Generally speaking I think Christians have done a fairly poor job of engaging the conversation surrounding depression. Just last week I was reading a book by a pastor I highly respect, and in the book he, in so many words, explained that depression was always able to be overcome by entering into our God of hope through faith.

Imagine someone who has been medically diagnosed with medical or seasonal depression reading the words that they just need more of God or more faith, then they’ll be healed. If it were me, I’d burn the book.

No one needs to be chastised for something they feel helpless in dealing with on their own.

I love the conversation Parker Palmer had with a woman who asked him why God allows people to live in the personal hell of depression. His response, “I have no idea.” Here’s the fall out from that conversation:

My response had given her an alternative to the cruel “Christian explanations” common in the church to which she belonged—that people who take their lives lack faith or good works or some other redeeming virtue that might move God to rescue them. My not knowing had freed her to stop judging herself for being depression and to stop believing that God was judging her (pg 59).

Part of this struggle we sense to provide a good “Christian explanation” is a lack of comfort with mystery. I have a tendency to want to explain out the mystery of life and faith and God. Or I want to throw a book or Bible verse at someone’s problem. And all of this is really just my power-hungry self trying to declare victory with a perfect solution rather than doing the difficult work of declaring the mystery and walking the journey of the mystery.

Mystery surrounds every deep experience of the human heart: the deeper we go into the heart’s darkness or its light, the closer we get to the ultimate mystery of God. But our culture wants to turn mysteries into puzzles to be explained or problems to be solved, because maintaining the illusion that we can “straighten things out” makes us feel powerful. Yet mysteries never yield to solutions or fixes—and when we pretend they do, life becomes not only more banal but also more hopeless because the fixes never work (pg 60).

How do you handle conversations surrounding depression?

The lure of significance and influence on the internet and in life often turns us into copiers rather than creators. We see something that others are latching onto en masse and rather than do the difficult work of creating something that might connect with people, we choose to copy what has already been done, tweak it, and then package it as our own.

Copying is often said to be the highest form of flattery possible, but I think it goes a step beyond this.

Copying maligns the Creator God who has created us in His image with His creative imprint. The same power that raised Christ from the grave lives in each of us. The same power that helped speak the universe into existence through the artistic hand of the Creator, lives in us.

Copying is an unwillingness to do the work.

Copying ruins our confidence in God to work through us.

Copying is a mask to hide behind that will eventually become exposed.

Creation is rarely, if ever, easy. But creation says to us over and over again that God can continually speak into the expanse of our empty world.

We see it every spring when the flowers bloom, the green shoots begin to pop out from the ground, the leaves slowly grow on the trees—it’s the reminder that God is continually creating and recreating previously dead things.

Creation says to those around us, God isn’t yet done with this world. He’s still here. He’s still at work.

Creating allows us to build the confidence that God can work through us.

Stop copying and subsequently maligning our Creator.

Start creating.

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The last thing my pastor told me before I left for seminary saved my faith. I think he was just trying to save me from having a rough time in my first New Testament class or from getting frustrated with my professors. As it turned out, he shared something that I have clung to over the past eleven years.

Settling into our breakfast at a Bob Evans where you could hear the roar of the New Jersey Turnpike a few hundred feet away, he told me the following about seminary, “Don’t expect to find all of the answers.”

He was responding to a comment I made about looking forward to really digging into the Bible. I’m pretty sure he meant that I wouldn’t learn everything there is to know about the Bible. That in and of itself was sound advice, but that wasn’t quite what saved my faith.

I don’t know what I expected from seminary. I’m pretty sure I expected lots of answers to all of the tough questions that Christians face—I wanted everything to compute. I also expected seminary to be awesome because I wouldn’t have to take science or math classes, while I could crack Greek jokes in the cafeteria all of the time.

Seminary certainly had very little math, but the Greek jokes left something to be desired (sigh).

Instead of finding all of the answers, seminary revealed all of the dirty little secrets that pastors aren’t allowed to talk about because they’d lose their jobs if they brought any of it up with their congregations.

I confronted controversial topics like biblical authority, inerrancy, the problem of evil, the character of God, how salvation works, the historic views of hell, women in ministry, where we got the Bible from, and the list goes on. My pastor had warned me that I wouldn’t find all of the answers in seminary, and he was right. I found many more questions and problems than the average Christian faces in Sunday School. Since he had warned against finding all of the answers, I was able to take it in stride.

