Why Church Can Be Horrible For The Mentally Ill- Dave Quak

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Can church be a tough place for people struggling with mental health? Unfortunately, yes. While the church is meant to be a place of healing, community, and support, many Christians with mental illness find it challenging to engage due to rigid structures, forced social interactions, and a lack of understanding.

In this article, we’ll explore four major ways church culture can unintentionally alienate those with mental health struggles—and how we can make faith communities more inclusive. Whether you're a pastor, church leader, or someone navigating faith and mental illness, this conversation is essential.

At Sunburnt Souls, we’re committed to breaking the stigma around mental health in the church. We provide resources, conversations, and community support to help Christians live authentically in both their faith and mental well-being.

Let’s dive into the real issues and what we can do about them.Today’s chat is going to be a little different for a few reasons. First, I’m trying out a solo format—just me, no guest. A few people have asked if I’d do this, so I figured I’d give it a crack. Personally, I prefer interviewing others, but let’s see how it goes.

On top of that, we’re in transition with our podcast studio. Right now, we’re building a new space at home in a little nook we have. The goal is to produce high-quality podcasts without the dog barking, the Amazon delivery guy knocking, or all the other background noise.

At the moment, I’m still in my usual spot, so you might hear a crow outside the window or the neighbour’s dog jumping into the pool. Some people say, “We don’t care, just keep doing it!” But I care—it puts me off. So, the new studio is on the way.

We’ve been incredibly blessed by the support behind this project. In the next couple of weeks, we’ll be recording in a soundproof booth and even launching video podcasts, which is exciting! One of our first video episodes will feature Mark McCrindle from McCrindle Research. That’s a big deal because I’ve respected the McCrindle team for a long time, and their research has shaped a lot of our church practices.

How Church Can Be Challenging for Those with Mental Health Struggles

Today, I want to talk about four things that make church really difficult for people struggling with mental illness. Or, to put it another way—four reasons why church can feel unbearable when you’re mentally struggling. Or, if you prefer, “Four ways church sucks when you’re mentally ill.” Pick your own title.

Basically, I want to share three practical issues and one theological issue that we should consider if we truly want to create churches that include and support those with mental health struggles. At any given time, about 1 in 4 Australians are dealing with some level of anxiety.

That statistic comes from Beyond Blue. They estimate that 6.8 million Australians are experiencing anxiety at any point in time. And that’s just anxiety—not counting depression or other conditions. Over a lifetime, most of that 25% will develop an anxiety disorder that requires treatment.

Now, here’s the kicker—mental health struggles are just as common inside the church as they are outside. Being a Christian doesn’t make you immune. Sure, we have an advantage—we bring our struggles to God, we believe in healing and restoration, and we have community support. But mental health conditions don’t discriminate based on faith, culture, or background.

So, if 25% of our church members might be struggling with a mental health condition at any given time, why do we do things that make it even harder for them? Why do we create moments in our services that instantly make a quarter of the congregation feel left out, uncomfortable, or overwhelmed?

Practical Issue #1: Forced Social Interaction in Church Services

Here’s a classic one
“Alright, everyone stand up and shake hands with the people around you!”
“Give five people a high five!”
“Turn to someone and tell them you love them in Jesus’ name!”
“Why don’t you get up and give someone a holy kiss?”

Okay, I’ve never actually heard that last one—but if it ever happens, it might be a hit with the young single guys (unless they’re sitting next to their grandma).

For extroverts and highly social people, this seems like no big deal. But for someone with social anxiety, this moment is pure agony. It’s stressful, overwhelming, and, for some, a solid reason never to come back to that church again.

It's not just the people with mental health conditions or introverts who dislike the "stand and greet" part of the service. Bonner did some research and found that 50% of people in his survey said it was their least favorite part of the service. So why do we keep doing it? We want to foster community, and for some people, it's an opportunity to chat after church, go for lunch, and form friendships.

But for most people, it feels forced and doesn't actually help bring them into the community. I don’t think it’s inherently a bad idea, but if we thought it through a little more strategically, we could create space for people to connect on their own terms. For example, we could say, "If you’re feeling social, turn to the person next to you and have a chat. But if you'd rather be on your own, take a seat, read your Bible, chill out for a bit, maybe have a pray. That’s fine too."

That way, we give the extroverts a chance to chat without making everyone feel like they’re in a fight-or-flight situation. I'll admit, I've been guilty of putting people on the spot in the name of fun, but some have told me, “Dave, you need to stop doing that, because if you call out the wrong person, they’ll never come back to church.”

Yes, I believe people need to be pushed out of their comfort zones, but we don’t need to throw them into the deep end. One of the worst examples I’ve heard was a church in Brisbane where the welcome team used to say, “Welcome to church, I love you” when people walked in. Imagine how freaky that would be – a random person saying they love you as soon as you walk in the door.

