Sitting with clients in therapy, I am frequently overwhelmed by their experiences of loss, heartache, and suffering. Many of my clients did not have the opportunity to grieve or feel the weight of their suffering. Messages sent and received with good intention functioned to suppress emotional expression. But suppressing emotions does not mean they go away. Sooner or later they come out and often in ways that end up being destructive to the individual and to her relationships. Within the safety of the therapeutic relationship, these emotions are encouraged towards an appropriate expression.
Giving voice to grief and sadness over the loss of Ravi Zacharias—particularly during the ongoing constraints of the COVID19 pandemic feels particularly important to me. I have found myself saying to many people that even though we do not grieve as those who have no hope, we still grieve. We still experience the emotions of those who are bereft of a dearly loved leader, friend, mentor, father, brother and spouse. We grieve the loss of his presence among us and the loss of his ongoing and influential ministry around the world as an author and speaker. Holding Christian hope in the resurrection of the body does not preclude feeling and giving expression to the sorrow that is felt over the loss of Ravi’s life and the huge absence left now that he is gone from our lives in the present.
As a young girl, one of my favorite bible stories was the epic encounter between the prophet Elijah and the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel. With David meets Goliath odds, Elijah faces off against 450 prophets of Baal in a contest pitting the God of Israel against the Canaanite god Baal. Which deity would answer the prayers of the respective prophets to consume the altar sacrifice?
This is a narrative filled with dramatic tension and awesome displays of power. The Lord answers Elijah with fire from heaven that not only consumes the sacrifice, but also licks up every last drop of water poured out from not one, but four pitchers of water. The story ends with the destruction of the prophets of Baal and the peoples’ declaration that the Lord is God.
I still love this story of Elijah and the prophets of Baal, but not for the reasons I loved it as a young girl. Instead, I love what seems to be an anti-climactic postscript to the story. Despite seeing the glory and power of God on display in such dramatic fashion, and winning a great victory, Elijah falls into what would today be described as major depression. Fleeing to the wilderness, he prays to God to take his life, not once but two times. As one commentator notes, “Those who have suffered mental anguish in their lives know all too well the depths to which Elijah has descended. He (and they) has entered the deep spots in the psychological ocean, and then has found a narrow slit in the ocean floor, a Marianas Trench of the soul, where he descends further still into the inky abyss. All he can think of is his desire to die.”(2)
Reading and re-reading this story, especially as I sit with grieving clients and experience the weight of loss, I recognize the author’s desire to highlight something profound about human sorrow and despair and the comfort of God. The readers of these narrative in I Kings 18 and 19 are meant to be shocked by Elijah’s emotional response to Queen Jezebel’s threats to kill him. After all, didn’t we just see God’s dramatic demonstration of power in consuming fire? One might expect a God who would reproach Elijah for wanting to die, for his apparent lack of faith, and for his despair. And yet, the narrative offers no exhortation or chastening. Instead, an angelic messenger comes to urge Elijah to eat bread and water—to be nourished for the journey is too great for you.
Given God’s powerful display from heaven in the encounter with the prophets of Baal, the reader might expect another dramatic display from God to correct Elijah’s depressed mood. And indeed, as Elijah waits on Mount Horeb, the Mountain of God, he experiences a strong wind, and a mighty earthquake, and then a consuming fire; but with each of these cataclysms the narrator repeats a refrain: The Lord was not in the wind, or the earthquake or the fire. Instead, the Lord comes to Elijah in a gentle blowing. God meets Elijah at the very place of his despair, not with correction or reprimand, not with a buck up and get going or a keep your chin up but with a grace as gentle as a soft breeze.
Like Elijah, there are days when we feel at the height of heights, assured of all answers, victorious in our daily battles, maybe even confident of God’s saving activity all around. But there are also days when regardless of all that we have seen and witnessed of God’s power and glory, we crumble under the weight of sadness. Despair feels like our only friend and the daily obstacles and challenges of life conspire against any faith, hope, and love. It is deeply encouraging to see that even in this place, God draws near with gentleness.
The comforting news of these narratives is that God is not only available to us when we feel good, but makes his dwelling with us even in the darkness of despair. There can often be a pressure to suppress these more difficult emotions, to avoid the problem, to “get over” bad feelings. But the God of Elijah is not put off by our sorrow, or our depression or the weariness of despair. The God of Elijah draws near as a gentle breeze surrounding us with grace and welcoming the full expression of our anguish or tears. God is present in the victory, to be sure, but just as present in what feels like defeat. The God of Elijah prepares a meal, provides shelter, welcomes our sadness, and speaks gently into all our uncertainties.
Margaret Manning Shull is a member of the writing and speaking team at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Bellingham, Washington.
(1) See 1 Kings 18-19:18.
(2) Bill Long, “Man on the Run,” June 9, 2007, www.drbilllong.com, accessed October 10, 2011.