From The Desk of David

It’s been a long day and I sit down to scroll—I know it’s not what I should do because it will only result in not just finding rest but finding disappointment and an amplification of the loneliness within. There’s a mix of smiling friends, sociopolitical rants, theological teachings, and fitness advice. But none of these things are what stands out. It’s the vast array of psychological posts—therapists, social workers, and well-meaning others who post advice and science in the name of encouragement and teaching. A simple scroll through these types of posts and there will be one word that stands out among the rest—trauma. It’s arguably become our society’s new favorite word. Perhaps because it’s some odd form of a trump card. When someone says that they have trauma of any form, there’s this unspoken expectation that the other person not only has compassion but also filters themselves in a way that does not trigger the traumatized person.

Now please hear me, I am not saying trauma does not exist or is invalid and those who have gone through trauma do not deserve kindness and compassion. I just think we’ve turned it into something it was never supposed to be. We’ve turned trauma into not just a buzzword but an excuse for sin. But we’ve gone further than that. We haven’t just hijacked the trauma; we’ve hijacked the compassion that others show us and turned it into a shield for owning our brokenness.

You see, I’m not just saying this from a point of observation or even study. I’ve lived it. Those who know my story know that I’ve had more than my fair share of trauma and hardship. And I was recently called out on this myself. This post isn’t an observation or even a study on the topic. It’s a reflection that was spurred by someone who cares for me calling me out on the idol I’ve turned my own trauma into. And I’ll argue that I’m not the only one who has done it.

You see that conversation wasn’t fun. It probably was one of the hardest conversations I’ve had in my entire life. I typically walk away from conversations with that mentor feeling encouraged and inspired but this time, I was pretty upset and really mad. (And if you’re the mentor who I’m talking of, thank you for risking our relationship to call me to be better.)

But later, I found myself thinking and ranting to the Lord about everything I was feeling and how mad I was, and how wrong I thought my friend was. But then the Holy Spirit interrupted me, hand on hip I suppose. “Did I not tell the woman caught in adultery ‘to go and sin no more?’” What? That had nothing to do with what I was talking about. I soon would pull into my driveway and my car would fade to quiet. I leaned back in my seat and exhaled deeply. “What in the world did the woman caught in adultery have to do with what I was talking about?” I reached for my phone, found the familiar passage, read it twice, and then it hit me. It wasn’t what Jesus said, it was about what He didn’t say.

The woman caught in adultery had messed up and messed up badly. Somehow, she ended up intertwined with a man who wasn’t her husband and scripture doesn’t tell us what landed her in the situation. Perhaps she was willingly involved or raped or something else but in reality, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter why she ended up where she was.

But then I noticed something else. She was dragged to the crowd of people, in probably nothing more than a sheet. She was then told she would be given one of history’s most brutal deaths and there was nothing she could do about it. Talk about trauma. I’m sure this happened today, she’d have a therapy bill a mile long. But then the story goes on, Jesus goes on to show compassion, forgives her, and then delivers His famous line. But then it hits me. Jesus never gave her permission to use the events of the day to sin. The command to not sin had no loopholes, ways out, or escape clauses. It was just “sin no more.”

Then the Holy Spirit interrupted once more “Sin was my concern, not the trauma-induced.” It caught me off guard. “Jesus is kindness and compassion, and shouldn’t He care if one of His children is hurting?” I’d attempt to argue back. How foolish of me? I was met with silence, and it started to grow loud. I’d exhale. “The cross was kind.” I’d think to myself. You see, the cross solidified the kindness of Jesus for all of humanity. It wasn’t a matter of if Jesus cared, it was a matter of wanting what’s best for us. Jesus is kind but calls us to holiness. His compassion was in driving the crowd away and forgiving the woman. But what was best for her was to make sure the woman didn’t let this defining moment become her identity.

That’s the siren song of trauma. Trauma says it’s so strong and so powerful that the identity of victimhood must be worn as a crown and the rest of the world must bow before it. And I’d argue that trauma-informed culture is the kneeling of others. Now hear me, if you’re like me and you’ve been through trauma, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve what happened to you. What happened to you wasn’t in your control. But here is what is in your control—your response to the trauma. Go to therapy. Get help. Take the medication. Do the hard work. But don’t let it become your identity. Don’t let it rob you of future relationships. Don’t make your trauma an idol and then expect others to worship it.

I’m preaching to myself here. I’ve had to have some hard conversations—with myself and others. I’ve had to apologize. But an apology without action is just someone buying time.

I’m sure this post will probably be called ignorant, hurtful, damaging, and ill-informed. But here’s the thing about idols—they scream the loudest when they’re about to die. I’m all for mental health care and this post isn’t an anti-mental health post. But this post invokes the question of if we’ve turned mental health into an idol. Have we turned our well-being and happiness into an idol that we’ve worshipped over Jesus?

Now I’m also saying it’s not going to be easy. Study the science of trauma and PTSD and you’ll learn that trauma takes not just a root in the mind but also in the body. Being triggered is a hard thing to fight through and many would describe it as fighting off death. But I guess that’s why Paul calls it dying to self anyways.

And death is never easy. I’m sure Jesus could attest to the better than anyone.

When I sit down to write these posts, I don’t always know how they will end. I seldom do. But as I wrote the last paragraph, it hit me. Jesus died and is probably the best witness to the horrendous nature it possesses. But He also overcame it. Death didn’t have the final word. Now ask anyone who is “triggered,” and they’ll tell you it feels like they’re dying. The chest tightening. The inability to find a breath. The blurring of the world around.

But Jesus overcame death, and as cliché, as it may sound, that power lives within you. So, what if instead of trauma being our identity, it was the thorn in our side? What if triggers didn’t overtake us, but became invitations to allow the Holy Spirit to sanctify? What if encountering others who have been traumatized wasn’t a time to hold back, but invite them to holiness?

You see, trauma may be a word that culture has hijacked and turned into a way to worship oneself. But last time I checked, we serve a God who redeems things anyways.