*Editorial Note: Katelyn J. Dixon has written a series of gorgeous pieces for us throughout the spring on the internal transformation and deep healing journey God guides us into as his beloved children. Spanning the ministry of depression, a theology of suffering well, and the Divine Kintsugi Artist’s mending of forgiveness and reconciliation, Katelyn’s work invites further reflection and dialogue. Here, we begin to do just that. ~CK

MISSIO ALLIANCE (MA): Have you seen a gradual shift in the pursuit of mental health and holistic healing within the Church in the past decade or so? If so, what would you attribute this to?

KATELYN J. DIXON (KJD): Yes! Thankfully, this is one area in which I sense the Church mirroring culture is in line with the heart of Jesus. It’s now more “okay to not be okay” than ever. I think the loneliness and isolation brought on by the global pandemic was one of the final permission slips, so to speak, for people to both seek help for their mental health and to be open about it. But the significant surge in our experience of anxiety and depression and the subsequent seeking of mental health resources by a wider variety of people simply exposed what was already there beneath the surface: In our day to day lives, we’re lonely, isolated, and anxious. Our lack of built-in community in the West along with our push to do more, be more, and accomplish more all on our own is killing us—robbing us of our joy, damaging our souls, destabilizing our minds, and upending our sense of wellbeing. The Church can no longer afford to ignore mental health struggles, *and* the Church is beautifully poised to offer a solution to our social fragmentation: belonging to a beloved community.

Chris, what have you noticed about the Church’s response to mental health and holistic healing while living in South Africa?

CHRIS KAMALSKI (CK): To be honest, in the 16 years I have lived in South Africa, I have only seen glimpses of the health and pursuit of “It’s ok to not be ok” that you speak of. Many of my friends long for this sort of permission, and when they find out that I have struggled with my own mental health throughout my life, it’s as if they are no longer alone. The Church in South Africa is unfortunately largely ineffective with this freedom that honesty gives us, which is strange given the transformative power of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission as a ‘truth-telling practice’ of owning one’s responsibility for the systemic injustices of apartheid in this country. I sometimes wonder if the nature of living in a world of survival affects one’s ability to even attend to areas such as mental health needs.

Katelyn, do you see this same reality amongst the under-resourced populations you know of in the US?

KJD: Absolutely. I witnessed this first hand in the couple of years that I worked as a mental health counselor at a domestic violence and addiction recovery center for women, many of whom were women of color. Part of the recovery program’s requirement was to attend weekly counseling sessions, in which traumatized Black, Hispanic, and Native/Indigenous women sat across from me—a young, white, amateur counselor—with understandably high defenses. In learning their stories, I understood why it was difficult for the women I met with to just “open up” to me and even to seek recovery in the first place. To make matters worse, such places of recovery are themselves often under-funded. As each woman slowly began to honor me with her trust, I became aware of the amount of effort, hyper-vigilance, and resilience it takes just to make it through the day as an under-resourced Person of Color in America. I recently got to experience Black artist-theologian Julian Davis Reid present his work Notes of Rest, during which he cited a study that shows Black and Hispanic women get some of the worst sleep in America. How can those who are often under-served summon the courage it takes to acknowledge weakness or brokenness when they cannot rest—when such admissions are often weaponized as further reasons to withhold equity instead of applauded as bravery? 

The Church can no longer afford to ignore mental health struggles, *and* the Church is beautifully poised to offer a solution to our social fragmentation: belonging to a beloved community. Share on X

MA: Why has the Church–particularly Evangelical iterations–been so wary and hesitant to speak about depression, suffering, pain, and the like? What is underneath our fear?

KJD: I deeply appreciate this question, Chris—especially your willingness to name fear as being at the heart of our suffering avoidance. I wonder if deep down, we’re afraid that naming our suffering means Jesus doesn’t work—or that we don’t have enough faith. We think joy is a better witness than faithful co-suffering, co-laboring with Christ. But Jesus is someone who strode right into the messy middle of suffering, knelt in the dirt beside us, and put his arms around us. He’s not afraid of suffering, and he didn’t talk about suffering as a sign that God is somehow not fully sovereign. Jesus held the whole of time in his hands, and before even going to the cross told his disciples, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33, my emphasis in bold). As the Church, we often forget that we’re called to live with the end in mind—that suffering is not the whole story. Therefore, we are not to fear it or be ashamed of it. 

