The theologian label is flattering and understandable. I write a lot about theology, and I think I can hold my own in that area. But I'm not a trained theologian, so my theological reflections can be uneven. This was especially the case in the early days of this blog and my books. For example, in my very first book, Unclean, I shared some reflections on the Trinity that I think are pretty heretical. Were I writing Unclean today I would be a little more careful. I've learned a lot since 2011.
So, I'm not a theologian. I'm a psychologist who tries to integrate psychology with theology.
As a psychologist, people often assume I'm a therapist. This is also understandable. When you think "psychologist" you tend to think "therapy." And most psychologists are clinical or counseling psychologists. But that's not my training. I'm an experimental psychologist. My training concerns research methodologies. Most of the classes I teach at ACU are about research and statistics.
Now, one might ask: How does a research and stats teacher end up writing so much about theology? Well, as a researcher I turned my attention to the psychology of religion and published journal articles in that research area. Most of that empirical work showed up in my first two books, Unclean and The Authenticity of Faith. Since then, I haven't published much empirical research, turning my creative attention to the writing of books. When I show up at psychological conferences, I'm there supporting my students and their research that I've supervised.
But back to the point, I'm not a therapist. I do have a Masters degree in clinical psychology, and I did work for four years in a psychiatric hospital. So I have some clinical experience. But I'm not a licensed clinical or counseling psychologist. I don't see clients.
Consequently, when I started doing psychology of religion research I didn't gravitate toward mental health issues. I focused on things like attachment to God, existential psychology and disgust psychology. To be sure, these things have implications for mental health and therapeutic processes. Anything psychological has such implications, but when I set about trying to integrate psychology and theology I wasn't starting from the perspectives of clinical or counseling psychology. I was working, rather, from personality and social psychology. (My psychologist readers will know the differences between clinical/counseling and social/personality.)
And yet, over the years, as a psychologist (even if coming from experimental, social and personality perspectives) I've been asked by churches and audiences to make presentations about mental health issues. Those invitations have made me reflect on mental illness in the life of the Christian. Also, my books have begun to bump into mental health issues. This started with The Slavery of Death and shows up in Hunting Magic Eels. The book I'm currently working on, tentatively titled The Shape of Joy, will go even more in this direction and will be the most "therapeutic" book I've ever written.
All of this has caused me to formulate some thoughts about the relationship between faith and mental illness. There's a lot of conflict and confusion in our churches about mental illness. In some sectors of Christianity, among the Prosperity Gospel churches, you find very triumphalistic assumptions, that prayer and the power of the Holy Spirit is all you need to deal with mental health problems. Because of this, psychotherapy and/or taking medication is stigmatized. Mental health is wholly about faith.
And even if you come from a church that doesn't have triumphalistic assumptions, there's a general cultural worry, found both inside and outside Christianity, about the role of medication if a behavioral intervention is available. That is, many assume that you should try behavioral interventions before opting for medication. Pills are to be a last resort, seen as a sort of "failure." We have a lot of mixed feelings about psychopharmacology, both inside and outside the church.
Finally, if mental illness is experienced by Christians, what sort of help is God giving us if not total and immediate healing? What can we expect from God by way of assistance? If God isn't totally healing us, is God doing anything at all? How are we to square our belief that God is powerfully at work in our lives, along with promises for an "abundant life," if we are struggling with chronic mental illness?
I have a few thoughts about all this. This series will be sharing what I think about God and mental illness.
