Faith In Honest Doubt

One of my favorite blogs (By Common Consent) has been posting conversations about living with depression. The first two were interesting (and very informative for those who have never experienced depression) but the third is titled "Living with Depression, Part III: Depression and Spirituality." I found this post fascinating.

The authors relate some of their feelings about how their depression colors their view of God and religion. It is interesting to see how some of their experiences are similar to my own and yet I draw different conclusions. Since posting a long-winded comment on someone else's topic is not my style, I'm putting it here. I'll try to make sure this makes sense, even though I'll probably reference the other post and some of the comments from it.

I have felt the same things as many of those authors. When in the depths of depression, I feel abandoned by God, unlovable, despairing. One of them described it fairly well when she said this: "It’s another aspect of the trap of depression: the time you need spiritual communion the most is the time you receive it the least. Whether it’s a matter of being unable to discern the spirit, or a matter of the spirit withdrawing, or a combination of the two, it’s awful."

The typical Mormon answer for not feeling the Spirit is that you need to repent. Unfortunately, this adds guilt to the depression which makes it worse. Like when you're talking to your doctor about feeling depressed and he tells you that you need to lose weight.

I appreciated the commenters who referenced Christ's suffering in Gethsemane. I'm sure that God was there, watching but not being able to help. I believe he does the same when I'm suffering also, though I think I'm just beginning to realize why.

In my lucid, non-depressed times I've had experiences when I've felt His love and assistance. I prayed for and received answers. Why, then, at the time that I feel I need the most help is when I feel the most abandoned? The answer came to me through this poem by Tennyson posted in the comments:


XCVI

You say, but with no touch of scorn,
Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue eyes
Are tender over drowning flies,
You tell me, doubt is Devil-born.

I know not: one indeed I knew
In many a subtle question versed,
Who touch’d a jarring lyre at first,
But ever strove to make it true:

Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds,
At last he beat his music out.
There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds.

He fought his doubts and gather’d strength,
He would not make his judgment blind,
He faced the spectres of the mind
And laid them: thus he came at length

To find a stronger faith his own;
And Power was with him in the night,
Which makes the darkness and the light,
And dwells not in the light alone,

But in the darkness and the cloud,
As over Sinaï’s peaks of old,
While Israel made their gods of gold,
Altho’ the trumpet blew so loud.


This depression, this darkness that comes over me has stripped my faith down to the core. Now the roots of my faith are not shallow, they are deep and strong; clinging to the soil with all the strength they have. I feel like I've been through the fire and come out stronger. (Enough analogies yet?)

Unfortunately, these things are hard to remember in the pits of depression. But has God really abandoned me? Wasn't he the one who gave me incredible parents, a wonderful husband, amazing siblings, and a little daughter who pats me on the back as I cry? I am definitely not abandoned.

Another thing that keeps me sane is hope. I would have given up so many times if it weren't for the hope of better things, of better times. This body I have with all its deficiencies is not permanent. Some day I'll be able to trade it in for a better and less chemically-imbalanced model. But until then friends, you'll have to stick with me because sometimes God leaves me in your hands. And I'll do my best to be there when he leaves you in mine.

(Now all that's left is to work on my charity. Does giving stuff to your kids count?)