Why I Wrote Companions in the Darkness

I’m asked often why I wrote my book, Companions in the Darkness. The stories in it are unusual, I’ve heard. It’s not often we hear about depression and faith or about the struggles of our spiritual heroes and mental health. What led you to this?

I suppose the short answer is that Companions in the Darkness is a book I needed. I needed these stories in the past, when depression first took hold of me. I need them today, as I navigate (with all of you) a season of lingering uncertainty and stress. And I will need them in the future, regardless of what it may hold.

When I first struggled with depression, I did not know the stories in this book. But how I wish I had. It’s impossible to know looking back, but I can’t help but wonder how the stories of the companions may have encouraged me, how they may have assuaged some of the guilt that came with depression, how they may have pointed me towards small steps I could take as I journeyed back into the light.

I heard the first of these stories in a seminary classroom, and in them I heard something I recognized. These heroes, these saints, had struggled with depression much as I did. So I set out to learn more about these companions and found others along the way. They became stories I treasured, stories I learned from, stories I needed to share.

“I’ve come to realize that the stories we choose to tell communicate something. Ignoring a struggle like depression in the lives of people in church history—those we still talk about today, those we may call heroes—communicates something. It says those stories don’t matter, or, worse, that we should be ashamed of them.

“That is why this book exists.… [The stories in this book] need to be told so that we can be heirs of the wisdom and comfort these brothers and sisters have to share. They need to be told so that we find the courage and freedom to tell our own stories. They need to be told so that we are reminded that God can still use us, that depression will not be our life’s epitaph.”

I am delighted and honored to finally be able to share these stories with you, as Companions in the Darkness finally releases next week. I pray they shine a bit of light for any of you in the dark.

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Want to hear more about Companions in the Darkness?

Join me at an event on launch day. You have two options!

Nov. 24, noon EST - Diana will be the featured guest at the next InterVarsity ESN Conversation. Sign up here.

Nov. 24, 8pm EST - Book Launch Party, Live at Facebook.com/DianaGruverWriter

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NOW AVAILABLE!

Order Companions in the Darkness from InterVarsity Press, Amazon, Hearts & Minds Bookstore, or your favorite bookseller.

How to Care for Your Mind in the Time of Social Distancing

“The human heart is like a millstone in a mill; when you put wheat under it, it turns and grinds and bruises the wheat to flour; if you put no wheat, it still grinds on, but then ‘tis itself it grinds and wears away.” - Martin Luther

We find ourselves in an unusual predicament. We are living in a time in which the circumstances in our world spark anxiety. It’s a concerning situation. Every day we see the coronavirus spread. We see the loss of life. We see empty shelves in our grocery stores and hear rumors of shortages of medical supplies.

This is compounded by the practices of social distancing we are adopting to slow the spread of the virus. Even if you had no prior predisposition towards anxiety or depression, the situation is psychologically vulnerable. We’re more isolated and less occupied. All the while with more fodder for our twisting, spinning thoughts.

What are we to do to care for our minds in the time of social distancing? How can we practice psychological self-care when we’re forced into a unique circumstance that keeps us from common means of keeping ourselves healthy?

During this time, I’m finding some advice from Martin Luther. (See last week’s post on Luther’s wisdom about loving our neighbors during a public health crisis.) He was no stranger to depression or anxiety. He knew what it felt like to be locked in cycling thoughts and fears. He also knew what it felt like to be socially isolated.—He spent nearly a year sequestered in Wartburg Castle during the beginning of Protestant Reformation, when his life was at stake.

Luther’s advice doesn’t replace the importance of appropriate mental health care, and I know that for those of us with mental illnesses like depression and anxiety, adhering to his wisdom will be that much more difficult. But regardless of whether we live with a mental health diagnosis, he gives all of us excellent practical advice on taking care of our minds.

