During my childhood, my family moved around a lot, and so I had few friends. During the tumultuous teenage years, I knew rejection from peers and crushes. During my twenties, family members and love interests disowned me.
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Whether one’s mental condition is temporary or constant, our churches do not seem well equipped to accommodate the variety of mental health needs most congregations encounter. Why is this the case? The Church is supposed to be a place of welcoming, fellowshipping, and renewing for all, isn’t it?
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As a counselor, I work with people from different walks of life: children, adolescents, adults, families, low-income populations and people who struggle with depression, anxiety, bipolar disorders, substance abuse, and much more. I get to know them. My heart aches with them.
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I wrote “To My Fallen Comrade” after hearing that the son of a man my father worked with had killed himself after a long battle with mental illness. I realized that I was the same age as this young man, we were both Christians, and apart from the grace of God, I could have done the same.
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It is during these dark hours of our lives that we need someone who can see us as whole persons with both physical and spiritual needs. This may come in the form of a professional counselor, a friend, or a family member. But more importantly, it is crucial that the local church steps in, because the body of Christ is supposed to be there for brothers and sisters.
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This awkward position is one the human race faced before the coming of Christ, and that’s the inability to live up to a set of rules. For example, let’s say a basketball player is taught all of the rules of basketball, and he simply strives to keep the rules. Now, the player that keeps the rules most diligently is not necessarily the best player.
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