I am nothing, right?

After Psalm 73:1-16

I am nothing, Lost in a fog,

a fog of my own creation,

I see no way forward.

I consider how I struggle

as I strive to obey, and I see

those who don’t strive at all

flourish as they laugh and

scoff, ridicule and grind down.

They flourish while I struggle;

it would be easier not to struggle

at all. All that I do, all that

I believe, seems shallow and

vain, as I sink deeper in the much.

This hurts.

Photograph by Lucille Borderioux via Unsplash. Used with permission.

“Bruised & Wounded” by Roland Rolheiser

He was a young man we knew well. He was part of a group of young people that were always around, always doing things together. The family moved away, but we stayed indirectly in touch, through others. A few years passed, and then came the word that he’d shot himself. The first reaction was disbelief. It simply didn’t compute. It made no sense. Even when we learned the supposed reason, it still made no sense.

Suicide does that. What was left for his family and his friends was the uncertainty of never knowing if something could have been done if we’d only known. But then, how do you know?

Roland Rolheiser has written a book that addresses these questions. Bruised & Wounded: Struggling to Understand Suicide is a small book about an awful subject. Someone taking their own life, no matter what the reason, ultimately leaves the survivors with questions, with doubt, with pain, and sometimes with self-recrimination. No book can or will stop any of those things from happening. “There is no pain like the one suicide inflicts,” he writes. But his book might be a step toward a healing, even if that healing will never really be completed.

The book is divided into six parts: a description of what leads to suicide, a proposal to remove the taboo associated with it, seeing despair as weakness instead of sin, how to reclaim the memory of a loved one, the pain of the survivors, and consolation. He writes with emotion and understanding, although I’m not sure if we can or even should remove the taboo associated with suicide, as it might be enough to stop some people from attempting it.

Roland Rolheiser

The real value of the book is the idea that suicide comes from pain, deep pain, pain so deep that ending one’s life becomes the way to stop the pain. What suicide really does, though, is to transfer the pain.

Rolheiser is a Catholic priest, speaker, spiritual writer of author of several books, including The Holy Longing: The Search for a Christian Spirituality, Sacred Fire: A Vision for a Deeper Human and Christian Maturity, Prayer: Our Deepest Longing, The Passion and the Cross, and several others. He also writes a weekly column, “In Exile,” published by more than 70 newspapers worldwide.

A thoughtful, compassionate book, Bruised & Wounded offers hope to those affected by suicide. It doesn’t minimize the difficulties and the pain, but it does offer hope.

Top photograph by Redd Angelo via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Washing the pain

He washed and scrubbed

to end the pain,

scouring

rubbing

to force the pain out

away, washing to make

the pain vanish

disappear

he could not wash

the pain

away

he could not

without hope he

could not wash

the pain away

Photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Some Days, Doubt is Normal

I read a devotional blog three times a week. The blogger can sometimes barely manage three posts a week. Sometimes it’s two. Occasionally, it’s none.

The blogger has a husband who’s going through chemotherapy. He has cancer. He’s in his early 30s. They have children.

She maintains an outward smile in her blogs. She’s always trying to be encouraging. She focuses on joyful things, positive things, likely knowing that her husband is reading what she writes.

Sometimes she cracks. And it’s okay. The people who follow her blog, including me, know that it’s okay to crack. She’s shouldering an enormous weight, and sometimes you have to let the smile go and just crack.

Some days she disappears.

She clings to her faith like a life preserver. Some days it’s not enough.

In The Fire of Delayed Answers, Bob Sorge says that “in the thick of my own personal darkness, when it seemed that God wasn’t hearing any of my prayers, I really struggled to find any sort of faith in my heart for deliverance.”

Doubt.

Coldness.

Unanswered prayers.

Some days it’s easy to believe what all the celebrity atheists say. Some days it’s easier not to believe.

Faith can be hard.

Faith can be harder than not believing.

We’ve all had those experiences. We might never admit that; some churches can be notoriously non-understanding. We’re supposed to be living the victorious Christian life, which absolutely has no room for depression and doubt.

And yet Jesus had times when he questioned and cried out, times when the pain was overwhelming.

When John the Baptist was killed by Herod.

In the garden of Gethsemane.

On the cross.

I think of my blogging friend, and I can’t begin to approach an understanding of what she’s going through. I read her words, brave words, knowing she must be crumbling, or screaming, on the inside.

Some days, doubt is normal.

Led by Jason Stasyszen and Sarah Salter, we’ve been reading The Fire of Delayed Answers. To see more posts on this chapter, “When the Lights Go Out,” please visit Sarah at Living Between the Lines.

Photograph by George Hodan via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.