1. Get Out

When Luther found the “millstone” of his heart grinding away, he rushed out among his pigs “rather than remain alone by myself.” If you live in an area like I do, some of you may actually be able to find the companionship of farm animals. For the rest of us, following this advice might mean taking the dog for a walk, if you have one, or simply going outside and paying attention to the world around you. Watch the birds, who your Father in Heaven cares for. See the budding trees and flowers your Father in Heaven clothes. Breathe in deeply the fresh air and root yourself in your place. Let the physicality of the life around you pull you from your mind.

2. Flee Solitude

Luther also often counseled those who struggled with anxiety and depression to “flee solitude,” for it was solitude that gave thoughts space to fester. This is incredibly difficult advice to follow now, as we practice social distancing, so we may need to get creative. Use the technology available to you to connect with someone from afar—call someone on the phone or video chat with a friend. Think of creative ways for in-person contact that still maintains recommended social distancing practices. I’ve heard of neighbors gathering outside on lawn chairs spaced six feet or more apart and of friends picnicking with self-provided food, separated by a similar buffer. These things do not replace in-person contact or assuage our innate need for human touch. But they are some of our best options to follow Luther’s advice.

3. Find Delight

He also recommends to “joke and jest,” as a way to make morbid thoughts fly. He encourages the depressed and despondent to relish good food, to partake in activities they enjoy. He understood the importance of delight in fighting the battles of our minds. This, again, may need to be reimagined during this time—but keep your eyes open for and seek out even the simplest forms of delight and sources of laughter during this tumultuous season.

4. Dwell on Truth and Hope

Finally, give the mill of your heart something fruitful to “grind.” I’m all for staying informed. It’s an important part of engaging with the world. We do no one a service by sticking our heads in the sand or downplaying the current situation. But there does come a time to pull away from the headlines and the news feeds. As your anxious thoughts build, pull away and give your mind something different to process. Replace your morbid thoughts with a source of hope. Luther would encourage you to turn your eyes to Christ. He would encourage you to sing. Meditate on Scripture. Pray. We must live with eyes wide open to the reality facing us, all while anchoring ourselves in the truth of the sovereignty and goodness of the God we worship. Feeding our minds with truth positions us to be better able to abide with peace in the midst of the chaos.

Stay well, friends.

Faith in the Age of Coronavirus

“I will ask God mercifully to protect us. Then I will fumigate, help purify the air, administer medicine, and take it. I will avoid places and persons where my presence is not needed in order not to become contaminated and thus perchance infest and pollute others, and so cause their death as a result of my negligence. If God should wish to take me, he will surely find me and I have done what he has expected of me and so I am not responsible for either my own death or the death of others. If my neighbor needs me, however, I will not avoid place or person but will go freely…” See, this is such a God-fearing faith because it is neither brash nor foolhardy…

I read these words of advice this week. They were timely in light of the rise of COVID-19 to pandemic proportions. (Bonus if you know where these words are from without reading ahead.) They didn’t come from Twitter or Facebook. They aren’t from a blog or magazine. I didn’t hear them in a sermon or podcast. They came from a much older, much lower-tech age. They are the words of the great Protestant reformer, Martin Luther, in an open letter with his thoughts about the proper response of Christians during an outbreak of the bubonic plague.

Admittedly, the stakes we are facing with the coronavirus are not as high as those of the black death, but I find that the major themes of Martin Luther’s advice still stand today.

1. Do not be consumed by fear. Luther prays—for God’s protection and intervention—and refuses to be controlled by fear. I’ve said often that as Christians our actions in such situations should be governed by faith plus facts, not by fear. We can face the world with realism (facts) but not be dominated by fear because we have faith in a good and powerful God. This does not mean we don’t take appropriate precautions (see more below), but it does mean we do not need to succumb to panic. This rejection of fear may be easier for some of us than others, but even for those of us who suffer from anxiety, it is the goal. We hold the steadfastness of God’s faithfulness and grace in front of our eyes, and we cling to the resurrection hope he offers us, even if we must remind ourselves of these things moment by moment.

