Suffering can paint a picture and enforce a narrative on our lives.

Yet as Christian counsellors we are called to enter these places of suffering and work with God to embody and outflow his love and compassion. Central to this reflection are themes of compassion in the face of suffering as proposed by James Olthuis in The Beautiful Risk.[1] The first part of this reflection will comprise of theological ideas and the second a metaphor that embodies integration of counselling and theology.

Heaven on Earth

A theological idea that has strongly shaped my counselling is the concept of heaven. Nicely described by N. T. Wright’s works, while heaven is presently an alternate dimension, it is not only a place attainable after death. Rather, heaven has burst forth into the world in Jesus and the Spirit and continues to do so in God’s people today. Ultimately, heaven and earth will be merged culminating in a renewed cosmos.[2] The idea of heaven’s inbreaking now affects what we currently do. We are able to participate with God in bringing heaven to earth in the interim between the resurrection and the age to come. The work I do as a counsellor then is to participate with God in his project. This work is a chance for people to see the image of God within me through my service to them.

Imago Dei

Another theological idea that has come to shape my counselling is that of the imago Dei. At its core, the imago Dei sees humans as creations that are able to reflect his image, that God delights in his created humans, despite their failings.[3] The Trinity shows further that this image-bearing is also one of inclusion and distinctness, like our God.[4] God created, not out of need, but out of his abundance to give and receive loving relationship. We humans desperately need that relationship. Harm and suffering then comes when this relationship, borne of love, is severed or distorted in some way. This might happen when other humans exclude others, take advantage of them, or render them without their own agency. The imago Dei is a powerful reminder to see past the distortion of self, caused by the harm, and see the person as God had intended – as good and capable of harmonious relationships.[5]

On the side of the counsellor, the imago Dei reminds us that God is a Trinity of independent and self-standing persons, yet which are reciprocal and perichoretic in being. So, counsellors must also strive toward embodying the Trinity.[6] Counsellors delve into the darkest parts of another human being’s experience, yet they must remain distinct from the client and their story.[7] This knowing of where my boundaries are helps me hold onto hope on the client’s behalf. Where the problem-story can be overwhelming for the client within it, the counsellor who remains wholly themselves does not fall into the same despair.

God’s Suffering Compassion

Whilst the counsellor may see the imago Dei of the client and hold hope within that awareness, the counsellor can also perceive the imago Dei within themselves. For my counselling practice, I have been drawn towards the image of God that bears his compassion. Olthius calls for this compassion to be a force that “transforms suffering.”[8] To bear Christ’s image of compassion for others is to bear the love he has for others, and this love is a love that “suffers-with” others.[9] To enter into this love is to enter deeply with the client into their story of suffering and risk being overwhelmed by the suffering, while being open and willing to be affected by it regardless.[10] However, we are not alone when we enter into this space of suffering. To refer back to the first theological idea of heaven on earth, we do this work with God. In the counselling space, we are as Olthius puts it, “agents of love.”[11] We participate “in love” with God, loving and being loved, and in the process, we pass this flow of love outwards. We are not alone in the suffering.

A Suffering Art

For clients, suffering may have isolated them from others and meeting a counsellor may be the first they dare share their pain. In my practice, the integration of counselling theory and theology is best expressed through a metaphor using an art style called Nihonga. This metaphor is heavily influenced by the work of Christian artist Makoto Fujimura, who himself has gone through the process of taking his own suffering through Christ and into his work.[12] Nihonga requires the artist to hand crush the minerals for preparation to be used as paint and requires the artist to layer on up to fifty or more layers of paint for each piece. The artist must keep in mind how the different depth of layers for each material can alter the look of the whole piece as well as the passage of time, as materials change colour after exposure to air and light.[13]

When I work with clients, I imagine that they approach the counselling space with various materials formed under affliction and suffering. Through the building of a therapeutic relationship and trust, they offer each material to be used as paint as they feel appropriate.[14] These materials take on different forms in different people. For some, it comes as depression, grief, anger, anxiety, and shame. Anxiety can usurp our agency, choosing that it be our author instead of us. Where we would rather have found joy, anxiety re-writes it to nervous anticipation. Strangers can be re-written as threats instead of potential friends.[15] The anxious person may choose to be truant to avoid what they feel anxious about or hide mistakes to avoid what punishment they think they are due. These problem stories compel a type of uniformity upon a person that forces themselves and others to see them only through the problem’s light. Counselling’s work, like Nihonga, is to crush those materials together and dispel that uniformity. When we dispel that uniformity of the problem story and examine each shard, we can see what lies underneath.

At closer inspection of the raw, sharp, jagged, and seemingly chaotic shards, we reveal the values, hopes, and commitments hidden by the problem story. Anxiety may have been borne out of a desire to do well at school, at work, at home, to uphold the family name or find happiness. The more we crush these crystals, the more stories and values that lay subverted within them are uncovered.[16] Instead of anxiety subduing these values for its own purposes, the client and the counsellor can then explore where else these values have been in their lives and what hopes they have held. [17] Together, we collect the now crushed materials borne from suffering. The client begins to paint their own picture on the canvas. They choose to take back the authorship of their lives from the hand of the problem.

