Hey there, friends, happy Monday! In just a few days it will be May, and May is Mental Health Awareness Month. So, I thought it would be helpful to write about this topic today. Mental health can, unfortunately be a taboo topic often tiptoed or whispered about in church hallways or avoided altogether because it feels too raw, too messy, too…unspiritual. But what if I told you that mental health is as much a part of our sacred journey as prayer, worship, or loving our neighbor? What if the struggles we face in our minds are not a sign of weakness but an invitation to deeper grace?

A while back, I sat down with a colleague at work (I work for a Mental Health non-profit), we’ll call her Lisa (that’s not her real name), a counselor who’s spent years walking alongside folks wrestling with anxiety, depression, and everything in between. I wanted to know: Why is it so hard for us, especially in the church, to talk about mental health? Why do we slap a stigma on it like it’s something to be ashamed of? And what would it look like for us to tear that stigma down, brick by brick, and build something new in its place?

Lisa leaned back in her chair, her eyes soft but piercing, and said something that stuck with me: “Scott, we’ve got this unspoken rule in a lot of churches. It’s like, if you’re struggling mentally, you’re somehow failing at faith. Like your depression means you don’t trust God enough or your anxiety is a lack of surrender. But that’s not how it works. That’s not how any of this works.”

And I felt that. Deep in my gut. Because I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the way we sidestep conversations about mental health in our congregations. I’ve seen the way people hide their pain because they’re afraid of being judged, of being told to “just pray harder” or “give it to God.” I’ve seen it in my own life, too. There was a season when I was carrying so much—pastoring a church, raising kids, trying to be a good husband—and I felt like I was drowning. I didn’t have the language for it then, but looking back, I was wrestling with anxiety. And you know what? I didn’t tell a soul. Not because I didn’t want help, but because I was terrified of what people would think. A pastor with anxiety? Come on, Scott, pull it together.

But here’s the thing: God didn’t create us to hide. From Him, from each other, from ourselves. Genesis tells us we were made in God’s image, fearfully and wonderfully crafted, every part of us—our hearts, our minds, our messy, beautiful, complicated souls. And when our minds hurt, when our thoughts spiral, when the weight of the world feels like too much, that’s not a betrayal of God’s design. It’s part of being human in a broken world.

Lisa put it this way: “Mental health struggles are like any other kind of pain. If you break your leg, you don’t sit there and pray for the bone to magically heal while refusing to see a doctor. You get a cast, you do the physical therapy, you let people help you. Why should it be any different with our mental health? Therapy, medication, support groups—these aren’t signs of failure. They’re tools. They’re gifts.”

That hit me hard. Gifts. What if we started seeing mental health care as a gift? Not just for the person struggling, but for the whole community? Because when one of us is hurting, we’re all hurting. And when one of us finds healing, we’re all lifted up. That’s the body of Christ, right? We carry each other’s burdens. We celebrate each other’s victories. We don’t leave anyone behind.

So, let’s talk about the stigma. Where does it come from? I think part of it is fear. We’re afraid of what we don’t understand. Mental health can feel like this big, mysterious thing, and it’s easier to push it away than to lean in and listen. Part of it is history, too. For a long time, the church hasn’t known what to do with mental health. We’ve leaned on spiritual answers for everything, and while I believe with all my heart that God is our ultimate healer, I also believe He gave us brains to create medicine, hearts to offer compassion, and communities to hold each other up.

And let’s be honest: sometimes it’s pride. We want to look like we’ve got it all together. We want to be the strong ones, the faithful ones, the ones who never waver. But you know what’s stronger than pretending you’re fine? Being honest. Saying, “I’m not okay right now.” That takes courage. That takes faith. That’s the kind of vulnerability Jesus modeled when He wept in the garden, when He cried out on the cross. If the Son of God can be honest about His pain, why can’t we?

So, what do we do? How do we start breaking the silence? I don’t have all the answers, but I’ve got a few ideas, and I’d love to hear yours. First, let’s talk about it. Like, really talk about it. In our sermons, in our small groups, in our coffee shops and living rooms. Let’s normalize conversations about mental health the way we normalize conversations about physical health. Let’s share our stories—not to compare pain, but to remind each other we’re not alone.

Second, let’s educate ourselves. Pastors, I’m looking at us. We don’t have to be therapists, but we can learn enough to recognize when someone’s struggling and point them toward help. We can partner with counselors, host workshops, create spaces where people feel safe to say, “I need support.” And we can preach about mental health with the same compassion we bring to any other part of the human experience.

Third, let’s be the church. The real church. The one that shows up with casseroles and prayers and listening ears. The one that doesn’t judge or fix, but just sits with people in the mess. The one that says, “You are enough, just as you are, and God loves you right here, right now.”

I think about Jesus a lot when I ponder this stuff. Jesus, who met people where they were. The woman at the well, carrying her shame. The man possessed by demons, crying out in torment. The disciples, scared and doubting. Jesus didn’t turn them away. He didn’t tell them to get their act together first. He saw them, loved them, and offered them a way forward. That’s our model. That’s our call.

So, friends, here’s my invitation to you: Let’s be a community that breaks the stigma. Let’s be a place where people can say, “I’m struggling,” and hear, “I’m here with you.” Let’s be a church that doesn’t just talk about grace but lives it, especially when it comes to mental health. Because the God who knit us together, who knows every thought before we think it, is not ashamed of us. Not ever.

What do you think? What’s one step you could take to start this conversation in your own life or community? Drop a comment below or shoot me an email—I’d love to keep this going. Until then, keep pondering, keep praying, and keep showing up for each other. We’re in this together.

Grace and peace,
-Pastor Scott.