Reflections on a Suicide
Last month a well-respected and much-loved member of my church family took his own life. It was a total shock. He was the last person one would expect to do something like that. As our congregation has tried to process the tragedy and grieve his loss, many of us have had some tough conversations.
Why? That is the question everyone asks. Of course, there were difficult circumstances preceding our friend’s death, but why do some people rise above such challenges and some do not?
I cannot speak to my departed friend’s mindset, but having struggled with bipolar disorder for 30 years, I know a thing or two about depression. I have never attempted suicide or formulated a plan to do so, but I have sat in some deep, dark holes. I can tell you that it is entirely possible to know that many people love you and yet still think about ending it all. In my case at least, the problem wasn’t that I didn’t want to live; the problem was that I just wanted the pain to go away.
Pain of any kind tends to narrow the focus of the person who is suffering. I’ve spent enough time in hospitals with the ailing to know that when you’re sick, you pretty much can’t think about anything besides your own discomfort. The pain, in a sense, closes and locks the door to the outside world and draws the blinds shut.
The human body is a marvelous creation. But in a fallen world, sometimes its parts fail. If your pancreas can’t process glucose, then you get diabetes. If your bladder and kidneys are unhappy with you, then you may have a urinary tract infection. These problems we understand. Doctors can run blood tests to verify what’s really going on. We can tell our friends we have diabetes or a UTI, and they can commiserate.
But what if the organ that is failing you is your brain? I’m not talking about a tumor in your brain or some ailment that can be X-rayed and measured. I’m talking about the neurotransmitters that convey electrical messages between your nerve endings. Science still hasn’t mastered that frontier.
How do you talk about a condition that nobody can see or understand? You ask yourself, “Is my depression real, or is it just in my head?” Am I simply imagining that I feel so terrible? Moreover, what happens when the organ you are relying on to evaluate your situation is the very organ that is compromised? How can you be trusted to make good decisions?
As we discussed our friend’s death in our small group, someone said something very wise: “Suicide does not take away the pain; it merely transfers it.” “No man is an island,” the poet writes. Our lives are intricately connected to the lives of others. Like a stone thrown in a pond, the impact of one person’s death ripples out far and wide.
So how can we prevent another tragedy like this from happening? Our group had some good ideas. If someone you care about appears to be struggling, our natural tendency is to shy away from asking too many questions. Instead, we need to be a bit more forward, to be willing to “get in somebody’s business” even if we are rebuffed. We ought to ask directly, “Do you have thoughts of harming yourself?”
Additionally, we need to remember that in our fallen world, anybody—given the right set of circumstances—is susceptible to suicidal ideation. Consider the great prophet Elijah. One minute he is calling down fire from heaven on Mt. Carmel; the next he is sitting under a broom tree wishing he could die (I Kings 18-19). Surprisingly the prophet plunged directly from a mountaintop experience into a dark depression.
I love how the Lord cared for Elijah in his sad condition. An angel gave the prophet something to eat and drink and encouraged him to take a nap. Then the angel touched him and fed him a second time. Many woes are born out of physical exhaustion. How easily we forget that we live in a body—a body that needs regular rest and nourishment.
Moreover, in Elijah’s subsequent conversation with God, he told the Lord that he was all alone, that he was the only prophet left. But God reassured him that there were 7,000 others who had not succumbed to idolatry. Many woes are born out of feelings of isolation and loneliness.
We were never designed to be autonomous beings. We need God, and we need other people.
A roaring lion, for example, approaches a herd of gazelles, looking for one that is young, weak, or sickly. The predator’s strategy is to separate that one from the group and attack it. The analogy holds true for humans also. Stick with a healthy herd. There is safety in numbers. There is safety in the accountability and support that a loving community can provide.
As a community, we need to foster an environment in which it is safe to be transparent and vulnerable. When leaders share their own struggles, it encourages others to do likewise. And we all struggle with something. Bringing our problems into the light diminishes their power over us. It is not a sign of weakness to ask for help, it is a sign of strength and wisdom.
For those of us who suffer from mental illness, we live in an extraordinary age. I benefit from psychiatric help, professional counseling, and medication that was unavailable to previous generations.
Finally, on a theological note, I share what my pastor said after our friend’s death. Is suicide a sin? Yes. Is it the unforgiveable sin? No. If a true Christian takes his own life, will he go to hell? No. (For more about this, check out the link to the Abingdon Bible Church website: www.abingdonbible.org Then click on Dr. Paul Bufford’s message from June 13, 2021.)
If you or someone you know is contemplating suicide, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. Then go and be with a friend. There is no shame in struggling with dark thoughts; but there are far-reaching consequences to succumbing to them. Don’t stand alone. Accept help.
Peace be with you,
Mona
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