Evangelical anxiety A memoir

Marsh grew up a preacher's kid with an evangelical upbringing in the Jim Crow South, where he suffered from an anxiety disorder. "Of course, I needed Jesus," he says in retrospect. "I also needed professional help. But we [his family] did not do therapy." All of that should have changed when, during his first semester at Harvard Divinity School, Marsh suffered a doozy of a nervous breakdown. "Every defense failed . . . I had lost the capacity for happiness." He soldiered on until he had a second breakdown and finally gave himself over to analysis. Much of the second half of this arresting memoir is devoted to a careful parsing of that experience. Stylishly written, the book demonstrates the author's fondness for offbeat words (jarbled, propaedeutic) and sometimes-obscure literary allusions (Camus). Happily, substance matches style, as Marsh dives into the life of his mind. If it is true that, as he writes, "our lives are a marvelous mystery," readers will be fascinated watching him solve his.

In this spirited memoir, Marsh (God's Long Summer), a religious studies professor at the University of Virginia, shares his lifelong struggle to reconcile his mental illness with his evangelical faith. He shares how he developed "trust in God and terror of myself" starting with puberty, when the conflict between his carnal urges and evangelicalism's strict ban on premarital sex racked him with guilt. During Marsh's first semester at Harvard Divinity School, he suffered a nervous breakdown that marked the beginning of years of acute panic. As a young professor, he began seeing a psychotherapist, though "an evangelical in psychoanalysis seemed a contradiction in terms" because the prevailing evangelical position was that mental illness arose from sin and should be treated with prayer and Bible study. Years later, anti-depressants transformed Marsh's condition and he realized that "trusting in the Lord" meant accepting the advice of medical professionals even if it clashed with the church's teachings: "There's no reason to think God wants you wasted and bare ." Dark and sometimes bawdy humor enlivens the proceedings ("The Word made flesh is messy business," he quips after wondering if Jesus ever masturbated), making for an endearing and rewardingly unusual account of mental illness and faith. This candid and funny volume hits the mark. (June)