Letter from Kelsey Green

Jesus wears the crown of thorns, reminding us to unite our suffering to his Passion and death.

Photo by Chelsey Shortman

Sisters in Christ,

It all started with Lent. I wound up experiencing a lot of suffering throughout the Lent of my junior year in college in various different aspects of my life. In my relationships, in my schoolwork, and even in my mental health. Deep wounds in my relationships were being ripped back open, I felt completely overwhelmed with my schoolwork (to the point of questioning my capability and worthiness of the degree I am in), and coping with my depression and anxiety started to become more and more difficult. I was constantly overwhelmed, and found it difficult to do simple tasks and even hang out with friends. I had to constantly put on a smile while feeling like I would break down crying at any and every moment. I wasn’t sleeping well, I wasn’t eating well, and I constantly felt irritable and hopeless.

A few years before, I had noticed my mental health really take a turn for the worse after high school. There was a lot of self-hatred that came with being unable to work and function as a normal adult, and I received a lot of condemnation for it from those who were close to me. There was an inner dissonance in my thoughts, with my therapist telling me that I had severe depression and others telling me that I was just being lazy and that it was my own fault for being so depressed. But what I was going through with depression and anxiety was real and valid. I didn’t choose to have these mental illnesses, and I couldn’t simply will them away. One night I started experiencing extreme chest pain, lost my ability to talk, and could barely breathe. I thought I was having a heart attack. This sent me to the hospital to learn it was actually a panic attack.

Throughout all of this, I was experiencing spiritual confusion as well. Fighting with knowing I can find hope and joy in Christ, but being completely unable to get rid of the overwhelming hopelessness, fear, and worthlessness that were the reality for me. The worst part of all of this was just how incredibly far away from God I felt. I was in utter desolation and darkness. My prayers turned into pleas, which oftentimes just sent me into panic attacks. I lost the ability to pray, so I locked myself in my room most days and just stared at my wall while I let the feelings wash over me and completely overwhelm me. I would either weep bitterly into my pillow or stare blankly when the pain would be so great it would become numb. Even though by my first year of college I was doing better at coping with my mental health, those dark times had left very deep wounds. I wound up at the University of Mary to pursue a degree in theology. I buried and avoided those wounds, but by that Lent of my junior year they became too painful to ignore.

This is how I entered Holy Week. Completely exhausted, drained, confused, and honestly pretty disheartened. But then came Holy Thursday. I went to Mass that night, and at the end of Mass, the priest placed Jesus on the altar, which was surrounded by greenery and flowers that night. I knelt down and began to cry. I remained kneeling until most people left, and I was alone in the pew. I began to seriously reflect on my Lent. The only thing that came to mind was the word suffering. I thought of my semester, and then of my year, and then of the last couple of years. My mind started to focus on all of the suffering I experienced, zoning in on the particular times in which depression and anxiety were affecting my life so greatly. I thought about how I felt in those moments, what my heart was feeling, and the desperate pleas and prayers I said to God. I looked up towards the Eucharist, as if to ask for what seemed like the millionth time – “God, why? Why did you abandon me? Why have you put me through all this pain?”

I suddenly began to envision Christ at the agony in the garden. My chest experienced a sharp, physical pain as my heart connected with Christ’s in that moment. I heard His pleas to God, saw His body shake, and saw His face stained with the blood which He was sweating. I was brought back to my most agonizing moments. I remembered how my heart felt, how violently my body would shake, how I couldn’t breathe, and how desperately I would pray. How painfully and bitterly I wept. I even thought about how many others feel these same things, and experience this same suffering. I was brought back to the garden – but this time I saw myself there with Him. I united all of those things to Christ’s heart in the garden. I saw what He was about to endure. His Passion and death on a cross. I saw how mistreated He would be, not only during His Passion, but for years to come, and even still today. Yet He endures it all for love. He experienced darkness and uttered the words “My God my God, why have you abandoned me?” while dying on the cross.

I was with Him in the garden, fully feeling this immense heartache… but because I was feeling it as well, I began to console Him. I saw my hands folded tightly together, resting on the same rock right in front of Jesus’ tightly folded hands. We were both shaking violently. He then grabbed my hands in His, and He pulled me close to Him until our foreheads were touching. We were both weeping. And then an image that I recently saw came to mind. Jesus was suddenly wearing His crown of thorns, and my forehead was pressing up against it, pushing it further into His head, and piercing mine as well. As I let the Lord pull me in close, I could feel more of the pain that He was feeling. I felt closer and more connected to Him than ever before. I connected this pain to the pain I felt with mental illness, and it suddenly had meaning to it. He continued to pull me in. I clenched in pain, but Jesus looked up at me with His eyes, surrounded by blood and tears, and He gazed into my eyes. He tightened His hold on my hands and we both just continued to endure the pain, keeping our eyes fixed on each other. I saw God, looking down at His two children like this, Jesus and me. I saw deep, deep sorrow in His eyes, and could see the pain He was experiencing in having to watch two of His beloved suffer and cry to Him. But He knew it would ultimately be better not to answer our pleas. He knew what had to be done.

Sometimes, love is strenuous. It’s painful and causes heartache. But this strenuous love gives the graces needed to love even in extreme suffering, just as Christ did. Sometimes we don’t know the full reason why God allows the suffering that He does. But the truth remains that He can bring beauty and goodness out of anything. I still don’t know the full reason that I have been given this burden, but I can take consolation in knowing that Christ knows exactly what I am feeling and going through. Psalm 22, verse 1 says:(1)“My God my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest.” This verse sounds like a cry of hopelessness and desolation. Yet if I continue to read the rest of the Psalm, the tone changes. It becomes praise to God and His promises. It becomes a passage of hope:(24) “For he has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and he has not hidden His face from him, but has heard, when he cried to Him...”

I can unite all of my suffering to Christ’s suffering, and because of that, I can console Him and be consoled by Him. That Easter turned out to be one of the most joy-filled Easters I’ve ever experienced. And although Jesus teaches that it always has a purpose and can bring redemptive power, suffering is not good in and of itself. Yet it yields compassion, love, and intimacy. How great a God we have, who can make even something like suffering beautiful!

With love,

Kelsey

Photo of Kelsey

About the Writer: Kelsey Green is originally from Ham Lake, Minnesota, but currently lives in Bismarck, North Dakota pursuing a degree in Theology with a minor in Media Production at the University of Mary. She currently works on the University Ministry Team at the University of Mary, and she will be graduating in the spring of 2020. She loves music, coffee, photography, and spending time with family and friends. She is very passionate about the difficulties of mental health within Christian life. You can find more of her writings or reach out to her on her own blog at Sisterhoodforthesoul.com, or send her a message on Instagram @kelseyngreen.

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