This is National Suicide Prevention Week. Since it's not something the Church has ever really thought about well, suicide is a topic whose time has come here.
Last Friday I received a message from a friend who was asking about the suicide of one of his closest friends. "Where is he? Do you think he was judged more harshly for that decision?"
His question is far from academic. When his friend committed suicide, there were doubtless those who thought what lots of Christians have thought for a long time: "Suicide is an unforgiveable sin. Your daughter has cut herself off from God entirely, and is now paying the price, forever". To those folks, it would mean my friend's friend, whose life was filled with enough tormenting pain that suicide became a choice, would now experience the torment of an eternal hell. Such folks fail to be good pastoral care givers, but, perhaps more importantly, they fail to be good theologians. Despite their perceived "orthodoxy", they fail to speak the Good News of Jesus Christ to those who are experiencing some of the worst grief and pain known in human relationships.
I took a very different approach in my conversation with my friend. My approach is grounded in the dynamic, relational view of reality (think Buber's I and Thou). I understand God's love to be infinite and personal, so it's infinite and personal in the most personal of moments -- human death. I respond with things like: "While we don't know a lot about the afterlife, I believe your friend is in the hands of the same God in Whose hands he lived his life". Suicide doesn't change God's love for us!
I've known for a long time that theology can cure or kill, help or harm. In relationship to those who experience the death of a love one in suicide, what we say shows the depths of what we believe. Another way to put that: You know good theology when you see good fruit. Good theology joins instead of separates. Good theology lives gracefully rather than judgmentally. Good theology promises good instead of evil. Good theology speaks hope in the midst of tears. Bad theology doesn't.
This means that Christians should talk about suicide in a way that comforts the grieving. (You really don't want to be one of Job's three friends.)
I think Paul captured this vision of good theology best when he described the Church in 1 Corinthians 12. In describing the interdependent body of Christ, Paul proclaims, "If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it". In other words, suicide is not a problem pertaining to "others", it affects "us". There is no "other" in an interdependent world; we're all in this together, creating each other through our relationships, bringing pain or possibility to the world by our actions. Recognition of our interdependence reminds us that no one is immune from suicidal thoughts or the despair that may lead to suicide; it also reminds us that help is always on the way. We are never alone; God is with us, and God gives us persons who can nurture us in the most challenging times.
With Barth, I think the most important theological word is Nevertheless. But I think the second most important theological word in the Christian vocabulary is with. So while most people think the most important question to ask is, "Do you believe in God?" I think that presupposes a much more important theological question, "What do you mean by God?" That is, what is the moral character of the divine figure? Is God on our side, supporting us? Or is God some cosmic adversary, ready to punish us for the smallest infraction? While I realize humility is the most important theological virtue -- hence there's only so much you can say for sure about God -- what we can say about God can be said because of Jesus. Because of God with us.
While we can never fully ascertain God's nature, it's clear that these two visions of God will radically shape our understanding of suicide and those who successfully or unsuccessfully attempt suicide. If God's primary characteristic is severe and unbending judgment, then suicide is final and irrevocable and takes us beyond God's care. If on the other hand, grace abounds, suicide is part of our personal adventures: The pain is real, and the loss great to us and others, but the reality of suicide does not put an end to God's love and movement in our lives. From this perspective, our goal is embracing the pain of others and ourselves without judgment or condemnation, grounded in our recognition that suicide is often a result of seeing oneself in unbearable, unchanging, and hopeless situations of body, mind, spirit, or environment. Speaking in the context of his own despair, the author of Lamentations affirms:
Last Friday I received a message from a friend who was asking about the suicide of one of his closest friends. "Where is he? Do you think he was judged more harshly for that decision?"
