“It is NOT Well with my Soul”

by. Scott Tjernagel

I was not gearing up for a festive Fourth of July celebration, but I certainly was not prepared for another flash flood on the Guadalupe River. The Texas Hill Country has been our home for the past 43 years, and while the region is stunningly beautiful, it can at times be hauntingly terrifying. The rivers which flow peacefully most of the time can in a moment become raging torrents caused by flash flooding.

Seventy miles upstream from our hometown, the Guadalupe River rose 8 meters in 45 minutes at 4:00 in the morning. Hundreds went into their campers and their cabins the night of July 3 with little warning of the impending weather. Once the flooding began, it was too late for 135 children, women, and men to climb to higher ground.

Twenty-seven of the fatalities were children, campers, and counselors from Camp Mystic, a private, Christian summer camp for girls in its 99th year of operation. The loss of these children gripped my soul. Not only was the flood in my figurative backyard, but it also tragically ended the lives of girls the same age as three of my grandchildren. Plus, my oldest granddaughter had just returned from a summer camp. I shuddered with the terrifying question, “What if these were my grandkids, and we were facing this loss?”

Let Us Be Honest About Grief

On July 7, a prayer vigil was held in our town center to provide our community with a time to share our collective grief. It was when we were asked to sing a familiar hymn together that my soul revolted.

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll;

Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,

It is well, it is well with my soul.

Refrain: It is well with my soul, It is well, it is well with my soul.

I was unable to form the words on my lips because my soul was screaming internally. All I heard within was “It is NOT well with my soul. It is NOT well with my soul.”  All I could do was bow my head in grief and silently agree with the screams of my soul.

My Soul is Sick with Sorrow

The flooding of Hill Country rivers with the loss of life and property is an all-too-familiar sorrow in our lives. As we settled into our new town in 1982, friends told us their stories of surviving a flood in 1973. My family left our neighborhood in a boat during the flood of 1997. We were told it was a 500-year flood event, only to be followed five years later by the next flood. And then flooding in 2015 in a neighboring city.

The remembrance of each of these flood events overwhelmed my soul with sorrow at a time of lament for not just floodwaters in Texas, but also the cruelty of mass deportation of immigrants in the US and the unfathomable destruction of Gaza.

On July 5, the day after the flooding of the Guadalupe, a friend and co-worker of mine was arrested by ICE and sent to a detention center with very little hope of staying in the country where he sought refuge.  He was not fully documented, but he was registered with immigration and customs and in process for receiving a visa. He had no criminal record. He simply was at the wrong place at the wrong time, speaking the wrong language. In a moment, he was swept away by the floodwaters of cold injustice and in less than a month returned to the country of his origin.

On July 4, the humanitarian crisis in Gaza was severe. At least 45 Palestinians were killed attempting to access humanitarian aid. The Israeli Air Force dropped bombs on approximately 100 targets on the same day. On July 4, the people of Gaza struggled to survive just one more day of a cruel and unjust war lasting 1 year, 8 months, and 27 days after October 7, 2024. Like the haunting vision of children swept away by floodwaters, I have been shaken to the core by the visions of children suffering in Gaza.

Flooding, deportation, and war all have added layer after layer to the sorrow of my soul. And to be totally honest, there is even more sorrow in my soul which is too private to share in public.  No wonder my soul cried out, “It is NOT well with my soul.”

How Does a Soul Sick with Sorrow Heal?

When the soul is sick with sorrow, it is best to share the sorrow with others. In years past, I tried to deal with my sorrow alone and in private. Simply put, that does not work. Sorrow is meant to be shared with others.

Thanks to time spent at SSU, I have learned to include Celtic Morning Prayer into the rhythm of each day. Most mornings, I sit at our dining room table with its four chairs and ask not only to enter the house of the Lord, but also to sit at the table with the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. In times of sorrow, when I rest in the presence of God, I recall the words recorded by Isaiah, “Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows….” God incarnate in Jesus Christ experienced our sorrows. He entered our world. He bore our griefs. So, when I come into the presence of God, I know there is both empathy and reciprocation. I bear my sorrows into the eternal, divine presence where I am cared for and fully listened to. My soul sick with sorrow begins to heal with daily touches of the presence of God.

Another lesson learned at SSU was to invite the community I associate with on a weekly basis to enter seasons of lament. Together, our community of ordinary people seeking to follow Jesus has experienced the disorientation caused by the suffering of others in our world. By including weekly acknowledgement of our sorrow in our liturgy and time at the Table, we are both comforted in our sorrow and reoriented to the hope we have in the promise of resurrection. It is this hope and promise that propel us into action on behalf of those who are suffering at this time on this earth.

In the presence of God and the presence of fellow human beings, a sick soul over time begins to heal. Comfort and healing are found in the partnership of the divine in the human and the human in the divine. May our soul sick with sorrow be a reminder of our humanity. As Fyodor Dostoevsky writes, “If you feel pain, you’re alive. If you feel other people’s pain, you’re a human being.” And may we as human beings feeling the pains of others, bear our griefs into the comforting and loving presence of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Our suffering humanity in the presence of the Divine begins the healing of a soul sick with sorrow, and the soul in recovery can slowly move forward in action for the sake of others in need of rescue from the floodwaters of injustice and human suffering.

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Scott Tjernagel is one of several community leaders for The Sanctuary NB in New Braunfels, Texas. With thirty-five years of service in the Vineyard USA as a church planter, senior pastor, worship leader, and mission partnership leader, his local Vineyard Church, after COVID, made the decision to focus on loving their neighbors better. The Sanctuary is a house church where they grow a garden, tend to a flock of chickens, and participate in a rhythm of community life. They remain a center set ministry in hopes of providing a safe place for all to belong, become, and believe. 

Scott is married to Susan, and their fiftieth anniversary is close. Scott and Susan have a family of three children and eleven grandchildren, meaning they have a busy and full family life. Scott has both a Master of Theology (Dallas Theological Seminary, 1981) and a Master of Ministry in Theology and Culture. (St. Stephen’s University, 2025).