Larai teaches chemistry at a secondary school in Jos. Her students say she makes the periodic table sound like a story, and her colleagues rely on her to organise the science fair every year. She grew up in a praying home in Kaduna, sang in the youth choir, and still leads the Wednesday Bible study for the women in her church.
Her second child, a girl, was born in the rainy season. The birth was straightforward and the baby was healthy. Everyone said how blessed she was. But within a few weeks Larai began to feel as though a heavy curtain had come down over her life. She could not sleep, even when the baby slept. She would hold her daughter and feel nothing, and then feel crushed by guilt for feeling nothing. Some mornings she sat on the edge of the bed for an hour, unable to find a reason to stand up. Food tasted of cardboard. Prayer felt like speaking into a closed room.
After six weeks she found the courage to tell the leader of the women’s fellowship. The older woman listened for a few minutes and then took her hands. “My daughter, this is the spirit of heaviness. Put on the garment of praise. We will arrange deliverance for you on Friday.” Larai went on the Friday. They prayed loudly over her for nearly two hours. She went home exhausted and unchanged.
What happened next was the most dangerous part of her story. Larai concluded that the problem must be her. If deliverance had not worked, she must be spiritually deficient, or hiding something, or not believing enough. So she stopped telling anyone. She smiled at church. She led the Wednesday study. And at night, lying awake, she began to think that her husband and children would be better off without her.
It was her sister-in-law, a nurse at the teaching hospital, who noticed. She came to visit, watched Larai for an afternoon, and then sat beside her and asked one simple question: “How are you really sleeping?” Larai began to cry and could not stop.
I tell her story, with her permission, because I have met many believers who are suffering in silence for the same reason. Their distress is real. But they have learned to expect spiritual suspicion if they speak about it, and so the door stays closed.
Why the door stays closed
Mental distress takes many forms. Depression, anxiety disorders, panic attacks, the aftermath of trauma, postnatal depression, bipolar disorder, psychosis, addiction. Each of these is real, and each affects the whole person: body, mind, emotions, relationships and spiritual life. None of them is rare. In any congregation of a hundred people, some are carrying something like this right now.
Many of them will never mention it. And one of the main reasons is fear of what the church will say. If I admit that I am depressed, will they say I lack faith? Will they say I have a demon? Will they suggest I have unconfessed sin? Will they tell my business to the whole church under the heading of a prayer request? Will I lose my position in the choir or the leadership team?
PunchlineThose fears are not imaginary. Some believers have been told exactly those things. And when a person expects suspicion, disclosure becomes harder, and the suffering grows in the dark.
In our setting the silence is often reinforced by the wider culture. Many families still speak about mental illness in whispers. A relative who becomes unwell may be hidden at home, taken from one prayer house to another, or blamed on “village people” before anyone thinks of a hospital. The word mad is thrown around carelessly, in jokes and in insults, and every person who is struggling hears it. Young people fear that a diagnosis will ruin their marriage prospects. Professionals fear for their jobs. The church has a wonderful opportunity here. A congregation that treats mental distress with the same dignity it gives to malaria or a broken leg can become one of the safest places in the community for people to be honest. Every one of these sufferers bears the image of God, and none of them is less His child for being unwell.
This teaching has a simple aim. I want to show from Scripture that mental distress is not proof of spiritual failure, that compassionate care begins by listening, and that pastoral support works best when it is humble about its role and glad to make room for professional help. If you are struggling, I want you to hear that you are not spiritually deficient for being unwell. And if you lead or care for others, I want to help you become the kind of person a struggling believer can safely tell.
A godly man with tears for food
Psalm 42 was written by a man who loved God deeply and was nevertheless overwhelmed. It opens like this:
As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God. My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God: when shall I come and appear before God? My tears have been my meat day and night, while they continually say unto me, Where is thy God? When I remember these things , I pour out my soul in me: for I had gone with the multitude, I went with them to the house of God, with the voice of joy and praise, with a multitude that kept holyday.
“As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God.” This is not the voice of a man who has lost interest in God. His thirst for God is intense. And in the very next breath he says, “My tears have been my meat day and night.” He is weeping so much that it has become his food. Grief and longing for God are present in him at the same time.
Notice the voices around him: “while they continually say unto me, Where is thy God?” In the psalm these are enemies. But many believers in distress today hear that same question from fellow Christians, sometimes in gentler words. If God is with you, why are you like this? Where is your faith? Where is your joy? The question cuts deeply because it seems to confirm what the sufferer already fears.
Then he remembers church: “I had gone with the multitude, I went with them to the house of God, with the voice of joy and praise.” He had been a worship leader, perhaps, walking at the front of the procession. Now he cannot feel what he once felt. Anyone who has stood in a lively service, surrounded by singing, and felt nothing at all, knows what he means.