Chris, why do you think we’re afraid to speak out?

CK: I was hoping you’d answer this question and get me off the hook! Well done for re-directing back to me! I think our fear in acknowledging just how much we need help–a Savior, if you will–is in part because we have grown comfortable as the victims in our own narratives. Jesus’ encounter with the man by the Pool of Siloam, paralyzed for 38-years, speaks to this reality. John’s account speaks to an unnamed, underlying reality that fear crystallizes within us: Over time, many of us slowly grow to prefer our paralyzation, and no longer want to become well. Jesus’s approach is almost harsh if we don’t consider this fact: “When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, ‘Do you want to get well?'” (John 5:6, NIV). Naturally, the man cannot answer, instead giving one excuse after another. In Jesus’ grace, he helps the man to see this preference, and heals him anyways.

I wonder if deep down, we’re afraid that naming our suffering means Jesus doesn’t work—or that we don’t have enough faith. We think joy is a better witness than faithful co-suffering, co-laboring with Christ. Share on X

MA:In a recent piece for us, you till tough ground in establishing the beauty of the cross, and the willing embrace of suffering that Jesus entered into. What does it look like for us to enter into Christ’s suffering with him–and for Christ to enter into our suffering with us?

KJD: Entering into Christ’s suffering with him looks like baptism. It looks like daily surrender—to mystery, to death, to the resurrecting promise and power of God that C.S. Lewis describes in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe as a “deeper magic” than the power of death. We are laid low with him so that he might lift us up with him in resurrection. I love how Eugene Peterson puts it in The Message: “This is a sure thing: If we die with him, we’ll live with him” (2 Tim 2:12a, MSG). I wonder if this is what it means to be hidden in Christ—for our lives to be so inextricably bound up in his that we actually live in the fullness of time (Kairos time versus Chronos, chronological time). It’s like living into the future—into Heaven—now, even amidst the reality of our suffering. Jesus knew that the entrance to fullness of life is through the gateway of death. He went first, and he invites us to follow him. Jesus’ presence with us in suffering offers the promise of redemption—and this promised redemption gives us hope. One day, “all shall be well,” as Julian of Norwich famously wrote. 

MA: Henri Nouwen wrote frequently about the concept of ‘the wounded healer’ as a central image of the work of Christian leaders. Nouwen on this: 

“A minister is not a doctor whose primary purpose is to take away pain. Rather, the minister deepens the pain to a level where it can be shared…Ministry is a very confronting service. It does not allow people to live with illusions of immortality and wholeness. It keeps reminding others that they are mortal and broken, but also that with the recognition of this condition, liberation starts” (Nouwen, The Wounded Healer, pp. 92-93).

I hear echoes of Nouwen in your work. How are we to embrace a life of forgiveness as a wounded healer?

KJD: This is such a great quote—especially the reminder that true ministry is to enable people to better hold and share their pain. There is freedom in recognizing our brokenness. Embracing life as a wounded healer begins with recognizing that we have been embraced by ‘The Wounded Healer,’ and we are forever held within that embrace. It is Christ himself who holds our broken pieces together and invites us into a holy encounter with his wounds, too. Each day, the choice is before us: Will we embrace the wounded one who beholds us with utter love and tenderness, or will we try to heal ourselves—to deny, fix, or numb our pain through our own effort? I confess my own proclivity to “fix myself up for God,” and yet the times that I have turned to behold the One beholding me in my brokenness and holding out his own wounded hands towards me have been some of the sweetest and most healing encounters of grace I have ever known. Embracing life as a wounded healer is impossible apart from dwelling in the perpetual embrace—the Trinitarian Dance—of grace. 

Our conversation has me wondering: How can we offer safe spaces of rest to our sisters and brothers of color, where honesty is honored and burdens are shared? And are we still willing to listen if we find we’re part of the problem? 

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Entering into Christ’s suffering with him looks like baptism. It looks like daily surrender—to mystery, to death, to the resurrecting power of God. We are laid low with him so that he might lift us up with him in resurrection. Share on X