How can I help someone who is suicidal?

Elijah leaves the land and wanders alone into the wilderness, seeking isolation apart from his fellow men. What a journey! trusting in none, attended by none. What living death, when a man feels only safe when entirely separated from his kind! Our blessed Lord could not "commit Himself to man," because He knew what was in man; but Elijah shunned the company of men in fear and bitterness of soul, and sought his death at the hand of God. Blessed God! thy compassion fails not; thou wilt save the afflicted soul. "He remembereth our frame." The first relief which his weary spirit has is in unconsciousness: "he lay and slept under the juniper-tree." And there the angel touched him and said, "Arise and eat." "And he did eat and drink, and laid him down again." This was a deeper and a closer token of God's interest and care for him than the supply of the ravens or the widow's barrel. 'The cake baken on the coals and the cruise of water at his head, intimate to him how God provides for him; but the presence of the angel to point out and urge him to partake of them, displays the Lord's own personal interest in him. Solitary as he was, he was not left alone or unattended. An angel is sent as his companion and servant; and a second time he touches him, after watching him doubtless as he slept, and with increasing solicitude for him, says, "Arise and eat, because the journey is too great for thee." Whither was that journey to be? To Horeb, the Mount of God.

Turning now to the other side, it is beautiful to see the Lord's tender care over His servant in his despondency, and the way in which He dealt with him to prepare him for further service. Elijah had now but one desire, and that was to die. With darkness within and without, he moaned out his request, "It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life; for I am not better than my fathers." Not yet will the Lord reply to the prophet's prayer; but rather, in His infinite tenderness and compassion, He will minister to the needs of His poor servant to enable him to receive His correction and instruction. An angelic messenger came where Elijah was sleeping for very sorrow, "under a juniper tree," and "touched him, and said unto him, Arise and eat." In like manner the Lord Jesus, when about to probe the heart of Peter, said to him, and to the other disciples with him, "Come and dine." He would give him a proof of His tender love before He laid bare the cause of his failure. So here; and when Elijah, after haying eaten and drunk, laid him down again, the angel of the Lord came the second time, and touched him, and said, "Arise and eat; because the journey is too great for thee." The prophet, obedient to the heavenly voice, arose, and ate and drank, and went in the strength of that meat forty days and forty nights unto Horeb the mount of God.

This was irresistible. A hardened sinner could meet an earthquake; he could meet death itself; but he could not withstand the mighty melting power of love. The hardest heart must yield to the moral influence of love. "Then he called for a light, and sprang in, and came trembling, and fell down before Paul and Silas, and brought them out, and said, Sirs, what must I do to be saved?" Love can break the hardest heart. And surely there was love in those words, "Do thyself no harm," coming from the lips of one to whom he had done so much harm a few hours before.

And be it noted, there was not a single syllable of reproach, or even of reflection, uttered by Paul to the jailer. This was Christ-like. It was the way of divine grace. If we look through the Gospels, we never find the Lord casting reproach upon the sinner. He has tears of sorrow; He has touching words of grace and tenderness; but no reproaches — no reflections — no reproach to the poor distressed sinner. We cannot attempt to furnish the many illustrations and proofs of this assertion; but the reader has only to turn to the gospel story to see its truth. Look at the prodigal; look at the thief. Not one reproving word to either.

The next qualification is evidently an exercised heart. "And the angel of the Lord appeared unto him, and said unto him, The Lord is with thee, thou mighty man of valour. And Gideon said unto him, Oh my Lord, if the Lord be with us, why then is all this befallen us? and where be all His miracles which our fathers told us of, saying, Did not the Lord bring us up from Egypt? but now the Lord hath forsaken us, and delivered us into the hands of the Midianites." (vv. 12, 13.) These words show that Gideon identified himself with the condition of his people; for he says, "Why is all this befallen us?" etc.; and that, entering into their state, he bore it on his heart before the Lord. And without this he had not been qualified to be their helper. It was so with Nehemiah (see Neh. 1); with Daniel (see especially Dan. 9); and pre-eminently was it the case with our blessed Lord. Take an instance or two. They brought unto Him one that was deaf, and had an impediment in his speech; and we are told that before He healed him, looking up to heaven, He sighed, and saith unto him, Ephphatha; that is, Be opened. (Mark 7:32-35.) Again too, before He raised Lazarus from the dead, we have the marvellous record that He wept; and that "groaning in Himself" He came to the grave — signs surely of His entering into and taking (if we may so speak) upon His spirit the condition of those to whose succour He had come — that in sympathy and grace He so identified Himself with them that He became the voice of their sorrow and grief; for "Himself took our infirmities and bare our sicknesses." (Matt. 8:17.) The cross is of course the highest expression of His entering into our state; for on it "He bare our sins in His own body." (1 Peter 2:24.) The principle remains; for our power to succour others will be (not forgetting our entire dependence on the Lord) just in proportion as we have been able to enter into, and to make their sorrows or difficulties our own. It might be well to remember this in our desire to bring saints into their true place. The Lord will use us, if we are qualified for it; but to be qualified for it we must have felt deeply the character of the evil in which they are entangled, and have mourned over it before the Lord. Hence, in the case before us, no sooner does Gideon unburden his exercised heart than "the Lord looked upon him, and said, "Go in this thy might, and thou shalt save Israel from the hand of the Midianites: have not I sent thee?" (v. 14.)