The psalm goes on to speak to his own soul, “Why art thou cast down, O my soul?” (Psalm 42:5), and to call God “my rock” while asking “Why hast thou forgotten me?” (Psalm 42:9). It ends with hope: “I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God” (Psalm 42:11). But notice the word yet. He has not arrived. The psalm ends with hope stated in the dark, and the distress is still present in the next psalm.
Scripture even includes a psalm that ends with no resolution at all. Psalm 88 closes with the words “Lover and friend hast thou put far from me, and mine acquaintance into darkness” (Psalm 88:18). God placed that prayer in His people’s hymnbook. He does not require every prayer of a suffering believer to end neatly.
This matters because many believers in distress measure their standing with God by their feelings. When they feel nothing in worship, they conclude that God has withdrawn. When joy will not come, they assume they have lost something essential. But your standing with God was never built on your feelings. It rests on Christ, who has made you accepted in Him. Your emotions may be numb, flat or overwhelmed, and the Father’s welcome remains exactly what it was. And the One who intercedes for you is not distant from your condition: “For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities” (Hebrews 4:15). He knows what it is to be “exceeding sorrowful.” He is touched, moved, affected by what you are feeling. You do not have to feel close to Him in order to be close to Him.
Listening comes first
The book of Proverbs puts two sayings side by side that every carer should memorise:
He that answereth a matter before he heareth it , it is folly and shame unto him. The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity; but a wounded spirit who can bear?
“He that answereth a matter before he heareth it, it is folly and shame unto him.” The first failure in caring for someone in mental distress is answering too quickly. We hear two sentences and we already have the diagnosis, the verse and the solution. Larai’s fellowship leader loved her, but she had decided what the problem was within minutes. She answered before she had heard.
Then the next verse: “The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity; but a wounded spirit who can bear?” A strong inner life can carry a person through physical sickness. But when the inner life itself is wounded, the burden becomes almost unbearable. Scripture recognises that a wounded spirit is one of the heaviest things a human being can carry.
James adds a simple order: “let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak” (James 1:19). Compassionate care begins there. Ask open questions. How are you sleeping? What has it been like? How long has it been this way? Then listen to the answer, all of it, without interrupting to correct. You will learn more in twenty minutes of listening than in two hours of speaking.
Job’s friends are a warning here. They began well. They sat with him in silence for seven days. Then they started to explain his suffering, and they never stopped. Job told them, “To him that is afflicted pity should be shewed from his friend” (Job 6:14), and later, “I also could speak as ye do: if your soul were in my soul’s stead” (Job 16:4). He knew how easy it is to preach at someone in pain when you are not the one in pain.
Proverbs also warns that “he that singeth songs to an heavy heart” is like “vinegar upon nitre” (Proverbs 25:20). Nitre was a kind of soda. Pour vinegar on it and it fizzes violently. Cheerful words forced on a heavy heart do not soothe it. They agitate it. Timing and tenderness matter.
Weeping with those who weep
Paul’s letter to the Romans turns, in chapter 12, to the ordinary life of the church. Among a series of short commands, he writes:
Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.
Notice the order of the second half. Paul does not say explain to them that weep, or correct them that weep, or even pray for them that weep, though prayer certainly has its place. He says weep with them. The first ministry to a person in distress is to share the weight of it, to be present in it with them.
That can feel very uncomfortable. Most of us want to fix things. We feel helpless sitting with someone who is depressed, so we reach for words to make the silence end. But presence is itself a ministry. Larai’s sister-in-law did not arrive with a sermon. She arrived with attention. She watched, she noticed, and she asked one honest question. That was the beginning of Larai’s recovery.
Jesus Himself asked for this kind of presence. In Gethsemane He said to His closest friends, “My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with me” (Matthew 26:38). The Son of God, in His humanity, wanted people near Him in His anguish. He did not ask them to explain His sorrow or to take it away. He asked them to stay. If Jesus valued that, we should never think it too small a thing to offer.
Weeping with others also means refusing to rank suffering. A person with depression is not “only” sad. A person with panic attacks is not “just” worried. The pain is real to them, and Paul’s command does not wait until we have decided whether their tears are justified.
Scripture makes distinctions
Some believers worry that seeking medical help for the mind is a denial of the spiritual battle. We should take that concern seriously, because Scripture does speak about spiritual opposition. But notice how carefully Matthew describes the ministry of Jesus:
And Jesus went about all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, and preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing all manner of sickness and all manner of disease among the people. And his fame went throughout all Syria: and they brought unto him all sick people that were taken with divers diseases and torments, and those which were possessed with devils, and those which were lunatick, and those that had the palsy; and he healed them.