His advice became my mantra as I faced fresh theological dilemmas that had no solution in sight.

I could have swung in any number of directions, but I ended up realizing that my foundation wasn’t some brand of theology or air-tight way of interpreting the Bible. Christianity also doesn’t survive by hiding from tough questions, even the kinds of questions that don’t seem to have answers.

I’ve seen Christians deal with tough questions in a variety of ways. Sometimes they just gave up, admitting that the answers of their childhood faith couldn’t cut it in the adult world. Others dismissed tough questions and the people who asked them—no doubt fearing their faith would crumble if exposed to tension.

Though my pastor was trying to save me from the disappointment of not learning the Bible inside out in seminary, he also planted a seed of doubt that has served me well. While in seminary I learned that my faith could survive the tough questions that seminary professors needed to ask because Jesus never promised us all of the answers.

Jesus promised us life, hope, peace, joy, and love. He promised that remaining in him is enough.

I struggle with the tough questions sometimes. I’m not afraid to face them, and I never want to settle for easy answers—even if I’m convinced that many of them can be reasonably resolved. However, at the end of the day, Jesus isn’t going to test us to see if we answered all of the tough questions correctly. He’s going to ask if we abided in him and let him reshape us into Kingdom people—members of his family.

God’s answer for our tough questions is his presence. When I can abide in him, I know him and suddenly finding all of the answers doesn’t matter.

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Ed Cyzewski is the blogger at www.inamirrordimly.com, co-author of Hazardous: Committing to the Cost of Following Jesus, and author of Coffeehouse Theology: Reflecting on God in Everyday Life. He lives in Columbus, OH with his wife (who is due to give birth in July!) and house rabbits (who do nothing but beg for treats and chew on his couch).

No. 2: Develop a mentoring relationship. Sometimes dips in our own ministry are a result of pouring out into a meaningful relationship. Prayerfully consider whose life God may be calling you to invest in and pour into.

No. 8: Develop healthy friendships. Ministry seeps up time better than a sponge in water. At times, the last thing you want to do is engage other people. But the priceless benefits of having a healthy friendship far outweigh the bad.

No. 9: Don’t be afraid to set boundaries. Problems and To-Do lists seem to bleed into every area of your life. Learning to say no is not a sin. Overextending yourself spreads you thin and keeps you from doing your best in every situation.

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2. Trevin Wax is a prolific blogger who churns out posts like few can. Recently he wrote a post encouraging seminary students to remember a few lessons during their studies. As someone just about to finish school, I found his remarks to be spot on. No one wants to walk away from years of seminary wishing they would have gone about the whole thing differently, heed this advice.

The biggest danger in seminary is that in the increase of knowledge, you lose sight of the most important things. The more you know, the more you are likely to forget.

Satan would love nothing more than to transform your joy of attending seminary into an intellectual snobbery that renders you ineffective in ministry. Guard your heart against this paralyzing pride. Weeds grow next to the flowers. The flowers are blooming at seminary. The question is: will you choke out the weeds of pride in your heart or will the weeds choke out a lifetime of fruitfulness?

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3. I love quite a bit about Portland. Sure the rain gets a little old, but there’s a lot to appreciate about the city. Check out this incredible video highlighting Portland.

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Happy Friday!

Being in school, working full-time, and finding creative space to write consistently doesn’t leave a lot of margin in my week to seek out relationships that can be the launching point for deeper and truer community in my life and their lives. So I’ve struggled with this feeling of wanting to make and continue developing meaningful friendships in the midst of knowing I have very little time to offer to that endeavor.

Recently my sister called to talk with Rose and I. As the phone rang I felt this incredible urge to run away from the phone. I told Rose I didn’t want to talk and after a quick 10 second argument, Rose agreed to answer the phone while I sat on the couch. This is my sister who I hadn’t talked to in over a month, even I was confused as to why I had no desire or energy to spend time with her. After thinking about this while Rose was on the phone I realized I had been around people, in conversations, the entire day. As an “INTJ” I was spent. I had nothing left in the tank, not even for my sister.

Community isn’t easy and I often find it especially difficult for my more introverted disposition. However, God still calls all people toward the difficulty of relationships for the sake of formation of community. I ran across a truly profound statement from professional golfer and Portland native Ben Crane, who had this to say about the relationships he has on the PGA Tour with other golfers:

People ask me what’s the highlight of your career. For me it’s not like a victory, it’s doing it with my friends and family and doing it for the right reasons, which is to glorify God.”