How is it done? An incident related to me recently shall illustrate it. It was during the war. A tired horse fell in a London Street, the usual crowd gathered round, and various efforts were made to get the poor beast on to its feet again, but all in vain. The driver dragged at the reins and shouted at the horse; it made a few spasmodic efforts to rise and then lay still. Some one tried the whip, which was just as useless. The driver, losing his patience, applied his boot to its hide, and only produced shudders of pain in the poor brute. At this point an Australian soldier arrived on the scene. "Get out of my way," he said, "and leave the horse to me." To the amusement of some in the crowd, he lay down by its side, and whispered soothingly in its ear, stroking its neck the while. He did that for just about half a minute, when to the surprise of the spectators, soldier and horse rose up together. The whole thing was as simply and quietly done as could be. That man from "down under" understood, and the horse, brute though he was, felt that he understood, that was the secret. If anyone minister, he must understand, and understand with his heart. He must not be a bully, a critic, a heartless, censorious or superior person, but one who can get down alongside the one whom he would help, and so will he bring into the place of need the grace and comfort that he has himself received.

But we are told to act as He did Whose mission it was to comfort those who mourn: "Jesus wept." To "weep with those that weep", and not to pretend to know too much of the mysterious causes of their suffering. It is possible we may be mistaken in our judgments. Why is it that one of the most honoured and influential of God's servants at this time on earth, who has for years endured continual extreme bodily suffering and domestic sorrow, is (now while I write) protractedly struggling with pain and death, just at the time when we would think his powerful voice most needed to combat those attacks on the foundations of the faith which he has already withstood? Why should Carey, when translating the Bible into twenty four heathen languages, be obliged to hear the screaming of his mad wife from the adjoining room?

(3) Most forcibly does the poor sufferer strike back at his unfeeling friends. It is a fundamental principle that pity should be shown to a sufferer by his friends, lest, under stress of trial — as some have rendered it — "he should forsake the fear of the Almighty." Agur therefore prayed that he might be preserved from extreme poverty, "Lest I be poor, and steal, and take the name of my God in vain" (Prov. 30:9). But the hard principle they were applying knew no mercy, felt no sympathy. At the time of his dire need they manifested themselves as utterly unfitted to be friends. The "brother born for adversity" they are not. These "brethren" are like a summer stream, swollen by melting snow and ice in winter, which gives promise of perennial supply for the thirsty, but when the troops of travelers come, they find only the dry stones to mock them. Yet he had asked nothing unreasonable at their hands — no money, nor rescue from the enemy, only a little sympathy.

It was indeed most disappointing. Eliphaz might speak in lofty language of the greatness and faithfulness of God, but what about himself; was he acting the part of a true friend? As thus manifested, Job might say of them, "Lover and friend past Thou put far from me." And when these failed, he could not add, "Thou art with me." How differently speaks Paul: "At my first answer no man stood with me, but all men forsook me … Notwithstanding the Lord stood by me" (2 Tim. 4:16-17). Let us learn from Job's failure not to put the dearest earthly friend between us and God. "Earthly friends may fail and leave us, One day soothe, the next day grieve us, But this Friend will ne'er deceive us, Oh, how He loves!"

(4) Eliphaz had spoken of his observation and experience, Job now asks that true tests be applied to his own case. Let them prove, according to their rigid rule of "punishment for sin," that he is the sinner. Theories are all very well in their place, but if based on false premises they utterly fail. "How forcible are right words!" Let them teach him according to truth, and he will be silent; but of what value is all their arguing? They are taking his poor, rash, desperate speeches, forced from him in the desperation of his sufferings, and treating them as if they were the well-considered statements of one who was propounding some philosophic principle. Why could they not make allowance for the anguish which wrings from him utterances which are as "windy words?" They were treating him in the same unfeeling way that marks those who would despoil the fatherless: for were they not trying to engulf him, their friend, and make him out to be like the wicked? These are indeed strong words, but there is a good measure of justification for them. There was a studied heartlessness about the cold words of Eliphaz that seems to furnish ground for the bitterness of Job's charge. A little later it will be seen that they speak exactly as Job here accuses; he only anticipates their full meaning.

