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From Luke’s Journal Nov 2024 | Vol.29 No.3 | Mental Health II

The practice of meditating on the Scriptures is a powerful reminder that we partner with God in this work, and that God is well practised in the art of ‘seeing’.

In Genesis 16, the angel of the Lord was certainly able to bring these qualities together.  Take a moment to read through Genesis 16 slowly. After reading it a couple of times, try to imagine what it would have been like to be Hagar. What would the story of Hagar’s life be? The trials, fears and hopes that perhaps she never felt safe enough to voice… or maybe she never found anyone who would listen or who she felt would care.

Her story might go something like this

(Hagar – Genesis 16)

The practice of prayer

As well as anchoring ourselves in the Scriptures, an integral part of being a co-worker who wrestles alongside is the practice of prayer, believing that not only is God up to something in a person’s life, but is also at work in their lives for their healing. Prayer is the wrestle. More often than not it is the silent response of the heart to the story we are witnessing.

In a mental health context I have found that sometimes (actually a lot of the time) I do not have the words for an adequate response. The story is too heartbreaking and to give voice to the deep and complex emotions that surge within me is too difficult.

George Herbert (1593-1633) described prayer as “the soul in paraphrase” in his poem Prayer (I).  For me, the most authentic responses are true to this inner wrestle. It is not the kind of prayer that is polite or couched in pious niceties but rather is raw, angry, disappointed, confused and desperately wanting to find hope in the midst of all that is going on. This kind of prayer I keep to myself, silently whispering to God with my questioning, my frustration and my not wanting to give up on the belief that God is still to be found here and has something to say.

“This kind of prayer I keep to myself, silently whispering to God with my questioning, my frustration and my not wanting to give up on the belief that God is still to be found here and has something to say.”

The practice of lament is a powerful expression of this form of prayer. In her book, Bearing the Unbearable (2015), Deborah van Deusen Hunsinger describes lament as “faith’s alternative to despair”. Lament is protest and frustration that holds onto self-respect and self-worth when shame abounds; it is stubborn and persistent, holding onto the faintest of hopes when hopelessness is all too real; it can be a verbose tirade or an anguished cry; it wrestles with loss and uncertainty while desperately maintaining a posture of trust in the God who promises to save.

I have often used a photo of Vedran Smailović (see the main photo above) in groups to introduce the theme of finding our way again when we feel lost. It is a familiar experience of feeling disoriented by the struggles of life and living with mental health challenges. It also begins to open up the idea of how we might be able to find a way forward.

The discussions usually draw upon the despair and destruction that are immediately apparent. It takes centre stage, as it often does in their own lives as well. But then we start to talk about Vedran Smailović,¹ the cellist who is playing in the rubble, and discussing what on earth he is up to here. Grieving, protest, honouring that which is lost, providing hope, giving voice where others have not yet been able to find their own.

The conversation is rich and thoughtful as we begin to explore what we each might be able to do in our own circumstances of rubble and confusion. I call it prayer, but for those in the group it is often simply a meaningful and thought-filled conversation…

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Reference

1. The Cellist of Sarajevo – copyright Mikhail Evstafiev. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0