Autolypisiophobia is a word I’ve coined, yet to a reader of Greek, the meaning should be obvious. It is the irrational fear of someone having self-pity. I want to dive deeper into this thought because, within this concept, lies a key to how the Christian church could become much better, and the hemorrhaging of members could be reduced.

During my honest study of scripture, starting in the 1990s, tuning out the cultural voices and looking at the plain text, the church (which is “the called out ones”) has only one calling. In Hebrews 10:24-25, it is written, “And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching.” Everything else is extraneous. However, most churches focus on rituals, traditions, programs, sacraments, competitive piety, organization, and customs, leaving no room for true encouragement. They may think it is encouragement by proxy. Even the best preachers in the world, who may want to encourage their flock, cannot compare to two people sharing from a deeply honest place over a cup of coffee, and one encouraging the other.

While you would think that programs, such as small groups, would be a great place for encouragement, I’ve been in many small groups at churches that were program or study-focused (on a particular teacher or even scripture). The time left no room for personal encouragement. But I’ve seen some small groups that did focus on individuals and on finding ways to encourage them.

There are also broader programs of organized churches that attempt to offer encouragement. When I was first diagnosed with cancer and very sick (and now that period is buried in a fog to me), if I remember right, a deacon called me once a week or once a month (I can’t remember) to ask how I was doing and how they could pray for me. So, while maybe just a token, it was a true effort at encouragement.

Self-Pity

To segue to self-pity is not a leap. Encouragement implies that it is needed in times of discouragement. Discouragement implies that individuals are facing hardships. As I alluded to the last time, I think there are two powerful cultural mores that block our ability to talk about hardships. You can’t encourage someone without knowing or talking about their particular hardship.

The first, while it has Christian roots, influences all of Western as well as Islamic societies, and that is “Providence.” There is a myth, held firmly, that for God to be big enough, God must be a micro-manager. Nothing can occur that is not from God. I personally don’t believe this, but this is the mindset of most Christians and Muslims I have met. With that perspective, hardships are given by God to punish or instruct us. Therefore, talking about your hardships implies you are guilty of something or that God made a mistake. Both are an affront to the individual. To admit they are facing hardships implies they are being punished for their mistakes. I was surprised by how shameful having cancer can be, with the same implications that I did something wrong to deserve this.

This is why, for the most part, we live in a pretentious world, where we want to show that we are better people or have fewer struggles than we actually do. The world of social media thrives on this. If someone got a new puppy and posts that on Facebook, there is an outpouring of loving comments. If someone, however, loses their job, their spouse asks for a divorce, they are going bankrupt, or they are diagnosed with a serious disease, and they post it, it becomes quite awkward. A few friends, especially those with their own hardships, may comment or send a private message, but many seem to think that posting such “private” things in a public space is a massive social blunder and that you are wallowing in self-pity for posting such a thing.

If the first hindrance to discussing hardships is providence, the second one is autolypisiophobia. By asking about or listening to someone’s hardships, we fear that we will be aiding and abetting their sin of self-pity. Self-pity is a healthy human emotion up to a point. Of course, like any human emotion, it can become destructive when unchecked, while very healthy at a normal level. But as I wrote about last time, the Victorian period chastised all human emotions as sin, except for elation or happiness, which must be redefined as a spiritual experience.

Again, using the puppy illustration, you are welcome to talk with your friends at a party or at church about getting a new puppy, but if you mention a hardship or personal suffering, you will be socially shunned because of the two issues: providence and autolypisiophobia.

Because I often sound negative, let me give a positive example in my own life.

When I was first diagnosed with cancer, and I was fighting to stay alive, two saints stepped up. One day, a lady at church I hardly knew began writing me e-mails every day with pure encouragement, and it started when I was in the ICU. She was a godsend at a very desperate time.

The second was another lady, the wife of someone I used to go to church with. She was coming to this blog, and I wrote once, still in those hard days, that I longed for someone, anybody, to look me in the eye and ask, “Mike, how are you?” It was at a time that the suffering was so awful that I was begging God to end my life and was contemplating doing it myself. Yet, there was a part of having cancer that I never would have predicted, and that was alienation. Suddenly, even friends and family feel awkward around you and stop talking to you when you are dying. I think it was too painful for the family, so they had to withdraw. To Christian friends, I think it is a providence thing. They believe in a God who has total control, and they don’t want to hear about suffering and dying because it challenges their worldview.

But this second lady, a pastor, wrote me an e-mail that day and asked, “Mike, how are you doing? I want to  hear everything.” From that point forward, she began every e-mail with, “Mike, how are you doing?” She was another saint, and she responded to something I wrote because she cared.

Because I often give illustrations that put me in the victim’s seat, and I have my own fear of looking like I’m having self-pity, I want to end with an illustration of when I was the perpetrator.

When I was in an evangelical discipleship group, we couldn’t have girlfriends because that was seen as sin, so I had a best friend, Dana, who was a girl. I saw her once a week for coffee. We were close, but it, at least on my side, was not romantic. Then, to my horror, her very close sister (they were like twins) was killed in a tragic accident. I mistakenly listened to one of the leaders in our group who quoted Jesus as saying, “Let the dead bury the dead,” meaning that I should not go to the funeral or even talk to Dana again, but focus on saving souls. Pathetic. So, from the moment I learned of the tragedy, I never spoke to my best friend again, ever. It was one of the biggest mistakes I’ve made in my life. Decades later, I wrote her a letter apologizing for abandoning her at the hardest time of her life… but I never heard back.

I try to dissect my own thoughts at the time, and I think it was the providential issue.  I had just joined a prosperity gospel discipleship group, where we believed a good God controlled everything, and I was perplexed how such a good person, Dana’s sister, could have such a tragic death. Denial and distancing were the way I handled it. May God forgive me. But this illustrates why we Christians don’t want to hear about other people’s suffering. Without listening to the suffering, we can’t encourage people (except with some impersonal, generic encouragement).

I have one more post to write about this topic. I am using two hands today as I have found a way to type with an extended arm without moving my shoulder.

Peace, Mike