Matthew lists different kinds of affliction separately: “divers diseases and torments,” “those which were possessed with devils,” “those which were lunatick,” and “those that had the palsy.” He does not lump them together. Possession by demons is one category. The condition the King James calls lunatick, probably including what we would call epilepsy, is another. Physical paralysis is another. And Jesus healed them all.
That is important. As a Pentecostal believer, I hold that demonic oppression is real and that the church has authority in the name of Jesus to set people free. Deliverance ministry has a place. But the New Testament itself distinguishes between demonic activity and illness, and so must we. To tell a depressed mother that her depression is a demon, without discernment, without listening, without medical assessment, is to repeat the error of Job’s friends with a different vocabulary. It can deepen her shame and delay the help she needs.
Elijah gives us a clear example. After the victory on Mount Carmel and Jezebel’s threat, he ran into the wilderness, sat under a juniper tree, and “requested for himself that he might die; and said, It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life” (1 Kings 19:4). This was the great prophet who had just called down fire from heaven. And notice how God responded. No rebuke. No casting out. He let Elijah sleep, sent an angel to give him food and water, let him sleep again, and fed him again. Only after his body had been cared for did God speak to him, and even then in “a still small voice” (1 Kings 19:12). God treated Elijah’s despair as the condition of an exhausted servant who needed rest, nourishment and gentle presence.
The Elijah story also reminds us that body and mind belong together. “He knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust” (Psalm 103:14). Exhaustion, poor sleep, hunger, hormonal changes after childbirth, thyroid problems, anaemia, chronic pain, the side effects of some medications: all of these can affect mood profoundly. That is one reason a medical assessment is so valuable. A doctor may find a physical cause that can be treated directly, or may recognise a condition such as depression that responds well to care. Either way, the person is helped. Refusing to look at the body in the name of spirituality simply leaves a part of God’s creation unexamined.
NuggetMental distress is not proof of spiritual failure. God met Elijah’s despair with sleep, food and a still small voice, and He can meet yours through prayer, people and proper care.
Bearing burdens with humility
Paul gives the church a command that sits at the centre of all Christian care:
Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.
“Bear ye one another’s burdens.” The word for burden speaks of a heavy weight, something too much for one person to carry alone. Notice that Paul calls this fulfilling “the law of Christ.” Carrying one another’s weights is not an optional extra for the especially kind. It is what Christ’s love looks like in practice.
But bearing a burden well requires knowing what you can carry and what you cannot. A pastor can pray, listen, offer Scripture, provide community and keep watch over someone’s soul. A pastor is usually not trained to diagnose a mood disorder, adjust medication or provide specialised therapy for trauma. Humility about our role is part of faithful care. “Where no counsel is, the people fall: but in the multitude of counsellors there is safety” (Proverbs 11:14).
Jesus said, “They that are whole need not a physician; but they that are sick” (Luke 5:31). He was speaking about sinners and His own mission, but the saying assumes something His hearers all knew: sick people need physicians. There is no reason to treat the mind differently from the body. A believer who sees a psychiatrist, a clinical psychologist or a trained counsellor is not abandoning faith any more than a believer who sees a surgeon. And a believer who takes medication prescribed for depression or anxiety should keep taking it as directed. Never stop psychiatric medication suddenly, and never tell anyone else to stop, without the prescribing doctor’s guidance.
Paul gave the Thessalonians a beautiful instruction: “comfort the feebleminded, support the weak, be patient toward all men” (1 Thessalonians 5:14). The word behind feebleminded refers to the fainthearted, people whose courage has run low. They are to be comforted, not scolded. The weak are to be supported. And everyone is to be met with patience, because recovery often takes a long time.
A wise church holds prayer and professional help together. Pray for healing, boldly. Pray for the doctors. Sit with the sufferer. Bring meals. Offer to drive them to appointments. Keep confidences carefully, and never turn someone’s struggle into public gossip disguised as a prayer point. And keep showing up after the first week.
God comforts through people
Paul was not a stranger to inner distress. Writing to the Corinthians, he describes what happened when he arrived in Macedonia:
For, when we were come into Macedonia, our flesh had no rest, but we were troubled on every side; without were fightings, within were fears. Nevertheless God, that comforteth those that are cast down, comforted us by the coming of Titus.
“Without were fightings, within were fears.” The great apostle admits that his flesh had no rest and that fear was at work inside him. He does not hide it or dress it up. And then he tells us how God met him: “God, that comforteth those that are cast down, comforted us by the coming of Titus.”
God comforted Paul through a person. Titus arrived with good news and with his own company, and the fears began to lift. God could have spoken directly from heaven. He chose to send a friend. That is how He often works. The sister-in-law who notices. The friend who visits. The counsellor who listens week after week. The doctor who recognises the signs and offers treatment. Each of them can be God’s comfort arriving in human form.