Sometimes we push people, but perhaps we should mix up the service and do small groups differently. The last time we did something like this, I had a whiteboard with a key showing different seating options. We had a table of eight for those who wanted to be super sociable, smaller groups of four for others, and single chairs for anyone who wanted to sit alone or with just one other person.

What that does is provide opportunities for people to engage with God without feeling socially anxious. The truth is, extroverted people aren’t necessarily more spiritual than introverts. They can both be deeply spiritual, fervent, and passionate about God. Similarly, socially outgoing people aren’t always more genuine than quiet people. I’ve had people look completely disinterested during a service, only to come up afterward and say, “That was the most incredible service ever. Thank you so much, I got so much out of it.” And I’d be thinking, “I thought you were asleep, sick, or angry with me!”

So, the first practical step: stop making everyone get up and make a fake friend.

Practical Issue #2: Church Structures Can Be Too Rigid for Mental Health Needs

Rigid structures in church can be incredibly tough for those with mental health challenges. Our services can be so rigid. I’m not just talking about the order of service, though that can certainly feel rigid. I mean the low tolerance for anything that deviates from what we prefer.

I used to speak at a place where a guy would sit under a blanket in the corner during worship. This really bothered some people, to the point where I was asked to talk to him about it. I never did, and if I had, I wouldn’t have told him to stop. I would’ve encouraged him to keep doing what helped him feel comfortable. Who cares if he’s sitting there with a blanket over his head? It’s not hurting anyone, and if you’re focused on worship, you probably wouldn’t even notice him.

A church service reflects society, right? For some people, the best way to cope with anxiety or sensory overload—maybe someone with autism or another sensory processing disorder—might be to cover their head with a blanket, lie on the floor, or walk around the back. For them, that might be exactly what helps them connect with God during the service. But in most churches, that would bother some people, and eventually, that person would be told to stop, to sit down, or to take off the blanket.

I want to have a greater tolerance for whatever helps people engage with God. I spoke at a brilliant Pentecostal church down the coast here called Fire Church a couple of weeks ago, and I loved it so much. During worship, there were all different expressions of what it looked like to worship God. The majority of people were singing, but there were others dancing around at the back, and that was cool. Some were waving flags, and God bless them. There were people up front painting on easels as their expression of worship. Not only did this allow those participating to engage in worship, but it also gave permission for everyone in the room to be themselves.

I took my kids there, and my daughter grabbed a flag and worshipped that way. My son, who loves art, watched the people painting and enjoyed the creation around him. It was a different way of expressing worship, and it wasn’t irreverent. It was free, beautiful, and so lovely to be a part of.

Why do we expect people in our churches to all be the same? Everyone thinks they’re being original, but you go to any church, and there’s a typical format: a couple of fast songs, a slow one, announcements, an offering, a Bible reading, a sermon, a response time, and a closing of the service. Week in, week out, it’s pretty much the same. That creates a culture where anything out of the box feels uncomfortable. But if you read the New Testament, there are so many different expressions of how people did church. I would have loved to be at Philippi, where they did church by Lydia’s house near a river. After church, maybe they baptised people in that river, hung out in the grass, had some food, or looked at purple linen—who knows?

Now, think about this. We make provisions for mums with babies to go to a dry room and still worship while feeding their kids. Great. We offer translators or earpieces for people from different cultures so they can hear the sermon or worship in their own language. Wonderful. But when have we ever made provisions for those with sensory issues? Imagine if someone needed to walk around the back to stay focused or needed a sensory device to pay attention. Who cares? We have such low tolerance for people doing things that might seem weird during church, yet we don’t make provisions for those who are neurodiverse. Why not provide a device for those with ADHD to focus better? Why not offer blankets for people with sensory issues who just need to sit in the corner? Who cares?

People leave churches because the kids are too noisy, or not noisy enough. I had a friend who had people leave his church because he was too charismatic, and then another group left because he wasn’t charismatic enough. It’s a bit ridiculous. We are united, we’re on the same team. We need a higher tolerance for things that make us a little uncomfortable.

Practical Issue #3: Being excluded from public ministry

The third practical thing that sucks when you’re mentally ill in church life is that people with mental illness are often excluded from public ministry. This is a practical issue that also leans into some theology. We rarely say it out loud, but so many times we box people with mental illness, who act a little differently, into a place where we don’t want them serving in any public capacity.

This is my story, and it's really the only story I have to tell, but I only know two Aussie pastors with bipolar disorder—me and someone else. There could be more, but we're extremely rare. Some say 5% have bipolar tendencies, and others say 2%. Even at 2%, that would mean 2% of our pastors have bipolar disorder, but that’s just not the case. Too often, people with mental illness aren’t promoted to public ministry roles. Why?

