide. This was rejected out of hand the first time and the second and the third. But the longer the conversation lasted, the more he could see the point. And this, finally, frightened him into getting help.
With great skill, a psychiatrist used medication to rebuild the floor for his feelings that the depression had taken away. And then carefully, patiently, helped go back and bring out the absent father, the shattering divorce, the self-medicating addiction to pornography, the sexual abuse, the homosexual tendencies, the dysfunctional way of dealing with conflict and pain. And the world didn’t end. And there is hopeful talk of recovery.
But questions remain. Are Job’s friends right after all? Did he get what he deserved? Where was God in all this? Making some celestial point by means of adolescent trauma? Could it be that the parents were meant to be God’s love and care in his life but missed the mark? Could it be that the church family was meant to be God’s grace and mercy in his life but missed the mark? Could it be that he himself was meant to be God’s love and provision for his spouse but missed the mark? Could it be that the church which had asked him to minister in their midst was meant to be God’s compassion and grace in his brokenness but missed the mark? Could it be that God primarily works through means, but that when those means misfire, God’s mercy and compassion and love and provision and grace remain absent from the mix? Finding no partner, does God then leave us to our own devices? God certainly promises somehow to make all things work for the good for those who love him and are called according to his purpose, but such things do not work in a vacuum or appear ex nihilo.
So does God hear prayer? Or answer? Is God at work, even when it’s dark, and silent, and no fixed points remain? Is suffering ever redeemed? How about the mistakes one makes? The wounds one inflicts? Or the sin one commits? Does God restore what the locusts have eaten? Or is that a promise intended only for its original context? Will the darkness ever pass? Will we ever see his light? Or must we always pass this way not by sight, but by faith?