That should free the sufferer from feeling that help from people is somehow second best. Needing others is part of God’s design. And it should encourage the rest of us: you may be the Titus that God sends into someone’s darkness.
Isaiah promised of the Servant of the Lord, “A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench” (Isaiah 42:3). Matthew applies those words to Jesus (Matthew 12:20). A reed that is bent and a wick that is barely smoking are pictures of fragile people. Jesus does not snap them or snuff them out. He handles them with great gentleness. His church is called to do the same.
If you are the bruised reed, be gentle with yourself as well. You may not manage long times of prayer or whole chapters of Scripture at the moment. That is all right. A single verse read slowly, a short honest prayer such as “Lord, You are my rock, and I am struggling,” a walk in the morning light, a regular bedtime, a meal eaten with someone else: small things like these are not signs of spiritual decline. They are the ordinary ways a wounded person keeps hold of life and of God while healing takes its course.
When distress becomes urgent
Some situations cannot wait for the next Bible study. If you or someone you know is thinking about ending their life, has made plans to do so, or is in immediate danger, treat it as an emergency. Contact the emergency services or go straight to the nearest hospital emergency department. Call a crisis line if one is available where you live. In Nigeria, organisations such as the Mentally Aware Nigeria Initiative offer support and can help direct you to care. If someone tells you they are in danger, stay with them, take them seriously, and help them get to professional help. Do not promise to keep it secret.
If you are the one struggling, please hear this clearly: you are not a burden, and your family would not be better off without you. That thought is a symptom of the illness, not the truth about your life. Tell someone today.
Beyond emergencies, there are signs that suggest it is time to seek professional help: low mood or anxiety that lasts more than a couple of weeks, changes in sleep or appetite, losing interest in things you used to enjoy, difficulty functioning at work or at home, or thoughts of hopelessness. New mothers and their families should know that depression after childbirth is common and treatable. A visit to a doctor is a good first step. Ask for a referral if you need one.
Larai’s sister-in-law took her to see a doctor at the hospital the following week. The doctor listened carefully and diagnosed postnatal depression. She started treatment and was referred to a psychologist, whom she saw every fortnight for several months. Her husband took leave from work for two weeks so that she could sleep. The sister-in-law, quietly, told one trusted elder in the church, with Larai’s permission, and two women began bringing meals and sitting with the baby on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons so that Larai could rest.
PunchlineThe curtain lifted slowly. It was months, not days. But one morning she realised she had laughed at something her son said, and that she had not had to force it.
Some time later, the fellowship leader who had arranged the deliverance session came to see her. She had heard what happened. “I was wrong to be so quick,” she said. “I did not listen to you.” Larai told me that apology meant almost as much to her as the treatment did.
Today Larai still leads the Wednesday Bible study. And she has started something new. When a woman in the church has a baby, Larai visits in the sixth week, sits down, and asks one question: “How are you really sleeping?” Then she listens.
If you are struggling, you are not spiritually deficient. Your thirst for God and your tears can exist together, as they did for the psalmist. Tell someone. Let them weep with you. Receive the help God sends, through prayer and through people trained to help. And if you are the one who has been asked, be swift to hear, slow to speak, and ready to carry the burden alongside.
Teaching Companion
For Reflection
- What reactions have you expected, or received, when you have spoken about mental or emotional distress in church?
- How does Psalm 42 change your understanding of the relationship between deep faith and deep sorrow?
- Proverbs warns against answering before hearing. Where do you tend to answer too quickly when someone shares their pain?
- What distinctions does Matthew 4:24 make, and how should they shape the way we respond to someone who is depressed?
- Who might God be sending you to, as He sent Titus to Paul? Or whom might He be sending to you?
This Week
This week, if you have been carrying distress in silence, tell one trusted person what is really happening, and if it has lasted more than a couple of weeks, book an appointment with a doctor. If you are well, choose one person who may be struggling and ask them a simple, open question, such as “How are you really doing?”, then listen without correcting or advising for at least ten minutes. Save the details of your nearest hospital emergency department and a crisis support organisation in your phone, so that you can act quickly if you or someone else ever needs them.
A Prayer
Father, thank You that You know my frame and You do not despise my weakness. Thank You for the psalms that weep and for the prophets who despaired, and for the way You met them with gentleness. Where I am struggling, help me to stop hiding, and give me the courage to tell someone. Send me the help I need, through prayer, through friends, and through doctors and counsellors. Where I am the one who has been told, make me swift to hear and slow to speak. Teach me to weep with those who weep and to carry burdens with humility. Let Your church become a safe place for every bruised reed. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Truth received brings freedom. Truth believed establishes the heart.
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version. · Illustrations using first names only are composites unless stated otherwise.