Christianity and Suicide

The call came only a little over a week ago, so bear with me. The wound is still fresh.

One of my former students who had graduated in May of 2005 had gone on to take a job with my organization’s internship program, designed especially for young men to see whether they are equipped for ministry. While involved with my ministry, he served as the chaplain for his fraternity and the head of our mercy ministry servant team. He was dearly loved by all who knew him, was engaged to be married this coming June, and planning on pursuing the ministry after his internship. Last week, he allegedly hanged himself in a closet in his apartment.

I use the word “allegedly” because it is still so hard to fathom. Mind you, not in a “oh, I can’t believe he did this” fashion, but simply for the fact that not one of his closest friends, his campus minister, nor even his fiancé were given even the slightest hint that he might have the kind of troubled heart you expect someone to have when they do this kind of thing. No noticeable depression, no unmanageable stress, no heartache to speak of…nothing.

In the midst of trying to do some triage on my shattered flock of heart-broken students, two questions have emerged.

First, is suicide the unforgivable sin? With no disrespect to certain corners of Christendom, this is a silly question. Jesus says in Matthew 12:31 that “every sin and blasphemy will be forgiven men” except blasphemy of the Holy Spirit. Blasphemy of the Holy Spirit is the judicial hardening of the soul that occurs after repeated rejections of the Spirit’s call to faith and repentance. Suicide is not blasphemy of the Holy Spirit. Ergo, suicide is not the unforgivable sin.

Second, how could a Christian do this? This is a much more interesting and delicate question. How could someone who has the Spirit of God working in them get to such a level of discouragement that they would take their own life? I hope you won’t think it trite if I give a one-word answer: sin.

I have always thought that Christian growth could be described as the process by which the theoretical becomes practical; the purely abstract becomes wholly tangible. We talk about sin being a restless evil. We talk about its ability to consume its victim. We talk about the fact that sin is not eradicated at conversion but only at glorification. Suddenly, something like this happens and we wake up and realize that the Bible wasn’t kidding.

But isn’t that the point of the Gospel? Wasn’t it our helplessness that drove us to Christ? Did we come thinking that our sincerity, our surrender, our wisdom, our conviction of sin, or any other evangelical grace was the ground of our union with Christ? Of course not. We came to Jesus empty handed, spiritually alone, devoid of any righteousness in ourselves. And the Gospel promised us salvation.

My friend sinned in what he did. I have no doubt he presently regrets what he did. But I also know of countless conversations we had where he detailed his love for Christ and his dependence on his grace alone for salvation. I have no idea what could possibly have been going through his mind when he committed this horrible act. But I don’t have to know. It doesn’t matter on this point: that Jesus holds his people despite their failings, their sorrows, their foolish choices. Why? Because salvation is “of the Lord.”