We bring glory to God by fostering true community with our lives and by inviting others to experience the true life found in them through God’s presence.

But none of this is easy. With roughly half the population being more introverted, and Western cultures promoting values of independence and autonomy, it’s no wonder so many of us would describe community as fleeting.

Deep Community is an Outcome of a Deep Reality Within

Community does not fall out of the sky. It does begin somewhere. Relationship with others flows out of a relationship with God. It is that deep-seated relationship ongoing between the believer and God that allows for sustainable relationships with others.

The security we have in our “deep reality within” or assurance of faith through our relationship with God allows us to enter into relationships with others without looking for them to save us or make our lives better.

Community With Others is Not the End

This should be fairly straight forward. Community with God is the end and while community outside ourselves with others is an outcome, it is not the end. Community is the first step beyond ourselves, but so often community can become an insular group of alike people who no longer desire to look beyond themselves.

True Community Welcomes People For Who They Are

As I look back on the communities I’ve been fortunate to be a part of, one common denominator is that I always felt accepted for who I was. I was able to bring my pains, my baggage, my past–all of it to the table where people would welcome me and help me work through them.

Too often we welcome people into our communities in spite of who they are and what they’ve done. I think God calls us to welcome people with full recognition of who they are, knowing that through God’s presence in our relationship with them, God will begin to heal them.

My friend Rhett Smith had this to say in his new book:

All relationships have the possibility of refining us more and more to reflect the image of God, helping us reach our fullest potential that we could not otherwise achieve alone (pg 150).

I wish community was easier, but it’s worth the struggle.

The best art draws us closer to God, allowing us to see His face a little bit clearer, a little bit nearer than before.

The best art moves us from one place to another.

The best art changes us by giving us a new lens in which we can engage with the world.

Over the past few months I’ve engaged in several different types of art that have moved me in a significant way. Some of the pieces I’ve talked about on this blog or other social media outlets, some I haven’t talked much about it. Certainly there is no universal piece of art that moves each and every one of us, but I hope this short list will encourage you to make time and space for engaging with great art, the kind of art that moves you.

One Thousand Gifts

I read this book as I was finishing my own book manuscript, as a challenge to write with more descriptive and emotive language. I didn’t grow up reading a lot (I played sports and chased after girls) so I’m not the best gauge of this, but with that said I have never read a better word-picture writer than Ann Voskamp. This offering of hers is a beautiful portrait of faith in the midst of a shattered life.

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Of Gods and Men

This is the true story of Trappist monks living in a remote area of Algeria in the 1990s. Serving the neighboring communities of primarily Muslims, the monks choose to stay in the midst of extreme war going on around them for the sake of the people who would die without the help of the monks. It’s a heartbreaking and challenging movie to watch. The conversations they have around the table as they make decisions as a group are profound. The movie shows a different level of neighborly love than I find myself willing to give.

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Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art

I have just recently been introduced to Madeleine L’Engle’s writing, but this book was a blessing to me. Here’s a few of many, many quotes I took away from reading this book:

“The unending paradox is that we learn through pain.”

“God must be very great to have created a world which carries so many arguments against his existence.”

“I have a point of view. You have a point of view. But God has a view.”

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All Sons and Daughters

I love the simplicity of their music and yet the tenacity it has in the midst of the simplicity. I love the honesty. I think you will love those things too.

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What art has moved you lately?

I recently read Working the Angles by Eugene Peterson, the guy most known for writing The Message translation or paraphrase of the Bible.

Over the past few years in seminary I’ve grown to respect Peterson more and more. He’s the antithesis of the celebrity pastor where pastors tour and lead incredibly large organizations. Peterson lives in a small Montana town and has never led a large church. He’s devoted to the discipline of study, writing, and running—all things I care about being consistently devoted to.

But this post isn’t about Peterson, as encouraging as his life, writing, and pastoral ministry is to me, this is about something he wrote in that book, Working the Angles.

I’ve taken several classes on bible study, even one class titled “Bible Study Methods.” 95% of my seminary education has taught me that good bible study is all about good exegetical work in preparation for leading individuals or groups through a passage of Scripture.

In all of those hours of reading outside of class and listening to lectures in class nothing has stuck out to me like what Peterson shares about Philip’s encounter with the Ethiopian eunuch spoken of in Acts 8 (read the whole passage here).

