May 6, 2012 | 6:30 p.m.
Candlelighting Vespers for Mental Illness Recovery and Understanding

Comfort, Comfort My People

John W. Vest
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Isaiah 40:1–11

“Comfort, comfort my people!”

These are familiar words from our scriptural tradition. We hear them often during the season of Advent. There is a musical setting for these words in our hymnal that runs through my head every time I read them.

“Comfort, comfort my people!”

Four years ago, the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (USA) used this as the theme for a wonderful policy statement and study guide about serious mental illness.

“Comfort, comfort my people!”

These words, recorded in the prophetic book of Isaiah, come from a time when the people of Judah were living in exile. Their homeland, their capital city, their holy temple—indeed, everything they knew and loved—had been destroyed by the Babylonian empire. For them, all hope seemed lost. They feared that even God had abandoned them, or worse, that God had been defeated by the Babylonians and their gods.

“Along Babylon’s streams,” sings the psalmist in exile, “there we sat down, crying because we remembered Zion.”

Those who suffer mental illness, those who walk beside those who do, and those who advocate for them both, have found these images of exile to be meaningful metaphors for their experiences.

“Comfort, comfort my people!”

The prophet of Isaiah 40 brings a message of comfort and hope for those in exile. God has not abandoned you. This situation you find yourself in—this experience of exile—is not the end of the story. God’s story is a story of redemption and restoration, reconciliation and healing.

This is, I believe, the central story of the entire Bible. It is retold at three significant moments of sacred history.

The Babylonian exile, and the restoration that comes when the people are freed to return home, is perhaps the culmination of the Old Testament narratives about God and God’s people. It becomes the definitive story of ancient Israel. Israel understood itself as a people once exiled and now restored.

This story of exile and restoration is foreshadowed by the story of slavery in Egypt and the people’s ultimate exodus to freedom. It is essentially the same story: tragedy is overcome by the redemptive love of God. Israel understood itself as a people once enslaved and now free.

And years later, after experiencing God’s presence among them in a new and profound way, God’s people understood the story of Jesus to follow this same pattern. On a Friday during the season of Passover, Jesus was put to death. Everything that his followers had hoped would come to be through him died on a Roman cross. But that was not the end of the story, as we well know during this season of Easter. When God restored Jesus’ life on Easter Sunday, it was a reflection of those earlier restorations and redemptions. Our God is a God who redeems.

“Comfort, comfort my people!”

When it comes to mental illness, what does restoration mean? How does God redeem those who suffer? How does God reconcile those who are estranged from others, from God, from themselves?

The PC(USA) statement on serious mental illness makes an important distinction between healing and cure. “Cure refers to the elimination of a disease or disorder,” we read. “Healing, on the other hand, is something much broader and may not include the elimination of a disease or disorder.”

Redemption may not mean curing the illnesses from which we suffer, in body or mind. We know good and well from experience that some illnesses do not go away, that some afflictions cannot be eliminated, no matter how faithful we may be, not matter how hard we might pray, no matter how much we may plead for God to help us.

Rather, healing has more to do with restoring a sense of wholeness in our fractured lives of suffering and pain. Healing is learning to live with our suffering and not let it overcome us. Healing is being part of a loving community that stands with each other through even the darkest of experiences.

Just over two weeks ago, a twenty-three-year old young man in our congregation took his own life. He had been suffering in both body and mind for several months. Throughout his slow and difficult recovery, during which time our congregation prayed for him, he was determined to make progress. He wanted to get better. He wanted to regain his life. There is no way for us to know what drew him into his final darkness.

If there is any redemption to be found in his tragic death, it is in services like this one, where we don’t hide in the shadows but instead bring issues of mental health out into the open. The exiles of mental illness, like all of the exiles we face, are nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to feel guilty about, nothing for which we can assume or assign blame. These experiences are part of what it means to be human.

“Comfort, comfort my people!”

I am confident, as we read in scripture, that nothing can separate us from God’s love. Nothing ever has and nothing ever will. Each one of us is a beloved child of God. God’s love always surrounds each one of us. Friends, I encourage you to open your hearts and minds to the awareness of that love, to embrace it, to find comfort and strength in it, to find courage and hope.

For me, the answer to the perennial question "Where is God in the midst of affliction?" has much less to do with the idea of God willing, planning, or orchestrating a life full of human suffering. Rather, I believe that God is to be found in the courage we find to face life’s tragedies, to heal, to find peace. Most importantly, I have found deep, deep truth in these words from 1 John: “God is love, and those who remain in love remain in God and God remains in them.” Through illness, tragedy, pain, or loss, I believe that God is to be found in the love we share with and for each other.

“Comfort, comfort my people!”

God has not abandoned us. Whatever situation we find ourselves in—whatever experience of exile—is not the end of the story. God’s story is a story of redemption and restoration, reconciliation and healing.

“Comfort, comfort my people!”

Amen.