2. Love your neighbor. Luther hinges his entire argument on the command to “love your neighbor as yourself.” In his day, that meant a willingness to risk contracting the plague yourself if your neighbor was in need of spiritual comfort or of physical care. Today, it may still mean those things or may take other forms. It may mean running errands or going to the store for a “neighbor” who is of higher risk. It may mean supporting families with children or college students who have had their schools shut down. It may mean speaking up against a hateful or racist comment or act toward an Asian or Asian-American (yes, it’s happening). It may mean checking in on someone who lives alone during a quarantine. It may be a note or a phone call to someone who is ill or anxious.

Think about your situation, your neighborhood, your church community, and use your imagination. As we walk through the next days, weeks, and months, let this be what shapes your thoughts and your actions: how can I love my neighbor today?

Luther mentions one other way to love your neighbor that remains particularly pertinent today:

3. Love your neighbor by taking care of yourself. I have heard people shrug off concern over the coronavirus outbreak because it’s only dangerous for the elderly or immunocompromised. I have heard them downplay its significance because it won’t do much harm to someone young and relatively healthy—like them, like me. This is not driven by a love of neighbor. We are given an opportunity to suffer inconvenience for the sake of caring for those who may be vulnerable. We are given a simple way to protect and affirm the dignity of their lives and health.

So, we follow the advice given to us by the medical community at the moment. For starters, we wash our hands (seriously, please do this). We don’t go out if there’s a possibility we’re sick. As they come, we honor the recommendations and restrictions put in place for “social distancing” to slow the spread of the virus enough for the medical community to not become overloaded, putting even more people unnecessarily at risk. (If you haven’t seen the “flattening the curve” chart yet, you can look at it here. It gives a good visual for why this is necessary.) We do these things not out of fear or hysteria. We do them because it is a simple way to love our neighbors who could suffer “as a result of [our] negligence,” in Luther’s words.

Each day, we face a new onslaught of news reports, statistics, diagrams, and hot takes about the COVID-19 pandemic. It’s easy to get swept up in it all. But this is my adopted approach, and I would encourage you to put it into practice as well. Faith and facts, not fear. This means I spend time praying. It means I make sure I am getting good information (facts) to guide my understanding and actions related to this virus (unless you are an infectious disease specialist, it’s a time worth listening to the professionals). But above all it means I seek to love my neighbor as myself, just as Jesus commanded.

Practicing the Presence of God

This is an updated and edited version of a post that appeared originally in October 2015.

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“We ought not to be weary of doing little things for the love of God, who regards not the greatness of the work, but the love with which it is performed.” - Brother Lawrence

I sometimes grow weary of the mundane. Dishes in need of washing appear day after day on my counter. The dirty laundry bin stays empty for only a few hours at most. There are bills to be paid, doctor appointments to keep, trash to be carried away week after week. No matter how hard I scrub, the shower will once again collect soap scum, the toilet bowl that mysterious water line. It’s easy to wish away the monotony of ever-accumulating chores. It’s easy to find them drudgery.

Then I remember our friend Brother Lawrence.

Brother Lawrence was a lay brother in a Carmelite monastary in 17th-century Paris. After his death, a fellow monk compiled a short book of Brother Lawrence’s letters and recorded conversations. If you have never read this delightful little book, The Practice of the Presence of God, you really must.

Brother Lawrence has been made famous by scrubbing greasy pots “for the love of God.” While serving as a lowly monastic kitchen aide, he “resolved to make the love of God the end of all his actions.” He developed a spiritual practice of remaining in constant communion with God through a continual conversation in prayer. Every act became a way to glorify God. Through his daily practice of “abiding” in God’s presence, the mundane became a place Brother Lawrence could serve God and experience His presence.

He teaches me a simple lesson, one I need to remember when I bend over the kitchen sink or stand folding the laundry: what makes an action glorify God is not the nature of the action itself but the attitude with which we do it.

