Fresh Hope Blog

Last Sunday, I went to church for the first time in nearly four weeks.

On October 1, depression descended on me like a blanket. I recognized it almost immediately. I had experienced depression before, and I knew what was happening.

What followed was a difficult stretch of exhaustion, medication adjustments, disrupted sleep, and the emotional heaviness that accompanies depression.

And for several Sundays, I didn’t go to church.

On Monday evening, while facilitating a Fresh Hope support group, I mentioned that the previous day had been my first Sunday back at church since the depression began. I noticed several looks of astonishment, perhaps even shock. I don’t know exactly what people were thinking. Perhaps they were simply surprised. But their reactions stayed with me.

Was it surprising that someone who loves Jesus, who leads a Christian mental health support group, and who has spent years encouraging others in their faith would stay away from church for several weeks because of depression?

And that led me to a larger question:

Should I go to church if I’m depressed?

——–

When Just Showing Up Feels Like Too Much

One of the realities of depression is that ordinary activities can require extraordinary effort. Getting out of bed. Getting dressed. Making conversation. Being around people. Even things we ordinarily enjoy can become exhausting.

For me, attending church isn’t simply a matter of walking into a building, sitting through a worship service, and going home. Church involves people. People I know and love. People who know and love me. People who will naturally ask how I’m doing. And when I’m depressed, even answering that simple question can feel overwhelming.

Do I smile and say I’m fine when I’m not? Do I tell the truth and risk opening a conversation I don’t have the emotional energy to sustain? Or do I simply stay home?

There have been Sundays when staying home wasn’t about avoiding God or turning away from my faith. It was about recognizing that I had very little emotional capacity available. I simply didn’t have anything more to give.

Depression Doesn’t Mean I’ve Lost My Faith

I love Jesus. That hasn’t changed. I still pray. I still seek God’s presence. I still believe He is with me, even when I cannot feel the comfort or joy I long for.

But depression can affect how we experience nearly everything, including worship, prayer, and Christian fellowship.

Sometimes the things that ordinarily nourish us don’t seem to reach us emotionally. That doesn’t necessarily mean we’re doing something wrong.

I wonder whether we sometimes confuse visible spiritual activity with spiritual health. If someone is attending church, participating in Bible study, serving in ministry, and smiling on Sunday morning, we may assume they’re doing well. And if they’re absent, withdrawn, or visibly struggling, we may wonder what’s wrong spiritually.

But depression isn’t that simple. A person can love God deeply and still struggle to get out of bed on Sunday morning.

A Sacrifice of Praise

I remember a Sunday during an earlier season of depression when I went to church alone. My husband was traveling, and I was struggling.

As the worship music began, I started to cry. And I kept crying. I cried through the entire worship time. But I also kept singing.

I remember praying, “Lord, this is what You mean. This is a sacrifice of praise.”

There was no joy in my singing that morning. No emotional uplift. No sudden relief from the depression. But I was worshiping.

Hebrews 13:15 (NLT) says:

“Therefore, let us offer through Jesus a continual sacrifice of praise to God, proclaiming our allegiance to his name.”

I’ve never forgotten that Sunday.

Recently, I shared that experience with my pastor. He offered another perspective I hadn’t considered. He told me that even coming to church while experiencing depression was itself a sacrifice. I’d been thinking about the sacrifice of singing praises through my tears. He helped me recognize the sacrifice involved in simply showing up.

And perhaps that’s something we need to understand about people who are experiencing depression. What looks like an ordinary Sunday morning to someone else may represent an extraordinary effort for the person sitting beside them. Sometimes the sacrifice is in the singing. Sometimes it’s in simply walking through the doors. And sometimes, perhaps, we don’t have the strength for either.

What Does a Welcoming Church Really Look Like?

I’ve been thinking about what it means for a church to be welcoming to people experiencing depression, or any mental health challenge.

Most churches want to be friendly. We greet people at the door. We smile. We ask how they’re doing. We invite them to participate. Those are good things.

But what happens when someone walks through the doors who doesn’t smile back? What if they look sad, withdrawn, or uncomfortable? What if they don’t have the energy to make conversation? What if they don’t want to explain what’s wrong?

Would they still feel welcome?

And perhaps more importantly, would they feel free to come back exactly as they are?

