Trauma Assaults Our Hope

The Apostle Paul told the Corinthian church there is hope for this life and the next (I Cor. 15:19), and reminded the Colossians the indwelling Christ is the very hope of glory. The author of Hebrews called our hope in Jesus an “anchor for the soul, firm and secure” (6:19). For generations the very grist of our faith has been summed up in the words of Job, “Though He slay me, yet will I hope in him” (13:15).  Although our hope in Christ is assured by the Father, there is a very real sense in which hope must be nurtured, protected, and preserved, especially in the face of senseless and often graphic suffering. 

Discipleship rests on the foundation of hope – hope in the goodness and grace of God; in the truth of the Scriptures; in the possibility of becoming a new creation (2 Cor. 5:17); in the One who heals the brokenhearted (Ps. 147:3); in the presence of the Trinitarian God (Matt. 28:20, John 14:26); in the return of Jesus (John 14:1).  This all-pervasive hope is passed on soul-to-soul, just as a parent might impress culture on a child.  As Christians, ours is a culture of hope, and this hope travels through the faith of the disciple-maker and energizes and permeates everything we do in discipleship. Exposure to traumatic pain erodes hope and threatens to leave us immobilized, surprised by grief, and incapacitated by new information that seems to fly in the face of all we have held so dear. When our hope is assaulted through traumatic pain, cynicism raises its ugly head and we question the goodness of God, the value of discipleship, and even, in the darkest of moments, the very reason for life itself. Perhaps this is why the assault on hope is the most dangerous of all repercussions of vicarious trauma.  Thankfully, all is not lost, for our anchor is secure in Christ, even when our hope is lost.

Trauma Destabilizes Our Identity  

While serving as youth pastor, I heard my share of traumatic stories from kids. One of the more difficult stories for me involved a young person who had been repeatedly assaulted over many years by an alcoholic father. The whole family attended our church, and I recall the first time I saw the father after hearing of his behavior. Everything in me wanted to lunge at him, to give him an ear-full, to beat him senseless. I was enraged by his violence, and my own strong reaction surprised me. Pastors are supposed to model godliness and forgiveness, but I was faced with the reality of my own condition. My rage and hate forced me to reevaluate my identity. This traumatic encounter forced me to think about my past and evaluate my present identity as a new creation in Christ. I needed to be honest about my angry feelings, but I also had to recognize I, too, was capable of violence.

It has become increasingly important for me, as I’ve engaged in discipleship, to learn to be honest about who I am and what I need in order to remain healthy and faithful to Jesus.  Usually this involves confession and repentance on my part.  Sometimes, I just need a place to be angry at the senseless violation I’ve witnessed. Although it can take some time, we must make our way back to the anchor who is Christ, the comfort of his presence and His word that serves as a compass for identity when trauma has clouded our minds and we have forgotten who we are in Him.