And further — his kinsfolk and acquaintance, at the end, seek him again. They ought, indeed, never to have deserted him. For we deceive ourselves if we think that we must be right if we grieve those whom God is disciplining. This is often very far indeed from being the case. The Lord said in Zechariah, "I am very sore displeased with the heathen that are at ease: for I was but a little displeased, and they helped forward the affliction." So also is Isaiah 47:6 — and so Obadiah 10-14, to the same effect. We are more commonly, perhaps, in God's mind, and act as the living vessels of the Spirit, when soothing such. And sure I am it was so in Job's case. Had his former friends known God's way, they would have dealt very differently with him. They would not have left him. The very fact that "the hand of God" had touched him, as he so deeply expresses it, would have been the occasion of "pity," as he further says, from his friends.

Next, in the answer of Job (Job 16, Job 17), we may observe that he expresses his deep sense of their complete failure in meeting his case. "I have heard many such things," said he: "miserable comforters are ye all. Shall vain words have an end? or what emboldens thee that thou answerest? I also could speak as ye do: if your soul were in my soul's stead," he adds very affectingly, "I could heap up words against you, and shake mine head at you." Just let them change places, had this been possible; let those three friends be in the position of Job; let them have, not only their possessions, but their families, completely swept away by the besom of destruction, and in a manner that looked like the effect of divine displeasure; let their persons too suffer in a way as marked and excruciating as Job's, so as to afford to the most careless eye the most unmistakable sign of some peculiarly tremendous dealing with them; let them be only in such circumstances, and Job be the friend that comes to speak with them: could he not have indulged in words and looks quite as severe? I cannot but think the answer here a most touching appeal, especially when he goes on, "But I would strengthen you with my mouth." There he has the unquestionable advantage in grace over them. "I would strengthen you with my mouth, and the moving of my lips should assuage your grief." Not a word had come from them with such a character or purpose.

Some he leads on very gently, getting them to believe that God's time for their conversion is not yet come, and that they must wait His time, He only can change the heart; but, in the meantime, they may take their enjoyment, such as the world offers, in a rational way, honestly confessing they are not Christians yet, so that they are quite consistent. Such, alas! are as surely, though quietly and orderly, on the broad road, as those who are rudely opposed. This is a subtle, but most successful snare of the enemy. It well suits those who have a measure of light, but at the same time a real love for the world. Some who have less light, and less conscience, he pushes along more roughly; while others he drives furiously, and their race is soon run. But at whatever speed, and in whatever character they go, his only terminus is the burning lake, where there is weeping, and gnashing of teeth. But, blessed be the God of all grace, so long as the soul is on this side of the lake it is in the place of hope. God is above Satan; He is above all. He keeps the door of mercy wide open, night and day, for the chief of sinners. "And let him that is athirst come: and whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely." (Rev. 22:17.) The first look of faith to Jesus is immediate deliverance. "Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth; for I am God, and there is none else." (Isa. 45:22.) Many have been rescued by the Saviour-God, when on the very brink of hell, and plucked as a brand out of the fire. He only can do it, and we must look to Him. We have many examples recorded in scripture, and set up as finger-posts, pointing out to us the way of escape, and the way of eternal life. Such are the dying thief on the cross, Saul of Tarsus, and the Philippian gaoler. Let us look for a moment at the latter. When, by Satan, driven to the very point of despair, "He drew out his sword and would have killed himself." But the voice of love from "the inner prison," that cried aloud, "Do thyself no harm, for we are all here," stayed his hand, and rescued him from the snare of the enemy. He was just about to strike the fatal blow, and rush headlong into the gulf of hell. For a moment, he stood quivering on its slippery edge, and Satan eager to push him in; when, lo, the sweet accents of love and mercy from the heart of God, fell upon his ear, arrested his attention, and turned his thoughts to the voice that spake. Those kind words, "Do thyself no harm," broke the poor gaoler's heart, and he fell a captive, not to the malice of Satan, blessed be God, but to the victorious love of Jesus. The prey was taken from the mighty, and the lawful captive was delivered from the terrible one. (Isa. 49:24.) "Then he called for a light, and sprang in, and came trembling, and fell down before Paul and Silas, and brought them out, and said, Sirs, what must I do to be saved? And they said, Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house … And he rejoiced, believing in God with all his house." (Acts 16:29, 34.) Oh! that my dear reader may be led to pause, and listen to the voice of love. It is Jesus that speaks, and words of perfect grace fall from His lips. I am come, He says, "to seek and to save that which was lost." Oh, then, turn to Him, ere you take another step. As a lost one turn to Him. "Blessed are all they that put their trust in him." (Ps. 2:12.) Reader, think of this. All who are not in the arms of Jesus, are in the grasp of Satan. There is no middle place.