I think there’s a difference between being a friendly church and being a church where people feel safe being honest about their struggles. I don’t know exactly how we create that kind of community. But I think we need to ask the question.

Communicating Welcome Before Someone Arrives

I follow Pastor Craig Groeschel of Life.Church on Facebook. He frequently speaks openly about mental health, personal struggles, and the challenges of life.

Life.Church is enormous, and honestly, the size of a church like that might intimidate me. But when I see a pastor speaking so openly about mental health, something else happens. I think, ”Maybe I would be welcome there.” Before I’ve ever walked through the doors, something about the message communicates that struggling people belong. That matters.

Of course, there’s a difference between a pastor communicating acceptance and a congregation actually living it out. A church can offer excellent mental health programs, provide resources, and educate its leaders. Those things are important.

But what happens in the lobby on Sunday morning? What happens when someone isn’t cheerful or approachable? What happens when a person needs to be present without being expected to participate, explain, or give anything in return? I wonder if that’s where our understanding of welcome is really tested.

When We Need to Receive Instead of Give

For much of my life, I’ve been someone who listens, encourages, supports, and cares for others. Those are things I value. They’re part of how I believe God has created me and called me to serve.

But this season has been different. I’m tired. I’m emotionally depleted. And now I’m experiencing depression.

I’ve come to recognize something about myself that is difficult to admit:

Right now, I need to be cared for.

I need places where I don’t have to be the encourager, the leader, or the person who has something to offer. I need to be able to simply be.  

And I wonder whether our churches know how to make room for that.

Not just for people who are temporarily having a difficult week, but for those whose depression may last weeks or months. People who cannot easily smile. People who may not be able to serve. People who might sit quietly in the back and leave without speaking to anyone. Can we allow them to belong without expecting anything from them?

Galatians 6:2 (NLT) says:

“Share each other’s burdens, and in this way obey the law of Christ.”

I wonder what it would look like if we took that instruction seriously when it comes to depression and other mental health challenges.

Sometimes sharing someone’s burden may mean listening to their story. Sometimes it may mean offering practical help or simply sitting beside them. And sometimes it may mean reassuring them that it’s okay to be quiet, to rest, or to step away from responsibilities without feeling that they’ve disappointed anyone.

So, Should I Go to Church If I’m Depressed?

As I’ve wrestled with whether to attend church during depression, I’ve also had to acknowledge something important: when I stay home, I’m the one who misses out.

I don’t go to church because God needs me to be there. God is just as present with me in my living room as He is in the sanctuary. But I go to church because I benefit from being part of the body of Christ. Corporate worship is especially meaningful to me. There’s something deeply encouraging about joining my voice with other believers in praise to God. I’m also blessed by the teaching of God’s Word and the opportunity to learn and grow alongside others. I know those are blessings I miss when I stay home. And during those weeks of depression, I knew that. I wasn’t unaware of what I was missing. I wasn’t indifferent to it.

I knew I was missing something good, something that ordinarily nourishes my soul. And I still didn’t have the capacity to go.

That’s part of what makes this question so difficult. Sometimes recognizing what would be good for us doesn’t mean we have the strength to participate in it. 

I believe Christian community matters. I believe gathering together for worship matters. I believe isolation can become dangerous when we’re depressed.

But I also believe depression is real, that our limitations matter, and that sometimes getting through the day requires nearly all the energy we have.

I don’t think the answer is as simple as telling someone they need to push through and attend church. Nor do I think staying away indefinitely is necessarily the answer. Perhaps we need to ask a different question.

Instead of asking only whether someone experiencing depression should go to church, perhaps we should also be asking:

What kind of church are we inviting them to come to?

Is it a place where they can arrive exhausted? Where they don’t have to smile? Where they can worship quietly, or simply sit and listen? Where they can be honest if they choose, but aren’t required to explain themselves? Where they can receive care without first having to give something?

I don’t have all the answers.

But I do know this: When someone who is depressed finds the strength to walk through the doors of a church, I hope they discover a community that welcomes them just as they are. And when they can’t find the strength to come, I hope they know they haven’t been forgotten. Because the church should be a place where struggling people belong.

Even on the Sundays when they can’t make it through the doors.

About the Author: Peggy has been involved with Fresh Hope as a Group Facilitator for over 8 years and as the Hope Coach Trainer for over 6 years. She can be reached at peggy@freshhope.us.