Those of us enculturated into the health-and-wealth tendencies of modern American Christian speech are sometimes surprised at the many biblical texts which witness to the reality of profound emotional and existential suffering in the lives of the faithful.  The plaintive cry of the psalmist, “you have put me in the depths of the Pit, in the regions dark and deep.  Your wrath lies heavy upon me, and you overwhelm me with all your waves” (Ps. 88:6-7), together with the brutal confession of the writer of Lamentations that “my soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is” (Lm 3:17), both reflect the visceral anguish which is commonly part of the modern experience of mental illness.  The bitter cry of Christ on the cross – “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” – is rooted in the Psalms (22:1).  The biblical writers were, indeed, no strangers to the most painful kinds of suffering:  they experienced it, they gave voice to it and often denounced oppressive systems which caused it, and they witnessed to a God who could hear their most heartfelt cries and still remain their God.
        
In witnessing to this profound anguish, the Bible makes clear that suffering, even intense suffering, is not something to be ignored, marginalized, or explained away, but rather shared with God and with the worshipping community.  It is important to remember that for God’s people, death and despair and evil do not have the last word.  Psalm 88 must be read in light of the rest of the Psalms; Lamentations 3:1-20 must be read in light of Lamentations 3:21-33; Jeremiah 8:18-9:1 must be read in the light of Jeremiah 29; and all of it, for Christians, must be read in light of the ultimate triumph of God’s cause made possible through the work of Christ:  “Death has been swallowed up in victory.  Where, O death, is your victory?  Where, O death, is your sting” (1 Cor 15:54-55)?  Christian hope is not an emotion, not a sentiment, but rather an affirmation that however dark the present, the light still shines in the darkness; however tight the shackles of oppression, justice will one day roll like waters; however putrid the abyss of hate, confusion, and despair, there is Love at our beginning and at our end.
        
The church must not forget either the biblical witness to suffering or the reality of Christian hope while caring for those who are mentally ill.  Rather, the task of the church, in general terms, is both to suffer with and also, at the same time, to hope for those caught in the tangled web of mental illness.  The first, to suffer with, is extremely important.  “Weep with those who weep,” the scripture tells us (Rom 12:15); and yet the need of those who are mentally ill is so complex, the chasm so apparently deep and dark, that many would prefer, like priests and Levites, to pass by on the other side of the road (Lk 10:31-32).  Christ, however, enters that chasm and commands us to follow.  Christ suffered with and for us and sometimes calls us to join in his suffering with and for others (Col 1:24, 1 Cor 12:26).  Jesus’ ministry on earth was marked by compassionate care and advocacy for those who suffered, many of whom, in our day, would be labeled mentally ill.  The gospel witness testifies that when we care for those who are in need, we care for Christ himself, and that when we do not, it is at our peril (Mt 25:31-46).
        
Suffering with is imperative, but the church is called also to hope for those who are mentally ill.  To hope for does not mean that we “wish them well,” or that we “hope that they get better.”  That, according to James, is wholly insufficient (Jam 2:14-17).  Rather, the church is called to do the work of hoping for those who are not able to hope for themselves.  Mental illness takes many forms, but a frequent theme is that those in the depths of depression, the terrors of psychosis, or the prison of substance abuse find that they lose the ability to hope, such that life itself, God’s most basic gift, is a curse.  It is in these times that the church must do the hoping for the person unable to hope.  Just as the determined friends of the paralytic man were the hands and feet which brought him to Jesus for healing (Mk 2:1- 12), so also the church is called to be the unyielding voice demanding high-quality mental health care for those who cannot advocate for themselves; to be the memory for the person with dementia who can remember no more; to be the hands which cook for the person too depressed to cook for himself or herself; to be the rational guide of the psychotic person whose reason is temporarily unreliable; to be the supportive arms which surround the person committed to escaping the shackles of substance abuse; to be the eyes of hope reminding the suicidal person blinded in darkness that light will eventually infuse the horizon.
        
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?  The psalmist’s cry was Jesus’ cry, and it may at some time be ours as well.  But the church can witness that God did not forsake the psalmist, did not forsake Jesus, and – however unlikely this may seem – does not, ever, forsake us either.

By Dr. Warren Kinghorn, Psychiatrist, Graduate Student, Duke Divinity School; member, Presbyterian Church (USA)