God has a profound heart for therapy, for listening, and for encountering people precisely where they are. Divine encounter is not abstract; it is a touch that transforms, a presence that heals, and a listening that dignifies.
“Look, O Lord, for I am in distress; my stomach churns; my heart is wrung within me…” Lamentations 1:20a
It is deeply saddening to witness the findings of a recent study by Kintsugi Hope, which revealed that although over 40% of regular churchgoers have experienced a mental health issue—a significant proportion of the worshipping community—only around 30% felt comfortable seeking guidance from their minister or church fellowship. This reflects a toxic misconception, particularly prevalent in some Christian traditions, that mental health struggles are indicative of moral failure or spiritual weakness. Such myths not only distort the Gospel but silence the sacred ache that Scripture honours.
In this reflection, I wish to explore and dismantle this narrative, affirming instead the heart of God for those who suffer. This is a time when God longs to exchange our brokenness—for individuals and for our nation—with His perfect will, expressed very early on in Scripture as ‘In every place where I cause my name to be remembered I will come to you and bless you.’ (Exodus 20:24b), and to restore emotional and spiritual stewardship within the Body of Christ (cf. 1 Peter 4:10).
I believe God has a profound heart for therapy—because He has a heart for listening, for presence, and for encountering people precisely where they are. Jesus spent much of His earthly ministry restoring people into wholeness of body, mind, and spirit, such as His healing of the woman with the issue of blood in Luke 8:43–48, and His healing of the man with the demon in Mark 5:1–20. We live an incarnational faith, and we are called to pray for and facilitate “that which is requisite for the body as well as for the soul” (cf. James 2:15–16). In the Liturgy of the Sacrament, we hear the words: “You ever draw a people unto Yourself”—and this is what God longs to do. Divine encounter is not abstract; it is a touch that transforms, a presence that heals, and a listening that dignifies.
There is a long spiritual tradition of this posture, especially within Ignatian spiritual accompaniment, where individuals are offered a non-judgmental space to be radically honest about themselves, their relationships, and their journey with God. Psychotherapy itself derives from the Greek psyche (soul) and therapeia (healing)—literally, “soul healing.” In this light, Christianity and counselling are profoundly congruent. Both honour the sacred ache, both seek restoration, and both affirm that emotional truth is not a threat to faith but its foundation. This is emphasised in the words of Psalm 34:18: “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit,” and in Matthew 11:28–30: “Come to me, all who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
During my MA at Heythrop College, University of London, I encountered a theology that profoundly changed my heart: Kenosis—the self-emptying of God. In this context, it reveals that even Jesus, Emmanuel, God with Us, embraced the limitations of bodily form. He hungered, He thirsted, and He wept bitterly at the death of His beloved friend Lazarus (cf. John 11:35). It is profoundly humbling to recognise that God Himself, in the human person of Jesus, experienced bereavement like you or me—and needed emotional support and accompaniment, just as any of us might. This truth is of utmost importance. It dismantles the myth that seeking help is a sign of weakness or spiritual deficiency. If Jesus Himself wept, grieved, and leaned into relational support, then we are no lesser for doing the same. Counselling, accompaniment, and emotional containment are not threats to faith—they are echoes of the Incarnation. They affirm that healing is holy, and that vulnerability is not a failure but a sacred posture.
I offer this reflection as a gift. When I was a Mission Assistant in the Diocese of Lincoln, I was called to the bedside of an elderly gentleman from the parish. He was not a churchgoer. He had spent his career in the steel works—now closed—and his afternoons in the bookies, his evenings in the pub. We had met over a pint, or in his case seven, certainly not in a church service. I went to his bedside, listened to his wishes for his memorial, and simply sat with him. There were no hymns, no liturgy, no theological discourse. Just presence. And in that quiet, I learned something sacred: God meets us in the silence, when there is nothing more to say. I left that room changed—not because I had spoken, but because I had listened. And in that listening, I glimpsed the God who does the same.
James Gordon Reid Haveloch-Jones is a British educator, mentor, and author of The Gold Standard: Coaching for Excellence.
Available to buy here: Gold Standard Coaching for Excellence.
His work spans elite institutions and grassroots outreach, blending ceremonial experience — from Westminster Abbey to global musical venues — with transformative coaching. Discover more at www.jamesgordonreid.co.uk and www.premierchristianity.com/james-gordon-reid-haveloch-jones/2988.bio
Kintsugi Hope Study – read here
