By Ross Hendrickson

I still remember sitting in church as a kid in the 1980s and feeling my heart pound in my chest. I was anxious almost all the time but had no words for it. Back then, therapy wasn’t something families in my world talked about. If you had problems, you prayed harder, read more scripture, or tried to “man up.” There wasn’t space to say, “I feel scared every day,” without worrying that someone would look at you sideways and wonder if your faith was slipping. I white-knuckled through much of my childhood, convinced that something was wrong with me but equally convinced that admitting it would brand me as weak.

Fast forward a few decades and here I am, a licensed therapist who has also spent years in ministry. I can laugh about it now, but sometimes it feels like I have lived with one foot in two different worlds. In one world, the answer to everything is prayer, fasting, and worship music. In the other, the answer is cognitive behavioral therapy, medication, and a workbook. And often the two worlds don’t seem to share the same dictionary. It’s like being at a family reunion where half the cousins only speak Spanish and the other half only speak English, and everyone insists their side is the only one that matters.

Sometimes I wonder how many people have quietly suffered because of that mismatch. Growing up, I knew kids who were dealing with depression or trauma but who never once got to sit in a counselor’s office. Instead, they were told to get more involved in youth group or memorize another verse. That advice came from people who cared deeply but simply did not have the tools. The church leaders were fluent in faith but not fluent in therapy. Meanwhile, the therapy world too often stood at arm’s length, suspicious of anything that smelled like church.

One reason for the mismatch is simple vocabulary. In church, the language is about sin, temptation, or spiritual attack. In therapy, the words are trauma, triggers, and emotional regulation. Both describe real experiences, but when someone who grew up steeped in one language hears the other, it can feel confusing or even threatening.

Another reason is stigma. Many Christians have been told that if they struggle with depression, anxiety, or addiction, the problem is a lack of faith. “If you just prayed more, you wouldn’t feel this way.” “If you really trusted God, you wouldn’t be anxious.” Those messages may be well intentioned, but they leave people feeling ashamed of something they never chose. Shame grows best in silence, and silence is exactly what people retreat to when their struggles are labeled as spiritual failure.

And then, on the other side, some in the mental health field treat faith like it is an old superstition that needs to be thrown out. I have heard people in professional circles roll their eyes at the idea of praying with clients or even acknowledging a client’s spiritual beliefs. To them, faith is baggage that slows down progress. That kind of dismissal only widens the divide. It sends the subtle message that people have to pick between their faith and their healing. For a Christian, that feels like being asked to cut off an arm.

There is also history at play here. For centuries, the church was the primary place people went for emotional and spiritual care. When psychology emerged as its own field, it often defined itself by separating from theology. The unintended result was two camps, each suspicious that the other was claiming too much authority. And here we are, still trying to clean up that messy divorce.

When the two sides don’t speak the same language, clients pay the price. I have sat with Christian clients who went to therapy hoping to find help, only to leave feeling dismissed. They walked in with prayer and scripture as core parts of their lives, but the therapist acted like those were childish security blankets. Instead of feeling understood, they felt stripped of their most important source of comfort.

I have also seen the flip side. Clients who went to pastors or church leaders seeking help for depression or marital conflict, and the only advice they got was to pray more or read a particular passage. Those things can be good, but when someone is dealing with panic attacks, addiction, or trauma, quoting a verse can feel like putting a Band-Aid on a broken leg. It doesn’t mean scripture is weak. It just means some problems need more than one kind of medicine.

Couples get caught in the middle too. Imagine a husband who wants counseling for years of communication struggles, while his wife is being told by her small group that the only solution is to submit more and pray harder. The husband feels hopeless. The wife feels pressured. Both feel unheard. The therapy office and the church pew feel like they are at war, and the marriage suffers.

And beyond the marriage dynamic, there are families with teenagers who desperately need help but cannot get past the stigma. A parent might worry that taking their child to therapy will make it look like they failed as Christian parents. Meanwhile, the teenager is drowning in anxiety or self-harm thoughts, and time is wasted in silence.

The encouraging part is that integration is possible, and when it happens, it can be life changing. There are therapists who understand that faith is not a problem to be solved but a resource to be honored. I have seen Christian clients light up when a therapist asks, “How does your faith give you strength in this struggle?” or, “Would you like to include prayer as part of our session?” Suddenly, therapy no longer feels like an attack on their beliefs. It feels like a partnership.

On the church side, there are pastors who normalize therapy as part of discipleship and self-care. They say from the pulpit, “If your marriage is struggling, get help. God uses counselors and doctors as part of healing.” That kind of leadership breaks stigma and helps people see that needing therapy is not a sign of weak faith. It is a sign of human reality.

There are also faith-informed models of therapy that weave scripture and evidence-based tools together. A Christian counselor using cognitive behavioral therapy can show how scripture speaks about renewing the mind while also teaching clients how to challenge distorted thinking. That integration respects both the science of psychology and the power of spiritual truth.

Some of my most meaningful work has been with clients who bring both their Bible and their therapy homework sheet into the room. They do not see them as competing resources. They see them as different tools in the same toolbox. And there is something profoundly moving about watching someone discover that God is not against them seeking help. He is often right there in the room, smiling as His children heal.

So how do we bridge the gap? First, Christians can be encouraged to seek therapists who respect faith, whether or not they advertise themselves as “Christian counselors.” Sometimes the best fit is someone who says, “I may not share every detail of your belief system, but I will honor it as a vital part of who you are.” That posture alone creates safety.

Second, therapists need cultural humility when it comes to faith. If we can learn to work with clients from different ethnicities, cultures, and backgrounds, we can learn to work with clients whose faith shapes their worldview. Asking questions about a client’s spiritual practices should be as normal as asking about their family or career.

Finally, churches and mental health professionals can learn to partner. Imagine a world where pastors referred struggling couples to therapy before crisis, and therapists encouraged clients to stay rooted in their spiritual community for support. That kind of teamwork would reduce the sense that people have to choose one or the other. It would remind people that healing can be both spiritual and clinical.

And for the individual Christian, bridging the gap may be as simple as giving yourself permission to value both. To say, “I can pray and take my medication.” Or, “I can fast and also meet with my counselor.” That kind of honesty dismantles the false choice between faith and psychology.

At the end of the day, faith and therapy are not enemies. They are teammates. Both are about healing, both are about hope, and both are about helping people live more fully. If the vocabulary feels mismatched, the invitation is to slow down, listen, and translate with care.

I often think back to my younger self in that church pew, heart racing, wondering if I was the only one who felt broken. What I wish I could tell him is that God was not disappointed in his anxiety, and therapy would not cancel out his faith. They could walk hand in hand. Faith could offer comfort and meaning. Therapy could offer tools and strategies. Together, they could give him freedom.

And maybe that is the great lesson. We do not have to choose between prayer and practice, scripture and science, faith and therapy. We can hold both. In fact, we may be healthier when we do.

Because at the end of the day, a good counselor and a good pastor both want the same thing for you: that you walk in freedom, wholeness, and peace. And if you ever doubt that the two worlds can work together, just remember this. Peanut butter and jelly do not share a language either, but when they show up on the same sandwich, no one is complaining.

And if peanut butter and jelly feels too old school, picture Buc-ee’s Beaver Nuggets paired with a Dr Pepper. They do not technically belong together, yet somehow the combination just works. Faith and therapy can feel like that too. Different textures, different flavors, but when they come together, they bring comfort, joy, and a little bit of hope that maybe healing is closer than we think.