Purpose in the Pain

seeing depression differently

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I struggle with depression. It can weigh down motivation and debilitates forward movement. A few weeks ago, I listened to the podcast 'Live with the Louhs' called Digging out of Depression. The husband/wife co-hosts, one an Orthodox Christian priest and the other a clinical psychiatrist, helped frame depression in a different way.

"My illness is not my identity. What I am feeling is not who I am; it is just what I am struggling with at the moment."

A few days later, a wave of depression came over me. Instead of being crushed by it, I treated more like an annoying cold that would pass over with ginger tea and prayer.

Building upon the topic of the last post The Calling in Your Heart and two places to find it, it's better to lean into the suffering because pain can produce purpose. Like in Kierkegaard's Angst, anxiety can be the tension between the now and not yet, where you are and where you could be, your present self and your potential. It's an indication that it is time to grow.

Rather than being crushed by self-sabotage, I asked, “what is the purpose in this?” The depression pressed me to seek a way out. And in the midst of the despair sprung the most joyful moment I have experienced in years. I watched a video essay on the life and Philosophy of Dostoevsky, by the Pursuit of Wisdom channel. It has a great section on self-mastery [a topic I originally included in this post but decided to save for a future one]. It inspired me to pull The Brothers Karamazov off the shelf and thumb through the pages. I settled on the chapter "From the Life of the Hieromonk and Elder Zosima", which tells the most dramatic transformation of Elder Zosima's brother during childhood. Faced with a diagnoses of death, he was sour, critical, and bitter; forced to go to church during holy week, something changed. He saw the light. He became euphoric, tender-hearted, grateful, apologetic. He saw God and was profoundly touched by the reality of His love. Paradoxically, he was thoroughly detached from the things of this world yet f

illed with a sincere compassion for it. He was overflowing with a bubbling, inner joy. I was triggered.

It was like a window opened in my soul. I flashed back to an earlier time. It was like I stepped into who I was 8 years ago, into a mode of being I had almost forgotten. One that had been more real in retelling than experiencing. It was when, after spending my early adult years exploring non-Christian territories and spiritual practices, I had become reacquainted with Jesus. I approached him as any of the other teachers - Buddha, Sri Ramakrishna, and the like. But this time was different. It was like being dropped into a dunk tank and swallowing the water, only to find that I could breathe the water, and, somehow, I could breathe better than ever before. I was alive in a way I never knew was possible. It was a mystery. It was a generous gift - the rapture of spiritual ecstasy, the joy of pure contentment.

As the old song goes, "and the things of earth grew faintly dim / in the light of his glory and grace." Eight years ago, I walked about the campus of Santa Rosa Junior College through crowds of thousands of students, and I thought, "if they only knew what was happening to me in the inside." I felt like a burning star with legs.

Very steadily, over seasons of time, the rapture faded. The ontological bar of expectation ratcheted down. I became mortal, affected by spells of despair, chronic anxiety, and the frustrations of practical struggles. I became a husband and father with a mortgage. The cloud I strode upon lowered to the ground. My goal (or necessity of survival) was to prove I could be a normal man, a provider and protector of my household. My younger spiritual state proved difficult to transfer to the family and societal levels.

It's been a long journey. God in his kind mercies seems to have a way of removing grace because it prompts us to move onward and upward. He wants us to become more, and he is willing to take away to really give. In any worthwhile marriage, at some point you come home from the honeymoon and learn to love in the practical functioning of a household. The image of Jonah's shade tree comes to mind (perhaps because it is over 100 degrees F at the time of writing). Jonah cursed God for taking his shade tree away. But really, God didn't want Jonah to hang out in the wilderness sitting in resentment, rooting for the destruction of the Ninevites. It was for Jonah's good to move on and fulfill a greater purpose.¹

Reading the Elder Zosima passage kindled that inner star within me, the forgotten spiritual state burning with joy. It unearthed the deep rapture of God's love. It reminded the older me of what was possible, a foretaste of what awaited higher up the ladder of divine ascent. It showed me what was worth letting go of in order to obtain a greater weight of glory in this life and beyond it.

I cried, sweetly, the most joyous tears, the ones that shine.

A few questions remain: Would this moment have taken place without the pain? If everything was okay, I wouldn't have sought the teachings on depression and anxiety; I wouldn't have been queued to pick up The Brothers; and I wouldn't have come to that passage that acted like a spiritual portal - right? If God didn't remove the little shade tree, would I have been prompted to trudge through the wilderness and discover a most refreshing oasis? Or would I have been content to sit in the pseudo-joys of normality?

Question for you (and for me):

Are you cursing God for removing the shade tree? Or are you leaning into the discomfort to discover a greater purpose?

Photo by Noah Silliman on Unsplash

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1. Yes, other interpretations and symbolism are at play. I’m keeping it simple here for the sake of focusing on the topic at hand. Check out Jonathan Pageau’s video on Jonah for a deeper rabbit hole.