Philip has to make a choice: will he stand alongside the chariot, providing information and answering questions about Scripture, exegetical work that comes easily for him, or will he involve himself in a spiritual quest with this stranger? Will I? It is the difference between the shopkeeper who sells maps of the wilderness and the person who goes with you into it, risking the dangers, helping to cook the meals, and sharing the weather. Philip decides on hodegesis (to guide). He climbs into the chariot and shares the journey.

I don’t know about you, but far too often I don’t look at studying the Scriptures with others as a sharing of the journey. So often I view myself as the master imparting knowledge to others.

So often I’m the shopkeeper selling maps of the outside wilderness while staying in my comfortable shop never risking the adventure of going on a hike with those who are exploring.

Will we involve ourselves in the spiritual quests and explorations of others?

Stop selling maps.

Go on hikes.

It’s easy for us to point the finger to the senior pastor’s sermons, or the music that no one enjoys as to why a church struggles, but I believe those frustrations within people all stem from a lack of authentic relationships within the church body.

Certainly I think churches should do well in their sermons, music, and ministries, otherwise, why have them? But they are not the focus of church. I appreciated this quote I came across in some of my reading recently (it also seems to fit well with another quote I’ve highlighted before). I think it captures the heart of what truly ineffective church is.

“In our day, whenever the church is ineffective in its witness and remains unproductive, the first questions that must be raised are whether the church functions as authentic community and whether it lives out the reality of its oneness. In a community-starved world, the most potent means of witness to the truth of the gospel is the magnetic power of the oneness that was committed by Christ to his new community at the center of history” (Bilezikian, Community 101, pg 37).

Thoughts?

The day was full of “the lyrics need to be changed on that slide” and “let’s end that song 4 beats earlier in the outro” and “make sure you go to an F#m chord at the beginning of the bridge or we’ll all sound like we made a mistake.” In reality none of that is much different than any other Sunday.

I put on my happy face. Often when I’m leading worship the last place I want to be is on a stage. I feel I have nothing to offer. I’m fairly confident the people could careless about the whole singing in church thing. But something usually happens in the midst of the worship. I begin to have compassion for those I’m helping lead. I begin to sense God’s presence infiltrating my life in a way that I could barely describe here.

But this day was not one of those days. Despite my best preparations, my best motives, the best energy this introverted worship leader could bring–none of it seemed to be making a difference.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m used to people staring at the screens, yawning, sitting with arms crossed, talking loudly with everyone nearby…you name it I’ve seen it while leading churches in worship. Some people make it obvious they want no part, others are more subtle.

This Sunday I remember because by 830pm I was convinced it was time to think about some other church job than worship leader. Sure I can lead bands, I can sing songs, but maybe I’d worn out my welcome with these people I thought. God can use anyone, but on this day I wondered why he wasn’t using me. I was failing.

I walked off the stage to get some water. My throat was as dry as a hot afternoon on the high desert after singing the entire day. A student came up to me that had never spoken to me before in my life. He said:

I liked that new song tonight.

That was it. Nothing more. And it was as if God had tapped me on the shoulder and said:

I’m at work underneath the surface far more than you’ll ever know or understand. Be faithful.

Is it a stretch to take the words of that student and turn them into those words from God to me? Absolutely. Is it the truth? Absolutely.

This was a student who I have never, ever seen sing along with any of the songs during our time of corporate worship. He came to our high school group gathering inconsistently at best. And yet somehow in the midst of my awful day, God was working in him to engage on a level differently than what I could see on the surface.

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I think ministry in church is often the simplicity of 25% being faithful–25% showing up–25% a willingness to serve–and 25% trusting God to do things only He can do. I tend to make it quite a bit more complicated than this. My own heart and head often get in the way and I start to listen to negative voices in my head that say it’s time to do something different.

That night I learned one valuable lesson…The biggest truths often show themselves in the smallest and subtlest of ways.

God doesn’t have to show up with a lightning bolt or a thundering roar from above for Him to be felt in the depths of my being and on this night I heard Him loud and clear.

Has a big truth shown up in a small way in your life before?

I’ve been working through a study on spiritual transformation and the first step in the process is to state DESIRE to God, which should help illuminate the inner thoughts of our hearts and minds that rarely come to the surface.

How would you finish the statement of…

God, what I need most from you right now is…