His question is far from academic. When his friend committed suicide, there were doubtless those who thought what lots of Christians have thought for a long time: "Suicide is an unforgiveable sin. Your daughter has cut herself off from God entirely, and is now paying the price, forever". To those folks, it would mean my friend's friend, whose life was filled with enough tormenting pain that suicide became a choice, would now experience the torment of an eternal hell. Such folks fail to be good pastoral care givers, but, perhaps more importantly, they fail to be good theologians. Despite their perceived "orthodoxy", they fail to speak the Good News of Jesus Christ to those who are experiencing some of the worst grief and pain known in human relationships.
I took a very different approach in my conversation with my friend. My approach is grounded in the dynamic, relational view of reality (think Buber's I and Thou). I understand God's love to be infinite and personal, so it's infinite and personal in the most personal of moments -- human death. I respond with things like: "While we don't know a lot about the afterlife, I believe your friend is in the hands of the same God in Whose hands he lived his life". Suicide doesn't change God's love for us!
I've known for a long time that theology can cure or kill, help or harm. In relationship to those who experience the death of a love one in suicide, what we say shows the depths of what we believe. Another way to put that: You know good theology when you see good fruit. Good theology joins instead of separates. Good theology lives gracefully rather than judgmentally. Good theology promises good instead of evil. Good theology speaks hope in the midst of tears. Bad theology doesn't.
This means that Christians should talk about suicide in a way that comforts the grieving. (You really don't want to be one of Job's three friends.)
I think Paul captured this vision of good theology best when he described the Church in 1 Corinthians 12. In describing the interdependent body of Christ, Paul proclaims, "If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it". In other words, suicide is not a problem pertaining to "others", it affects "us". There is no "other" in an interdependent world; we're all in this together, creating each other through our relationships, bringing pain or possibility to the world by our actions. Recognition of our interdependence reminds us that no one is immune from suicidal thoughts or the despair that may lead to suicide; it also reminds us that help is always on the way. We are never alone; God is with us, and God gives us persons who can nurture us in the most challenging times.
With Barth, I think the most important theological word is Nevertheless. But I think the second most important theological word in the Christian vocabulary is with. So while most people think the most important question to ask is, "Do you believe in God?" I think that presupposes a much more important theological question, "What do you mean by God?" That is, what is the moral character of the divine figure? Is God on our side, supporting us? Or is God some cosmic adversary, ready to punish us for the smallest infraction? While I realize humility is the most important theological virtue -- hence there's only so much you can say for sure about God -- what we can say about God can be said because of Jesus. Because of God with us.
While we can never fully ascertain God's nature, it's clear that these two visions of God will radically shape our understanding of suicide and those who successfully or unsuccessfully attempt suicide. If God's primary characteristic is severe and unbending judgment, then suicide is final and irrevocable and takes us beyond God's care. If on the other hand, grace abounds, suicide is part of our personal adventures: The pain is real, and the loss great to us and others, but the reality of suicide does not put an end to God's love and movement in our lives. From this perspective, our goal is embracing the pain of others and ourselves without judgment or condemnation, grounded in our recognition that suicide is often a result of seeing oneself in unbearable, unchanging, and hopeless situations of body, mind, spirit, or environment. Speaking in the context of his own despair, the author of Lamentations affirms:
The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;Suicide may eliminate certain divine possibilities from other lives, but God continues to provide new mercies every morning. God's mercy never comes to an end. Suicide attempts call us to understanding and affirmation, not blame or ostracism. Psalm 139 captures God's own attitudes toward our moments of feeling lost, alone, and without hope. We cannot evade the love on the One who searches and knows all things.
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
"The LORD is my portion," says my soul,
"therefore I will hope in him."
The LORD is good to those who wait for him,
to the soul who seeks him.
It is good that one should wait quietly
for the salvation of the LORD. (Lamentations 3.22-26)
Where can I go from your spirit?Our darkness cannot impede God's light. Nothing can separate us from the light and love of God in Jesus Christ.
Or where can I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there;
if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.
If I take the wings of the morning
and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me fast.
If I say, "Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light around me become night,"
even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is as bright as the day,
for darkness is as light to you.