Intrusive Thoughts and How to Weaken their Cluthces

Intrusive thoughts come in all shapes and sizes. At the more “garden variety” level, intrusive thoughts might refer to unhelpful or even sinful ideas and memories. You don’t want them, yet there they are, perhaps with seemingly no rhyme or reason as to the when and why of their coming. At the more pronounced level, there are individuals who wrestle with obsessive-compulsive tendencies (what’s known as OCD at the popular level). These exhibit themselves as intrusive thoughts (obsessions) that threaten the ability to function. These unwelcome thoughts can steal joy, constantly consume one’s attention, and do not leave simply for the asking. They are like unwelcome house guests. They may go away if certain rhythms or rituals are performed by the individual (compulsions), but their absence is often short-lived. For a Christian, intrusive thoughts can be even more taxing than for an unbeliever, because there’s often a moral dimension attached. (This flavor of OCD is often referred to as “religious scrupulosity.”) It might go something like this: “I just had thoughts of ___________ go through my head. I don’t want that! What does it say about me that I had that thought?” This can even lead Christians to doubt their salvation or to wonder if they’ve committed the so-called unpardonable sin. This makes sense in a way. Christians are likely to have more sensitive consciences than the average unbeliever. Though Christians believe they are saved by God’s grace through faith, operating on that basis is not natural for any person (this is why salvation and its effects are supernatural).

In this post, the goal is not chiefly to remove any and all possibility that you will ever have intrusive thoughts again (as nice as that would be). Real life usually doesn’t operate like that. On this side of heaven, we will always walk with a “limp” of some sort, and sometimes that involves thoughts that invade our headspace, despite our hatred of them. The aim in this post is instead to offer a combination of several word pictures and biblical passages that I hope will relate to our consideration of how to respond to intrusive thoughts. The hope is that this angle might land on us in one of a couple different ways. First, the cumulative effect of these word pictures and biblical passages might merge together to offer us some intellectual and emotional anchoring if we face intrusive thoughts. Second, what is “radioactive” for one person may not speak to another, so part of the reason for offering several responses is that perhaps just one of these might speak to you. So, let’s walk together through a handful of word pictures and biblical passages that might help us.

First, let’s begin our journey at Luke 15:11-32. This is the parable of the prodigal son. Not only is this parable powerful in its own right, but this is one of those passages that has been “radioactive” for me personally on occasions when I have struggled with intrusive thoughts and felt personally “ick!” as a result, wondering if the smile of God is on me even in those moments. Notice how the dad in the story responds to this particular son. Keep your gaze on this dad. What do you see? He had likely been waiting for his son day after day, because he saw his son coming home while the son was still far away (v. 20). This dad responds in the complete opposite way that we would expect, given the setup of the story in this son’s prior actions. “Filled with love and compassion, he ran to his son, embraced him, and kissed him.” (v. 21) The son was antsy and nervous to get his apology out, but the father is so lavish with his generosity and goodwill that he never lets his son finish his speech. Instead, he calls for tangible objects to be given to his son that reflect his being in the father’s family (v. 22). And then he calls for an all-out celebration (vv. 23-24).

Anecdotally, this story holds particular weight for me. It’s because, as great as theological doctrine is (e.g., think of the apostle Paul’s epistles) — and doctrine is absolutely vital — when I am in the fight of wondering how God perceives me, I personally find that I need something that grips me at the level of imagination. I need a picture, a story, something concrete that my mind’s eye and affections can rest on. Something like a dad running full-speed down a dusty road towards me, with arms outstretched, and tears of joy streaming down his face as he bear-hugs me despite my cautious hesitancy. When I am battling my own version of intrusive thoughts that consequently lead to doubting the love or acceptance of God for me, the mental movie of seeing that dad run to his son (me in this case) rescues me. I insert myself into the story. All of this may take place in the span of two seconds. But those two seconds pack a punch bigger than all the ruminating that would take place in my own mind if I didn’t have that parable to run to.