Brother Lawrence says to me, Go do life and recognize that every little piece of it is from the Lord. Everything you do can be for His glory and out of love for Him. He cares about the details and the daily menial tasks. He can meet with you in them.

In my work, my chores, my play—all those moments of normal life—God is there. Glorifying God does not require me to fill my time with a litany of explicitly “spiritual” activities. It simply requires an everyday life surrendered to Him. He is glorified in His children being fully alive. He is served as I live each moment to His glory, out of love and gratitude for Him.

There are times when a life of this continual surrender and constant attendance to God’s presence does result in a drastic life change. It may lead some of us to move somewhere we wouldn’t chose on our own. It may lead to a career change. It may lead to radical actions with our time or our money. But most often, it means “doing life” in a rather non-extraordinary way, but with the eyes of our heart on the Lord, seeking to serve Him in the everyday, seeking to walk continually in His presence, as if He were physically with us as we go through our daily tasks.

So how do we do this? How do we follow the lessons our friend Brother Lawrence taught centuries ago? What is the secret that brought Brother Lawrence to the point of meaningfully and worshipfully scrubbing pots for God?

“In order to form a habit of conversing with God continually, and referring all we do to Him; we must at first apply to Him with some diligence: but that after a little care we should find His love inwardly excite us to it without any difficulty.”

In other words—practice. We practice keeping up a constant conversation with God as we go through the day. We practice considering how we can do the simple work before us to His glory. According to our friend, Brother Lawrence, this practice eventually makes abiding in God’s presence our default mode.

So wherever you are today, friend, remember that God is there with you, no matter how trivial it might feel. Look for Him there, practice His presence, and do all for the love of God.

Luther's Letter to the Barber: Reformation Reflections

In honor of the 500th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation, I'm taking some time to reflect on what the Reformation means today. If you'd like to learn more about the Reformation, see my post "Protestant Amnesia: What's So Important About the Reformation?"

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When we think of Martin Luther, it's typically as a fiery Reformer. He's nailing the Ninety-Five Theses to the church door in Wittenberg (though there's some debate whether the nailing actually happened). He's engaged in hefty theological disputations, defending his understanding of salvation by grace through faith. He's a larger-than-life figure. He's a genius with a witty and cutting pen.

But Luther was above all a pastor. His ultimate concern wasn't the intense theological debates - it was the normal every-day Christians who were being led astray. He saw the way the Church's theology affected the simple German folk in his parish, and he wanted desperately for them to know the Gospel and to be free of the intense fear of a conscience haunted by God's judgment. His theology wasn't coming from a theoretical, scholarly high ground. It was intensely practical and pastoral, driven by real people.

The Ninety-Five Theses were at heart a pastoral concern about how peasants were being manipulated into giving money they couldn't afford to give up in the name of something morally and theologically suspect.

Luther once said he preached his sermons with the servants and children in mind, keeping the ideas simple and straightforward so that anyone could understand and learn. 

He translated the Bible into German so it could be read and understood by laypeople. He rewrote a new worship service, also in German, so that it would be in churchgoers' own tongue, to be understood and followed.

One of my favorite examples is Luther's A Simple Way to Pray, dedicated to Master Peter the Barber. Do you see how powerful this is? This great man - one of our church history giants, who wrote to kings and the pope - also took the time to write to an ordinary German man, his friend, a barber, to explain how to pray. (I would recommend you take a look at this one - it's still incredibly insightful!)

It's easy to get caught up in theology or theory or debates. But Martin Luther reminds me that to do so for its own sake is missing the point. Christianity should never become so heady that it becomes distanced from or feels inaccessible to normal, every-day Christians. It is for the everyman (and woman), for the ordinary. 

The message of the Gospel is not far from us. It is not beyond our comprehension or understood only by those with advanced degrees. It is simple. It is for us. And the church's ministry should be too. 

Soli Deo Gloria