There’s a risk. It's a legitimate risk. In my case, people might ask, “What if he’s not hearing from God? What if his mind is a bit manic, and he’s not hearing from God, or has delusions of grandeur, or whatever else is going on?” That’s a real risk. But isn’t that a risk with everybody? Every person who leaves a church, or anyone who’s a bit prophetic, or anyone who’s in leadership has the risk of not hearing from God. It’s just part of the deal. But, like me, everyone should have an accountability group—a group of elders or leadership team members—to keep them accountable and make sure they’re hearing from God.

It shouldn’t disqualify someone from being in public ministry, but it often does. What if they get really low? Charles Spurgeon, a hero for many denominations, would get really low for weeks at a time. He even scheduled times every few months when he would disappear for a while to rest and recover.

People just had to learn to deal with that. What if he gets really high and erratic? Well, don't we all have some level of imbalance? You know, the static, the elation, the feeling filled with the Holy Spirit—we all experience that. It shouldn't disqualify anyone from ministry. There are heavy hitters from all denominations who struggle with their mental health.

I mentioned Charles Spurgeon, the preacher of preachers, who was a Baptist. He was severely depressed during his life. Then there's William Cowper, an 18th-century hymn writer in the Anglican church, who battled severe depression and mental illness. To be honest, it was probably because of these battles that he wrote so many powerful old-school hymns. Mother Teresa, from the Catholic church, had times of deep inner struggle. On the whole, she crushed it—she was a brilliant woman—but she experienced periods of deep spiritual darkness and inner conflict.

Martin Luther, a key figure for all our reformed brothers and sisters, was also someone who struggled with mental health, and it was intertwined with his theology. He dealt with depression and anxiety, highs and lows. He was brilliant and changed the course of the church by God's grace, but he was by no means a mental giant. Even our Pentecostal brothers aren't exempt. Jack Hayford, a key figure in the Pentecostal world, especially from around 50 years ago, had struggles with depression and mental health that influenced his ministry and teaching. He still believed in healing, still identified as Pentecostal, but that didn’t mean he had everything together mentally.

Whether we say the words or not, we often have this idea that people with mental illness are exempt from public ministry. I’ve mentioned some heroes of the faith, but it's not just people from our era who’ve struggled. Countless biblical figures, who you’d consider giants of the faith, also struggled mentally. Take Elijah—he had a battle, but he overcame by the power of God in 1 Kings 19. After an amazing encounter, Jezebel, the wicked queen, sends Elijah a message saying she's going to kill him. So, he runs off into the wilderness, leaving his servant behind and going further alone. He cries out, saying, “I want to die. I’ve had enough, Lord. Take my life. I’m no better than my ancestors.”

I mean, the prophet Elijah struggled with suicidal thoughts. King David’s mental health was all over the place, as we see in his life and in the Psalms. Job, Jeremiah, Moses, Jonah, and Hannah—these were all heroes of the faith who struggled with mental illness and still had public ministries. I think we need to rethink what it looks like to involve people with mental illness in everyday ministry.

Practical Issue #4: Poor theology of mental illness

Lastly, theologically, we need to address the idea that something must be lacking in your discipleship or Christian walk if you struggle with anxiety, depression, or mental health. There’s this belief—whether it’s explicit in some circles or more subtle in others—that if you were really growing in God, you wouldn’t experience anxiety or depression, and you wouldn’t struggle with mental illness.

There must be something wrong with your discipleship or sanctification. But I just don’t think that’s the case. I’ve seen it happen to me, and probably to some of you too—well-meaning people give advice that comes across as condescending, as if I’ve never read the Bible, or don’t know how to apply it, or don’t know how to cast my burdens on the Lord. I remember one guy, who I love, but one day when I was talking about bipolar and anxiety, we were sitting near a fruit bowl.

He handed me a banana while he took an apple, and said, “The Bible says in 1 Peter 5:7, ‘Cast your anxieties on Him because He cares for you.’” Then he read Philippians 4:6: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” He read all the right verses, then handed me the apple and said, “Swap the banana with me.”

So I gave him the banana, and he said, "It's just like that. What you need to do is swap your anxiety for God's peace, just like that." And I thought, "Yeah, I get it. I would if I could, but it’s not as simple as swapping your banana for my apple, right? There’s something more going on. It’s not just like, 'Oh, okay, I’ll flick a switch and stop being anxious.'"

Sorry, I didn’t realise the Bible said I shouldn’t be anxious and I could just flick a switch and stop. It doesn’t work that way. The idea that someone is lacking in their sanctification or biblical maturity because they’re anxious is just not true.

Like I mentioned before, some of the heaviest hitters in the Christian walk—like Virgin, Mother Teresa, Luther, Jack Hayford, Elijah, and David—were all mature in their faith but still dealt with mental illness. It wasn't a matter of their lack of discipleship or growth; it was more than that. To assume otherwise is to minimise what's really going on.

Anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder—these are real psychological conditions that can affect anyone, regardless of their spiritual practices. On one side of the spectrum, you have the belief that mental illness is purely spiritual and should be addressed only with prayer and deliverance.

On the other side, you have the belief that mental illness is purely biological and needs to be treated with medication. Both perspectives have validity, but where I live—and where many others live—is somewhere in the middle. It’s a spiritual battle, a physical battle, and a biological battle.

In the middle of this mess, I pray for healing, but I also take my anti-psychotics. I’m digging into Jesus, and here’s the kicker: in my personal life, I’m closer to God than I’ve ever been before. I’m healthier in my spiritual walk than I’ve ever been, and yet I have more mental illness than I’ve ever had before.

For whatever reason, God is growing me and expanding my love for Him, even as bipolar is affecting how I live. It’s a strange feeling—I feel closer to God in intimacy but also have diminished capacity when it comes to ministry. It’s weird.

The only passage that really resonates with me is one you’re probably familiar with, from 2 Corinthians. Paul talks about having all these amazing things going on, like visions. But then, he says, "Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me.

Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away, but He said, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'" That’s where I’m at. I’ve asked God more than three times to take this away, and yet it hasn't lifted. If anything, it’s becoming more active, and I need to fight it more aggressively.

But Paul’s thorn didn’t go away. Instead, God told him, "My grace is sufficient for you." Paul knew how to get healing; he knew how to pray for it. And yet, even he carried something we don’t know much about. People speculate, but it doesn't matter to me.

The principle remains the same: I’ve been given this condition, and I’ve asked for it to be taken away, but it hasn't been. So God’s answer must be that His grace is sufficient for me, and His power is made perfect in my weakness.

My hope, as a minister of the gospel, is that God uses this to continue ministering through me. I pray that His power increases through me, even as my personal power diminishes. That way, I’ll be operating from a place of humility, where it’s not my strength but His. My prayer is that God does something miraculous in the lives of those around me—at my church, in the community, and in souls.

Now, let me pray and send you out with God’s blessing.

Lord, we come before You today as people who love You and want to grow in our own mental health and help others grow in theirs. We thank You for Your love, kindness, grace, and mercy. We pray that over this next week, we’ll walk in deep intimacy with You. For those listening who are feeling burnt out, alone, or exhausted, may You strengthen them with the power of the Holy Spirit. Let Your grace, mercy, and peace rest upon us.

Frequently Asked Questions

Why Can Church Be Difficult for People with Mental Illness?

Church can be challenging for those with mental illness due to social pressures, rigid service structures, theological misunderstandings, and exclusion from leadership roles. Many churches unintentionally create environments that can be overwhelming, especially for those with anxiety or depression. A more inclusive approach—allowing different expressions of worship, creating quiet spaces, and providing mental health support—can make church a place of healing and community for all.

How Can Churches Be More Welcoming to People with Anxiety and Depression?

Churches can support people with anxiety and depression by creating safe spaces for quiet reflection, offering mental health support groups, and training leaders to recognize and respond to mental health struggles with compassion. Instead of forcing social interaction, churches can provide options—allowing individuals to engage at their own pace while still feeling included in the community.

Should Christians with Mental Illness Be Allowed to Serve in Ministry?

Yes, Christians with mental illness should not be excluded from serving in ministry. Throughout history, faithful leaders like Charles Spurgeon, Martin Luther, and Mother Teresa struggled with depression and anxiety yet made significant impacts. The Bible itself is full of leaders, such as Elijah and David, who wrestled with mental health challenges while fulfilling their calling. With proper support and accountability, Christians with mental illness can serve effectively in leadership roles.

Is Struggling with Mental Health a Sign of Weak Faith?

No, struggling with mental health is not a sign of weak faith. The Bible acknowledges deep emotional suffering, with figures like King David, Job, and Paul experiencing despair and hardship. In 2 Corinthians 12:9, Paul writes that God’s grace is sufficient in weakness, showing that mental struggles do not equate to a lack of faith. Seeking professional help, medication, or therapy does not mean someone has failed spiritually—it means they are wisely stewarding their well-being.

How Can Christians Balance Faith and Mental Health Treatment?

Christians can balance faith and mental health treatment by integrating prayer, Scripture, and community support with medical and psychological care. Mental health struggles are both spiritual and physical, and just as we seek medical help for physical illnesses, it is wise to seek therapy, medication, or counseling for mental health conditions. Faith and professional treatment can work together to promote healing, wholeness, and a deeper relationship with God.

How to get help with your faith and mental health

For more candid conversations on faith and mental well-being, check out Sunburnt Souls. You can subscribe to our podcast on any major platform or contact us to book us for speaking engagements.

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