Pit stop number two. In Psalm 19:12, David says, “How can I know all the sins lurking in my heart? Cleanse me from these hidden faults.” I’m going to call this verse the “comforting catch-all.” Scripture is clear about confessing and repenting of known sins. But in Psalm 19:12, David acknowledges that we are simply not going to be aware of all our sin. Part of this might even be God’s grace to us: it might overwhelm us if we were truly made aware of the fullness of our depravity. But aside from that, we are simply unable to have full knowledge of all our sin. We get distracted. Life is full and spontaneous. We forget what we just did five minutes ago, why we did it, and the attitude we did it in. In addition, I think David may also have in mind areas of “gray.” For example, is it sinful to worry? There are countless nuances to answering that question. In some cases, likely yes. In some cases, likely no. In other situations, the answer may lack clarity. We may be looking to Jesus with all our might, yet (especially those of us with a more tender conscience) we wonder if our trust is mingled with sinful doubt. Much more could be said about this kind of scenario (and I do think it is one in which Christians often lack nuance), but the point here is that much of life is lived in the gray. In these cases, I believe we can make David’s words our own. “Lord, I want to please you. I honestly don’t know if _________ was sin that I need to repent of or if it is more properly a weakness to be grieved, but You know. If it is sin and I’m unaware of it, please apply the blood of Jesus to it, and assure me of your love.”

Pit stop number three. Here, let’s learn from John Newton, the 18th-century pastor known to most of us as the guy who wrote the hymn “Amazing Grace.” Newton was a pastor known for his tenderness to the weak. There are likely few pastors in history who better embodied Isaiah 42:3 – “He will not crush the weakest reed or put out a flickering candle.” Isaiah 50:4 also comes to mind – “The Sovereign LORD has given me his words of wisdom, so that I may know how to comfort the weary.” In a letter to a friend struggling with depression, Newton wrote the following:

“Things which abate the comfort and [enthusiasm] of our Christian profession are rather impediments than properly sinful, and will not be imputed to us by [H]im who knows our frame, and remembers that we are but dust. Thus, to have an infirm memory, to be subject to disordered, irregular, or low spirits, are faults of [human physiology and makeup], in which the will has no share, though they are all burdensome and oppressive, and sometimes needlessly so by our charging ourselves with guilt on their account.”

I believe Newton is channeling the heart and spirit of Christ with these words. Our bodies (including the physical organ of the brain) are complex. It does seem that OCD-like patterns often have something to do with one’s family tree as well (i.e., there is likely a genetic component). Whether a struggle has roots in sin or in suffering/weakness, God speaks to us through his Word, but the words he speaks are different depending on which category a given struggle is in. John Newton gives us words to borrow from that hopefully can apply to someone whose intrusive thoughts disrupt their ability to function.

Pit stop number four. The words of Jesus in John 6:37 give us yet another angle to view this topic from. For someone wrestling with the presence of unwelcome thoughts (and the ensuing thoughts about those thoughts), it can become fairly commonplace for them to wonder just how God feels about them. “I should not be having those thoughts. But I can’t get over this. God must be so disappointed in me.” Feeling as if someone is deeply disappointed in you is a short step away from sensing that, in their heart of hearts, they have rejected you. But Jesus says, “[T]hose the Father has given me will come to me, and I will never reject them.” Dane Ortlund helps us know more deeply how to internalize Jesus’s words. Orlund says, “The text literally reads, 'The one coming to me I will not—not!—cast out.’ Sometimes, as here, Greek uses two negatives (“not” and “not”) piled on top of each other to make the point especially strong. The idea is: ‘I will most certainly never, ever cast you out.’” In other words, when Jesus says this, it is not coming from the perspective of someone who is having to work hard to will himself to do the opposite of what he wants to do (the way we might reluctantly force ourselves to eat our veggies). Think about it. Something is deeply lost if the sentiment of Jesus’s words is, in effect, “I can’t stand you. You’re a real drag. But take heart – I’ll put up with you anyhow.” No. In John 6:37, Jesus is describing not only what he won’t do, but the happy heart behind it that is intended to comfort his hearers.

