When Anxiety Becomes More Than We Can Carry
There are burdens that come with pastoral ministry that are difficult to explain to those who have never carried them. Pastors are called to stand with people in their greatest moments of joy and in their deepest moments of sorrow. We sit beside hospital beds, walk with families through grief, counsel people through broken marriages, listen to financial fears, navigate conflict, make difficult decisions, and sometimes carry information that we cannot immediately share with anyone else. There is a particular kind of stress that comes with being responsible for people. Over time, that stress can become anxiety.
I have spent much of my adult life serving the people of God, and I have learned that ministry does not make us immune to the struggles that affect everyone else. In fact, sometimes those of us who spend our lives helping others carry their burdens can have difficulty acknowledging when our own burdens have become too heavy. We can become so accustomed to being the person others turn to that we forget that we, too, need people to whom we can turn.
I have learned something of this personally. For the past four years, I have lived with a thyroid disorder called Graves’ disease. That experience has taught me that the relationship between the body and the mind is much more complicated than we sometimes acknowledge. Physical conditions can affect our emotions, our sleep, our energy, our ability to cope, and even the way we experience stress. We are not simply spirits living inside bodies. We are whole people, and what happens physically can affect us emotionally and spiritually as well.
And now I find myself walking beside my wife through stage 4 ALK-positive lung cancer, which has progressed into leptomeningeal disease (LMD). There are no easy words for this journey. There are moments when the weight of what lies before us feels almost impossible to comprehend. There are nights when my mind does not want to be quiet. There are questions for which there are no answers. There are fears about tomorrow that cannot simply be dismissed by telling myself not to think about them. In circumstances like these, I have had to remind myself of something I have preached to others many times: being a person of faith does not make us less human.
The New Testament speaks directly about anxiety. Paul writes in Philippians 4:6, “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God.” It is tempting to read that verse as though Paul were simply saying that Christians should never experience anxiety, and in that light anxiety can become condemning (Ro. 8:1). I don’t believe that is what Paul is doing. Paul is not shaming people for experiencing distress. He is teaching us where to take it. The answer to anxiety is not pretending that the thing causing anxiety does not exist. Paul tells us to bring the request, the fear, the uncertainty, and the need into prayer. Then he gives us the promise: “And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Messiah Yeshua” (Phil. 4:7). Notice that Paul does not promise that the circumstance will immediately change. He promises that the Lord’s peace can meet us in the circumstance.
That distinction matters. There are situations in life that prayer does not immediately remove. There are diagnoses that do not disappear because we prayed. There are circumstances that remain frightening even when we trust Him completely. Faith does not require us to deny reality. Faith teaches us where to bring reality.
Yeshua spoke about anxiety in the Sermon on the Mount when He said, “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble” (Matt. 6:34). I have often found the final sentence especially meaningful. Jesus acknowledges something that we sometimes forget: today already has trouble. He does not tell us that trouble does not exist. He tells us not to take tomorrow’s trouble and carry it today. That is one of the great disciplines of faith.
We live in the present, but our minds often live in the future. We rehearse conversations that have not happened. We imagine diagnoses that have not been given. We anticipate losses that have not yet occurred. We try to solve tomorrow’s problems with today’s strength. Sometimes that is where anxiety becomes overwhelming. We are attempting to carry a future that the Lord has not yet asked us to carry.
There is another distinction that Christians need to be willing to make. Experiencing anxiety is not necessarily the same thing as having a clinical anxiety disorder. Fear, apprehension, worry, and distress are part of the human experience. Scripture itself contains people who were afraid, overwhelmed, exhausted, and deeply distressed. Other historical faith leaders wrote opening about periods of profound anxiety, melancholy, fear, despair, and depression: Augustine, St. John of the Cross, Luther, Baxter and Spurgeon, as examples. But anxiety can also become clinically significant. When anxiety becomes persistent or severe, interferes with normal life, disrupts sleep, produces significant physical symptoms, contributes to panic, or becomes difficult to control, it may be time to seek professional help.
That is not a failure of faith. It is not a sign that someone has stopped trusting God, and it is certainly not something for which a person should be shamed. Sometimes the most spiritual thing we can do is make an appointment with a doctor. Sometimes it is making an appointment with a qualified counselor or therapist. Sometimes it is talking honestly with a trusted friend, pastor, spouse, or spiritual mentor. And sometimes it is all of these things together, while knowing that the Lord will meet us there.
We should also remember that medical evaluation can be important because anxiety-like symptoms can sometimes have physical causes or contributing factors. My own experience with Graves’ disease has reinforced that reality for me. I needed to know why I was experiencing the extreme physical symptoms that had been plaguing me. Our bodies and minds are connected, and medical care can help identify or rule out underlying conditions and determine whether treatment is needed. Seeking medical care does not mean that we have chosen medicine instead of God. God, the Great Physician, is not threatened by a human physician. There is no biblical requirement that a Christian refuse legitimate medical care in order to prove his or her faith. Paul himself had Luke, whom he calls “the beloved physician” (Col. 4:14), among his companions. Scripture gives us no reason to imagine that seeking appropriate medical care represents a lack of faith.
