“Does God want me to be sad?”

On December 11, 2019, those were the words I cried out as I wept on the steps of the Duke Chapel.

Earlier that year, I had fallen into a deep depressive episode. To many, I looked fine. But to those close to me, I couldn’t do much more besides eat, sleep, and (sometimes) go to class. But things were getting better—my parents, family, and friends pushed me to get the help I needed. I began seeing a mental health practitioner, was prescribed antidepressants, and after months in the wilderness, finally saw a way forward.

A few days ago, I preached on 1 Kings 19, where the prophet Elijah falls into a depressive episode. I didn’t choose that text randomly—I chose it because I’ve lived it.

After finding out Queen Jezebel plans to kill him, Elijah runs down the mountain into the wilderness, asks God to die, and then falls asleep. While he’s asleep, he’s visited by an angel who gives him what he needs to continue his journey. Soon enough, with the angel’s help, Elijah pulls himself up and journeys to Mt. Horeb, where he encounters God.

Elijah probably didn’t expect what happened next. Suddenly, an earthquake, windstorm, and firestorm swallow up the cave Elijah’s in. The text says that God was not in the earthquake, in the wind, or in the fire.

In his mind, Elijah was probably asking: What did I do wrong?

I’ve been there. Just like Elijah, as soon as I thought I saw a way forward, something happened, and it felt like God was nowhere near.

...

It was in the middle of finals week. The next morning, I had a Greek exam that I was dreading. I was sitting in the common area on the second floor of my dorm when I got the call:

“We didn’t know whether to wait or tell you. We’re sorry. Caleb, Papa died. He was really sick. He...

He...

He killed himself.”

I started crying. The type of crying where you haven’t really processed what you heard, but your body does it for you.

“Dad’s coming to pick you up so you don’t have to drive...We love you.”

The next few minutes are a blur. My grief was obvious enough that my friends knew something was up, and in a college dorm word travels fast.

I didn’t have a moment alone for the next several hours. Friends in my dorm—Dante, Sarah, Elizabeth—crowded around in the immediate aftermath, full of crying and heaving. After a while, I ended up with some friends I had made through band—Freddie, Alex, and Sergio—who didn’t let me leave their sight.

I asked if we could go to the chapel, and they were happy to tag along. That’s how I ended up at those steps asking that terrible, terrible question:

Does God want me to be sad?

That’s the thing about mental health (and all of life, really). It’s theological. When you believe in God and the good news God supposedly gives, it creates tension with our mental health struggles.

There has to be an answer to that question.

And I believe I know it: No, God doesn’t want me to be sad.

That’s why God sent all those angels when I needed them most. Even after an earthquake, windstorm, and firestorm, God’s gentle whisper came to me through the people who cared for me.

Elijah likely came to a similar place when God shared with him that he, too, was not alone, because there were 7000 others that had not bowed to the false god Baal. In the years since, I’ve realized that I’m not alone in this journey, either. There are thousands of others who have lost loved ones to suicide while struggling with their own mental health.

That’s why over the next few weeks, we’re going to keep talking about this. Because if mental health has something to say about God and the gospel, then the church doesn’t get to brush it off. My sermon was the first in a series where we’re going to wrestle with what faith has to say about everything we’ve been taught to pray away instead of talk about.

If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear your story. Reach out to me at pastor@villagebaptistbowie.org.

Grace,

Caleb

Art by Reverend Ally Barrett

1 Kings 19: When Elijah couldn’t even, God gave him permission to rest by providing a tree for shelter, some water and a cake.

https://reverendally.org/art/