Pit stop number five. I mentioned earlier that part of the appeal of the parable of the prodigal son is that it forces us to engage at the level of story, imagination, and emotion. It’s a metaphor in narrative form. So here’s another metaphor (not nearly on par with Luke 15, but hopefully rooted in biblical impulses). Have you ever been to the beach and either seen from afar or personally experienced a rip current? Rip currents occur when waves come in to shore, then find an especially fast “exit ramp” back out to sea (often due to changing topography on the ocean floor that creates a kind of suction route moving away from the shore). Thankfully, I’ve never been caught in one. But I do know that the proper way to escape from one, once caught in its grasp, is counterintuitive. The reality is that the harder someone tries to swim against the rip current, the stronger the water’s influence becomes, and the weaker you will get. This is how rip currents take lives. A person tries so hard to swim against the water’s strength, inevitably becomes physically worn out, and drowns farther from shore. The proper way to escape a rip current is to let it take you away from shore (this is not the same as liking it), where the effect of the rip current is weaker. Swim parallel to shore until the rip current is no longer present, then swim back in to shore. I think this is often how we are meant to relate to intrusive thoughts. The harder we push against invasive thoughts (often with various “compulsions”), the more it becomes like the game of not thinking about pink elephants. In consciously trying so hard not to directly think about something, we are, in fact, sucked into thinking about it. Therefore, the best way – counterintuitive as it might sound – to counter intrusive thoughts is to not fight them in a panicky way. “Swim out to sea” (this is analogous to resisting the urge to panic at the presence of intrusive thoughts) and then “swim back in” when the danger has passed (this is analogous to the intrusive thoughts going away because we pay them less attention). In other words, we acknowledge the unwanted thoughts, but we don’t exhaust ourselves by fighting against them or giving them more credit than they deserve. We move on. We ask God to help us. We go about our day. And only later (because by God’s grace we haven’t thought about it) do we perhaps realize that we no longer feel the rip current.

Ok, one more stop. My impression is that liturgical practices tend to be helpful to individuals struggling with various forms of anxiety. In case you come from a tradition like mine in which liturgy did not play a prominent role in church services, it might be helpful to define liturgy. There may be more technical definitions out there, but I will define liturgy as theological doctrines that have been echoed down through the ages in corporate settings with believers gathered together. Churches that incorporate liturgical practices will often read Scripture and parts of various confessions and creeds out loud together. It’s a way of framing a service, being reminded of gospel hope, and tapping into the reality that — as the words are said out loud and wash over our ears — these truths have shaped (and are shaping) the hearts of Christians over the centuries. It’s a way of recalling that we’re not alone. The Old Testament saints, the New Testament apostles, the Christians in the early church, the Christians in the Middle Ages, the Christians in the Reformation era, and Christians today are all brought together under the banner of the cross of Christ (Hebrews 12:1). We are comforted by the fact that we have been woven into the grand story of God’s redemption when we recite wonderful, biblical truths out loud with one another. (I’m also inclined to think churches with liturgical practices are, as a whole, making a comeback with younger generations today, because these practices affirm that we are part of a grand narrative beyond just ourselves. But that’s another topic.) My experience working with individuals who struggle with anxiety gives me the sense that liturgical forms and practices help quiet their fears, at least to some degree. On a related note, these also tend to be individuals who attend churches where baptism (for new believers) and communion (on a regular basis for all believers) are prioritized. Specifically, the regular event of communion brings the glories of Christ’s death and resurrection to them in a tangible, palpable way. It’s no longer abstract. It’s real. It’s felt. It’s tasted. There’s a sense that supernatural Reality is coming to life via natural things like bread and wine/grape juice. What we couldn’t see (but believed) is now being seen. There’s a sense of “magic” to it (i.e., that what is being participated in is real, points to a reality bigger than ourselves, and outstrips our ability to fully understand with our mere mental capacities). These individuals have gained confidence – via solidarity with their Christian contemporaries and those prior to them – that there is a God whose love for them is stronger than their own frailties.

In conclusion, if the majority of these thoughts don’t strike you as particularly helpful, that’s ok. If even one of them is useful, then this post will have done as much as I could have hoped and prayed for. Intrusive thoughts don’t “play by the rules,” and so I’m painfully aware that what lands with hope is often extremely nuanced to a given individual. But even as I type that sentence, I’m also made thankful that God gives different angles of hope and help, because he intimately understands and cares about each one of us (1 Peter 5:7).