I especially want to speak to pastors. We often tell our congregations to talk to someone when they are struggling. We tell them that they should not isolate themselves. We encourage them to seek help. But as pastors we can be remarkably poor at following our own advice. We can convince ourselves that because we are the ones people come to, we should always have an answer. Because people depend upon us, we think we cannot admit that we are struggling. Because we preach faith, we can become afraid that acknowledging anxiety will somehow undermine our testimony.
But there is a difference between carrying responsibility and carrying everything alone. Pastors need people with whom they can speak honestly. Bishops need trusted colleagues. Leaders need people who can listen without immediately requiring them to have an answer. Caregivers especially need places where they are allowed to say, “I am tired.” There is no shame in admitting that something is difficult. There is no shame in saying, “I am afraid.” There is no shame in saying, “I don't know how I am going to do this.” Those words do not necessarily represent a lack of faith. Sometimes they just represent honesty.
Peter gives us one of the most beautiful invitations in the New Testament: “Casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you” (1 Pet. 5:7). Peter does not tell us that there will be no cares. He tells us what to do with them. Cast them upon Him. That is different from pretending they aren’t there. Sometimes casting our cares upon the Lord is an act of prayer. Sometimes it is sitting quietly before Him when we don’t have words. Sometimes it is crying. Sometimes it is asking someone we trust to pray with us. Sometimes it is seeing a physician. Sometimes it is meeting with a counselor. Sometimes it is admitting that we have reached the limits of what we can carry by ourselves. All of these can be expressions of humility.
Perhaps one of the most comforting passages for those who struggle with anxiety is found in Gethsemane. On the night before His crucifixion, Jesus entered the garden and told His disciples, “My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even to death” (Matt. 26:38). These are extraordinary words. The Messiah knew what was coming. He knew the suffering before Him. He did not respond by pretending that it was easy. He prayed. He grieved. He asked His disciples to remain with Him. And He surrendered Himself to the Father’s will.
We must be careful not to equate Yeshua’s sinless anguish in Gethsemane with a clinical diagnosis. But we can recognize something profoundly important: deep distress is not itself evidence of spiritual failure. Our Lord entered fully into the human experience of sorrow and suffering. He knows what it is to carry a burden that is difficult to bear.
There will be seasons when life becomes more difficult than we expected. There will be diagnoses, financial pressures, family crises, ministry conflicts, grief, uncertainty, and moments when the future appears frightening. The answer is not to pretend these things are easy. The answer is to bring them into the presence of God. We pray. We talk to people we trust. We rest. We seek appropriate medical care. We seek professional counseling when it is needed. We allow others to help carry the burden. And above all, we remember that faith does not require us to pretend that we are not afraid.
Faith allows us to bring our fear to God.
There are days when I can pray and feel the peace of God immediately. There are other days when I pray and the circumstances remain exactly where they were. The diagnosis does not change. The uncertainty does not disappear. The questions remain. But I am learning that God’s presence is not measured by whether the circumstances changed. Sometimes the miracle is not that the burden disappears. Sometimes the grace is that we discover we do not have to carry it alone.
Paul wrote that God’s grace was sufficient for him. He did not say that he had no weakness. He learned that the Lord’s strength could meet him precisely there. Perhaps that is something we need to hear again. We are allowed to acknowledge that this is hard. We are allowed to ask for help. We are allowed to see a doctor. We are allowed to speak with a counselor. We are allowed to tell a trusted friend that we are struggling. We are allowed to cry. We are allowed to say, “I am afraid.” And we are still people of faith. As I pray and reflect on my present circumstance, I recognize that all that I must acknowledge, speak about, and wrestle with is not an absence of strength, but the presence of His strength in the midst of it. His grace working in places I have not, and would not have chosen to walk before. There, in the valley of despair, is His sufficient grace working through faith. Because faith is not the absence of human weakness. Faith is learning to bring our weakness into the presence of the God who cares for us: “Cast all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.”
Sometimes we need to hear those words not simply as a verse to preach to someone else, but as an invitation to receive for ourselves. The week I wrote this article, I stood before my home congregation and acknowledged that I have been suffering from severe anxiety for many years. Part of this may be connected to my underlying medical condition, and some of it may be the result of the stress I am currently facing. Whatever the contributing factors, I have come to recognize that if I am going to care for my wife, I must also take care of myself. So I have decided to speak with my primary physician and take the steps necessary to seek relief. The ground did not open, and lightning did not strike. Instead, relief and support were expressed by those in attendance. For that, I am grateful. I am thankful that even in the midst of this very personal struggle, His promise to “never leave us nor forsake us” still applies. I do not have to carry this alone.
In the service of Messiah and His Church,
Bp. Justin D. Elwell
Restoration Fellowship International
