“Navel-gazing is an art of the wealthy and comfortable”

We live in a culture profoundly shaped by the practice of therapy. By that I mean we expect, depend upon, and place confidence in all manner of techniques and processes designed to help, improve, or heal us. We have invested heavily in procedures of all kinds. Without question some of these techniques,  properly wielded, do us some good—though often much less than advertised. 

Medicine (together with clean water and modern systems of sanitation) has conquered a variety of physical afflictions that once carried people away by the multitude. Still, it must be said that even today some die young; a great many die at what was, centuries ago, a good old age; and no one escapes death. Indeed, a good old age today is broadly what it was four thousand years ago. And, too much age is often visited with Alzheimer’s or other debilitating afflictions. 

Other techniques do some people some measure of physical or psychological good. We have learned the importance of a healthy diet, though comparatively few take the recommendations of nutritionists seriously. Exercise is good for one’s health, though hours in the gym won’t compensate for cancer. The counselor, psychologist, or shrink is now a fixture of western society, and certainly may do some good. Yet, for all the attention paid to their “expertise,” it is not obvious that we are happier than we were years ago when folks seeking help with their feelings or their fears (which was uncommon to begin with) would talk to a minister or friend. 

Indeed, it is still statistically unproven that such social or psychological therapies are more likely to improve one’s mental or spiritual health than the mere passage of time. It was this discovery, and with it, the burial of all his preconceptions, that began Thomas Oden’s pilgrimage from United Methodist liberalism—in which redemption had been redefined as psychological wellness achieved through therapeutic intervention—to evangelical Christianity’s historic soteriology.

This therapeutic concentration, at least in the western world, has shaped Christian ministry as well. It isn’t simply that churches are now commonly providing “counseling” to their people (either in the form of one of the church’s ministers, who has been trained in such healing arts, or by recommending and sometimes paying for their parishioners’ visits to a professional). More significantly, in a culture where people believe there are experts who can fix their problems—and have come to expect such help—church leaders have come to believe they must provide it or will be thought of by parishioners as increasingly irrelevant to their real needs and interests. Even evangelical Christians are looking to the church for health and happiness in these new forms and by these new means. They are probably unaware that this represents a great change in historic Christianity’s understanding of the cure of souls.

Given the pervasiveness of the therapeutic mindset, even among Christians, I tremble to continue these remarks, but this is the genius of this column. While I should worry about giving unnecessary offense, it is much easier for me than for a working pastor to say the obvious when the obvious may well offend current sensibilities. Before I continue, I must make an important qualification. I do not believe that counseling, as the term and practice is ordinarily understood in our time, is worthless. Sound advice has always been an important means of surmounting life’s problems. Certainly some counselors are better than others, but thoughtful observers of the human condition will have valuable insights to share. 

What concerns me is the therapeutic mindset. By that I mean the expectation that there are “experts” in the human condition whose expertise lies in the training they have received in one or another methodology; that human problems are susceptible to technique; and that the existence of such “cures” obliges others, including the church, to provide them.

Holy Scripture reminds us constantly that Christians are always sorrowful, even if they are also happy. There is enough in this dying life to make any thoughtful person heavy-hearted. Every serious Christian will go to his or her grave with great regrets. Many wrongs will never be righted in this world. Many sorrows must remain. The only solution to some of life’s heartaches is, alas, to have never gotten into the situation in the first place. For example, some Christians must remain through their lives in unfulfilling, if not deeply unhappy, marriages. The damage injustice has done may prove to be a burden to be borne all one’s life. The loss of a loved one brings the sort of pain only love can create but will not remove. And, heaviest of all are those burdens we have brought upon ourselves by our own stupidity or disobedience. 

We are to help one another, absolutely. The godly have wise counsel to share, absolutely. But this world remains a vale of tears. The life we long for, the life that is worthy to be called life, will not come into its own in this vale of tears. There is much to make us happy, to be sure. But the smile in our hearts will not eliminate the limp in our stride.

What western Christians need to acknowledge is that our therapeutic mindset, our expectation that we should be content and satisfied or, if we are not, that someone can make us so, is a problem almost unique to a wealthy, self-satisfied, and self-centered culture. There is little of this in the Sudan, for example, just as there is little, if any, anorexia or gender dysphoria. Navel-gazing is an art of the wealthy and comfortable. So is the expectation that our lives should be perpetually satisfying. We concentrate on our troubles and hire others to fix them because we can afford to. But the Bible repeatedly reminds us that God is after our holiness more than our happiness, and that the trials of our lives, the difficulties of the way, the pervasive evidence that life here is not what life ought to be—this is what breaks the spell this world casts upon us, teaches us to care for higher things, humbles us, softens our hearts toward others, gives us a purpose in life other than our own personal peace and affluence, and preserves for us the joy of our salvation.

The church should be a place of healing, to be sure. Our pastors and our brothers and sisters should be sympathetic listeners and wise counselors. Sometimes a professional can help us to think helpfully and realistically about our troubles. But none of this will change the fact that the pilgrimage from this world to the next will be arduous and wearying, mysteriously more so for some than for others. If we must carry our burdens the entire way, what is that to us if, at last, we arrive in the City that has foundations? And what are our burdens, after all, but perhaps the greatest opportunity of our life? Every man or woman with Christian blood in his or her veins wants to do some great thing for the Lord, to prove his or her loyalty to the one who loved us and gave himself for us. But most of us dream of putting our head on the chopping block. (I’m honest enough to admit that I would prefer to do that just after learning that I had terminal cancer and just before the symptoms began to bite!) We do not expect that our opportunity to do something great for the Lord would look like honoring him in a difficult marriage, caring for a disabled child for years on end, dealing with chronic sickness ourselves, carrying the scars of childhood abuse, or seeing one or another of our dreams come to nothing. But, for most of us, that is precisely the opportunity the Lord has given us to do something grand for him; something that not only proves our loyalty, but demonstrates to others the reality of his presence with us and his grace in our hearts—that he himself is our joy and treasure. With Christ we can do all things. If that is so, it should not be our goal in life to live without sorrows but, if we must, to endure them with grace, peace, and love. Let’s care less about fixing our problems and care much more about sanctifying them for the glory of God.