Rev. Ebenezer Yebuah

There are struggles people carry into the sanctuary that never appear on the prayer list. Some people worship beside us while quietly fighting battles no one knows about. They smile, sing, serve, greet others, and say, ‘I am doing fine,” or “I am blessed,” while carrying anxiety, grief, loneliness, exhaustion, disappointment, shame, or emotional pain deep within. Mental health struggles are often called “silent” because the suffering is not always visible. Yet silent does not mean insignificant.

The Bible does not present us with a gallery of people who had everything together. Instead, Scripture introduces us to real human beings who experienced fear, exhaustion, grief, disappointment, loneliness, failure, and anguish. Their stories remind us that faith does not make us immune to emotional or psychological suffering. 

Consider Moses. He was called by God, entrusted with leadership, and used mightily in the liberation of God’s people. Yet there came a moment when the burden became overwhelming. Moses essentially reached the place where he could no longer carry everything by himself. His story reminds leaders and servants of the church that being called by God does not mean we never become tired. Sometimes the faithful thing to say is, “I cannot carry this alone.”

Then there is Jeremiah, the weeping prophet. Jeremiah loved God and faithfully proclaimed God’s word, but his ministry was marked by rejection, loneliness, frustration, and deep anguish. He did not hide his pain from God. His prayers sometimes sound raw and painfully honest. Jeremiah teaches us that we do not have to sanitize our emotions before bringing them into the presence of God. 

Job takes us even deeper. Job suffered losses that he could not understand. He asked questions. He grieved. He protested. He wrestled with God. His friends tried to explain his suffering, but their explanations only added to his pain. Job reminds us that sometimes the most spiritual thing we can offer a suffering person is not an explanation but our presence. And then we come to Jesus in Gethsemane. 

Jesus, the Son of God, entered a garden and said, “I am deeply grieved.” He asked his disciples to remain with him. There was no pretense. No attempt to hide the anguish. No suggestion that expressing deep emotional represented a failure of faith. What a gift this is to the church. Vulnerability is not the opposite of faith. 

Jesus shows us that we can be deeply troubled and still trust God. We can weep and still pray. We can feel overwhelmed and still believe. We can acknowledge our pain without surrendering our hope. And then there is Peter.

Peter loved Jesus, but Peter also failed Jesus. After denying his Lord, Peter carried the weight of shame and disappointment. Yet his failure was not the end of his story. Jesus met Peter again, restored him, and entrusted him with ministry.

Peter reminds us that sometimes mental and emotional suffering is connected to the things we regret, the things we wish we could undo, and the voices within us that tell us we are no longer worthy. But God’s grace has a different word: your failure is not your final identity. 

These biblical stories should make us compassionate toward one another. We must become a church where people do not have to suffer silently. That means learning to listen without judging. It means resisting the temptation to offer easy answers to complicated trauma. It means saying, “I am here with you,” instead of, “You just need to have more faith.” It means recognizing that prayer is powerful while also understanding that seeking professional mental-health care can be an important and faithful step. 

The church should never make people choose between faith and appropriate professional help. God can work through prayer, Scripture, community, pastoral care, counselors, therapists, physicians, and other forms of support. Sometimes God’s answer to our prayer comes through another person willing to walk with us.

As Presbyterians, we speak often about the beloved community of faith. Perhaps one of the most important ways we can embody that community is by becoming a place where people can bring their whole selves including the parts that hurt.

There are people sitting in our pews who are grieving silently. There are pastors who are exhausted but afraid to admit it. 

There are parents carrying the burdens they cannot explain. There are young people wrestling with pressures they have never spoken aloud. 

There are older adults experiencing loneliness behind a cheerful smile. There are people who come to worship because, even in their pain, they are searching for one place where they can still believe that tomorrow might be different.

May the church be that place. May we become people who notice. May we become people who listen. May we become people who stay. May we become people who pray and who know when to help someone find additional care. 

And above all, may we proclaim the good news that our struggles do not disqualify us from God’s love. 

Moses became overwhelmed, but God did not abandon him. Jeremiah wept, but God continued to speak through him. Job questioned, but God remained present. Jesus entered the garden in anguish, but the garden was not the end of the story. Peter failed, but grace restored him. Perhaps the greatest message for anyone experiencing a silent struggle today is this: You do not have to suffer alone. 

The church is not a place where perfect people gather to pretend that everything is perfect. The church is a community of imperfect people who gather around a perfect Savior and discover that God’s grace meets us precisely where we are. 

So let us create churches where tears are not embarrassing, questions are not threatening, weakness is not shameful, and asking for help is not a failure of faith. Because sometimes the person sitting quietly beside us is fighting a battle we cannot see. 

Let us be the church that sees. Let us be the church that listens. Let us be the church that stays. Let us the church that reminds one: “You are not alone.”

And may the God who met Moses in his weariness, Jeremiah in his anguish, Job in his questions, Jesus in Gethsemane, and Peter in his failure continue to meet us in every silent struggle and every silent suffering.

God’s grace is still present even in the places where our pain has no words.