At first our conversation, our painting may only result in shallow work, as a client may only part with a few materials, but as they increase in trust, they may give more material or different types. The act of painting itself must be done with care, respect, and honour, as we have been trusted to bear with them a precious part of their lives to be put into the public domain. As conversation continues, we carry on painting, adding layer upon layer until our story has expressed itself in depth, fleshing itself out of all its effects, but also what hopes have been born from pain. As the story deepens and more material is crushed to reveal the shards underneath, we may begin to see a clearer picture that we (the client, counsellor, and God) are trying to paint. A one-sided story of anxiety may be on behalf of love of their family, but drowned out by how large anxiety became. Letting love speak may then show that the test experienced that they are so fearful of is only one part of how they demonstrate their love to their family.

Eventually, we paint this image on the canvas having built layer, upon layer. Yet while the act of sharing their suffering helps the journey of healing, it is not what redeems the suffering. In the process of offering God’s love through us as agents of God’s love (through counselling), we give space for God’s compassion to enter the room. Yet this is not the full picture. A Christian counsellor can enter into these hard places, suffer-with the client in silence, lean into God’s love to make him or herself conduits for its outpouring, and do these well, and doing so only paints a part of the image. The full picture is the picture that God sees and works with, the work he is doing together with the client, the work he is doing with the counsellor, and the work he conducts. When all these factors meet, God ultimately transforms suffering.[18] When sin breaks that connection of God’s love, from the trauma that obscures our inherent imago Dei, our outpouring of God’s compassionate love gives the space for reconnection.[19] In reconnecting to God’s love, the client can experience something other than pain and suffering – an illumination that despite the seemingly totalizing experience of their suffering, the client remains distinct. Being distinct from the problem through the illumination from God’s love reveals that they do not have to be mired in the problem, but can begin to move on.[20] In this way, the painted piece borne out of suffering is re-displayed, not in the manner in which brokenness would have it, but instead this thing that is both new and has always been there. The art acknowledges the suffering, it is not disposed. Rather, it is understood, redeemed, and forgiven as to repurpose its destructive work, reclaiming it to the work of healing, through a loving relationship of God, counsellor, and client. One cannot see anything in the dark, thus God shines through as the light reflecting and refracting each of the broken shards to create beauty out of suffering.[21]

On Reflection

Counselling does not make the problem vanish, nor does the counsellor step into the client’s life and singlehandedly tackle the issue. Counselling meets the clients where they are at, with whatever the problem may be, and we repurpose the material through love, hope, and faith, that beyond the suffering is a person who holds imago Dei and our being-with them in love can restore them to living out of God’s love, despite being marred through pain and suffering.

Gelmason Bariquet Lim is from Cebu, Philippines, of Filipino-Chinese descent, and immigrated to New Zealand at nine years of age. Currently residing in Auckland with his wife and two-year-old son. Recently completed the Bachelor of Counselling degree with Laidlaw he now works as a counsellor in a NGO counselling youth and adults who have experienced family violence.

[1] James H. Olthuis, The Beautiful Risk (Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, 2006).

[2] N. T. Wright, Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of the Church, 1st ed (New York, NY: HarperOne, 2014), 193.

[3] Megan Anna Neff and Mark R. McMinn, Embodying Integration: A Fresh Look at Christianity in the Therapy Room, Christian Association for Psychological Studies Books (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic,2020), 129.

[4] Jack O. Balswick, Pamela King, and Kevin S. Reimer, “The Reciprocating Self: A Trinitarian Analogy of Being and Becoming,” in The Reciprocating Self: Human Development in Theological Perspective, (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2005), 32.

[5] Neff and McMinn, Embodying Integration, 121.

[6] Miroslav Volf, “‘The Trinity Is Our Social Program:’ The Doctrine of the Trinity and the Shape of Social Engagement,” Modern Theology 14, no. 3 (1998): 409.

[7] Neff and McMinn, Embodying Integration, 130.

[8] Olthuis, The Beautiful Risk, 45.

[9] Philip Yancey, Reaching for the Invisible God (Grand Rapids: MI: Zondervan, 2002), 138.

[10] Lex O McMillan, Sarah Penwarden, and Siobhan Hunt, eds., Stories of Therapy, Stories of Faith (Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2017), 118.

[11] Olthuis, The Beautiful Risk, 71.

[12] Makoto Fujimura, Silence and Beauty: Hidden Faith Born of Suffering (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2016), 20.

[13] Makoto Fujimura, Silence and Beauty, 20.

[14] Edward Teyber and Faith Teyber, Interpersonal Process in Therapy: An Integrative Model (Belmont, CA: Brooks/Cole, 2011), 48.

[15] Alice Morgan, “Beginning to Use a Narrative Approach in Therapy,” International Journal of Narrative Therapy & Community Work 2002, no. 1 (2002): 85–90.

[16] Maggie Carey, Sarah Walther, and Shona Russell, “The Absent but Implicit: A Map to Support Therapeutic Enquiry,” Family Process 48, no. 3 (2009): 319–31.

[17] Carey, Walther, and Russell, "The Absent by Implicit," 321.

[18] Neff and McMinn, Embodying Integration, 126.

[19] Olthuis, The Beautiful Risk, 164.

[20] McMillan, Penwarden, and Hunt, Stories of Therapy, Stories of Faith, 124.

[21] Fujimura, Silence and Beauty, 97.