105 Sermon Illustrations on Depression

Bill Lenz, a Wisconsin pastor who dedicated much of his life to suicide prevention, stunned family and friends when he tragically took his own life after a months-long struggle with depression. He was 60.

“With heavy hearts, we must share some devastating news. Our beloved Senior Pastor, Bill Lenz, passed away on the afternoon of Dec. 4, 2017. Bill had been suffering from depression for the last three months. He was seeing a counselor and doctor, and reaching out to friends for help in walking through this, but depression eventually claimed his life on Earth,” Christ the Rock Community Church in Menasha announced.

The church’s Executive Pastor Curt Drexler said in an interview with The Christian Post Tuesday that Lenz was sent on sabbatical after he revealed to elders and other ministry leaders that he had begun experiencing sudden panic attacks.

“Over the last three months, he had what he would have just called anxiety. He would have bouts where he would be close to panic attacks or he would have panic attacks. And it was just so mysterious for him because he had never dealt with anything related to that at all,” Drexler said. “It was troubling to him. ‘Like where did this come from.’”

It was also troubling, Drexler explains, because of who Lenz was — an optimistic suicide prevention advocate.

“Bill has always been an optimistic, faith-filled man and that’s how we’re gonna remember him. Christ the Rock was birthed out of a street ministry called Solid Rock and in those days our mission, we felt, and our calling was to simply share the Gospel with all who wanted to hear. But our audience often were individuals who were in trauma. They may have had any number of life-controlling issues — alcohol, drugs, certainly poverty, homelessness — but also suicide was one of those areas where we were deeply involved in,” Drexler said.

When the church decided to release Solid Rock as a parachurch organization it was converted to a suicide prevention outfit called Life Promotions. That organization is led by the late pastor’s brother, Bob Lenz, who speaks to about 500,000 teens and adults across North America annually at school assembly programs and faith-based outreaches and events spreading hope to combat suicide and other challenges.

“In those early days one of the first things we had was a suicide hotline for individuals who were feeling hopeless so that we could offer hope 24 hours a day, seven days a week. So that was in our legacy, it was in our roots and has always been true for us as a church, counseling here,” Drexler said.

“We have over 60 lay counselors here who are busy continuously. There’s a waiting list for people to get in, so this is at our heart being able to reach people where they’re at. Just as Christ accepts us we wanna accept them, and so this has been Bill’s heart. He led the way for this and in his private conversations with individuals who had reached out to him and individuals he had reached out to, this is what he was known for. That is why it is maddening to know that he in his darkest hour lost track of that hope,” he added.

Drexler said it was difficult for Lenz to open up about his struggles but even though he did, he never admitted to having suicidal thoughts.

“Obviously we’re all still in shock and in disbelief. We could put 100,000 names in front of us of people we think might have done something like this. Bill would have been at the bottom of that list,” he said. “That’s why we know it wasn’t Bill that made this choice but the condition that he was experiencing.”

While Lenz was slow to talk about his depression, Drexler said he opened up enough to his elders and those close to him in the church to get help.

“But he never led us into the darkest hours that he had. He would tell us he had these moments of anxiety. He would tell us that he had trouble sleeping, but we regularly asked if he had any self-destructive thoughts and he would always push that away as far as possible that, ‘no, of course not, I would never consider it,’” Drexler said.

“He wasn’t moping around ... he was depressed but we were not concerned because we were going out to lunch with him. We were doing things. I just spent a week hunting with him in South Dakota. And so he was doing normal activities. He wasn’t doing the stereotypical signatures that we would be looking for for someone who is suicidal,” the executive pastor continued.

Members of Christ the Rock Community Church, which attracts about 2,000 worshipers weekly gathered at the church to grieve and comfort each other.

“Oftentimes it’s possible, especially within the church, that we want to move on too quick to biblical truths and clichés about God’s sovereignty and so on, which are all true, but sometimes at the expense of really being able to deal with the grief as it really is. That’s what we want to give people an opportunity to do tonight. Just to love on one another and be the family that they are,” Drexler said of the meeting.

Members touched by Lenz’s ministry have been openly grieving the loss on the church’s Facebook page.

“Bill led me to Christ in 2012. After my own suicide attempt and battle with addiction, Bill preached to me about the hope and forgiveness offered in Jesus. Without Bill, I might not be here either. You will be greatly missed. Although I never expressed how much I owed to you, I’m looking forward to telling you all about it one day when I join you in the presence of our beautiful savior,” wrote Steven Worthey.

Ellen Margaret added: “My heart is so very heavy hearing this news. My tears won’t stop. He will be missed more than words can say. He was an amazing man, who was such a beautiful example of what it looks like to be a true Christ follower. His love of Christ was contagious whenever he preached. His messages were straight forward and filled with wisdom. My family is together and living with faith and hope because of this man. It was an honor knowing him. My prayers go out to all of his family. May God walk us all through such a devastating time. And I pray our CTR family will do ALL we can to move Bill’s vision for our church forward.”

Drexler said his pastor’s death has been a wake-up call for members of his leadership team to ensure they take time for self-care.

“The point about self-care is a wake-up call for anyone in ministry ... the house that needs the greatest painting is usually the painter, the plumber’s house usually has plumbing problems because we are all concerned about doing this for others and not ourselves,” he said.

“Mental illness is a very dark thing. And a very hard thing for people to understand. We deal with it on the peripheral, we’re not licensed individuals when it comes to these things just our practical experience. ... Bill felt great shame going through this, feeling somehow he was at fault which was really more a symptom of his situation than a cause,” he added.

On Aug. 25, 2017, Hurricane Harvey made landfall near Corpus Christi, Texas. The wind and rain left behind devastating flooding that forced thousands to feel from their homes. But even after the water receded, the psychological impact on the survivors remained.

Four months later, a survey found that 18 percent of survivors regularly felt hopeless and nervous. For those whose homes sustained significant damage, it jumped to 48 percent.

One teacher listened to students and colleagues share their survival stories. But the challenges of rebuilding her own home and hearing the challenges of others led to increased anxiety and depression, and she was put on medical leave from work.

Heavy rainstorms continued to make many survivors nervous. But they encouraged each other to fight through the anxiety.

A neighborhood Facebook group in a hard-hit Houston neighborhood posted these words during a storm months later: “It’s just rain. Just a little rain.... Repeat until the rain stops!” The words reminded survivors that they weren’t alone in their struggle to heal after Harvey.(1)

The lasting impact of Hurricane Harvey should teach several lessons to all of us: 1) Adversity can come into our lives at any time. 2) Healing isn’t always easy. 3) Words can be both harmful and helpful. 4) “Getting over it” is easier said than done. 5) The best comforters are fellow sufferers who can empathize with us.

A lot to get over

On earth we’re surrounded by adversity and suffering, and the pain can sometimes be greater than we feel we can bear.

One of the most difficult subjects for me to talk about is suffering. I don’t like to discuss it. I don’t like to read about it. I wish we could all avoid it.

But adversity is inevitable for everyone on earth, and the Bible says we should not think it strange when it happens to us.

On one level, of course, we do have to try to eventually get over things and “accept the things we cannot change.” Dr. Elizabeth Kübler-Ross once explained that in the face of loss or heartache, our emotions go through a “grief cycle,” which might include shock, denial, bargaining, anger, depression and eventual acceptance and adjustment.

The problem comes when we get “stuck” in that cycle. When someone tells us to “get over it,” they’re probably trying to nudge us on to a healthier stage of life.

In the Bible we read about the prophet Samuel who had chosen and mentored King Saul. When Saul fell into sin, Samuel was devastated. In 1 Samuel 16:1, the Lord asked him, “How long will you mourn for Saul, seeing I have rejected him from reigning over Israel? Fill your horn with oil, and go; I am sending you to Jesse the Bethlehemite. For I have provided Myself a king among his sons.”

It wasn’t easy, but Samuel obeyed.

Yet we have to remember that the deeper the wound, the longer the recovery. If I stub my toe, it takes a few minutes for the pain to subside. But if there’s a car wreck with major injuries, it’ll take weeks, months or even years to recover.

The same is true for the soul. The deeper the hurt, the longer the healing.

Reckless words / healing words

Sometimes the pain just doesn’t seem to end, the tears don’t stop, the illness doesn’t subside, and the wounds just seem to get deeper. So we need to pray for wisdom to say the right words to those going through such times.

Remember Proverbs 12:18: “Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.”

When a friend needs encouragement, learn to deliberately consult the Lord before opening your mouth. Then as you weep with those who weep, speak the words God gives and remember to prayerfully point them to Christ.

When you think you can’t get over some deep hurt or loss, remember how the Father of glory stood silently by as His Son suffered scourging and crucifixion, that by His stripes we can be healed. If you or someone you know can’t move on, take hold of His nail-scarred hands and let Him help.

Only Jesus can heal our deepest hurts, and He can help you and me. Move on over to Him.

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(1) Brittany Martin, “When Heavy Rain Falls, Anxiety Returns for Many Survivors of Hurricane Harvey,” The Washington Post, August 24, 2018, .

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Copyright (c) 2019 Prison Fellowship Ministries. Reprinted with permission. "BreakPoint" is a radio ministry of Prison Fellowship Ministries.

Today, I did something I’ve never done before at a funeral. Something so ill-advised that pastoral care professors reading this likely will flinch on hearing it. Something that’s the wrong thing except when it is suddenly very necessary. I told part of my own story to a crowd of people I never had met to help them hear what else I needed to say about their grief.

That’s not what I intended to do when I walked into the chapel for the noon service today. But when I looked out over the sea of about 100 pained faces filling the room, and as I listened to the stories of four eulogists, I knew I needed to change my plans.

Daniel was 43 years old. No spouse or partner, but he was the beloved son, brother and uncle to adoring family members. He was a man’s man — big, loud, full of life, loved to hunt and fish and be outdoors. He brought joy to everyone around him.

But beneath that public persona, Daniel didn’t think his life mattered. The pain led him to take his own life.

That’s how I came to be standing in front of this crowd of strangers where men were weeping so hard they couldn’t see. I looked out over the crowd and realized there are only a few times among the hundreds of funerals I’ve officiated I’ve ever seen so much raw emotion.

And here I was — a stranger — asked to bring words of hope and comfort. I fretted about this through three songs and four eulogists before it was my turn to stand and deliver a message. I had spoken briefly at the beginning, setting the stage for why we were gathered here and reminding everyone this is not the way life is supposed to be, that mothers shouldn’t have to bury their children, that a beautiful life should not be cut in half.

People nodded in agreement as I spoke those words.

The four eulogists all were superb — and brief — in what they said. They told the kinds of stories grieving people needed to hear. Stories about Daniel, not about themselves. Funny stories, poignant stories, memories.

The last of them told one story that captivated my attention. She grew up with Daniel and said he was her first true friend as a child. She was as much a girlie girl as he was a manly man even as a child, she said. So when one day Daniel wanted to show her a hatchet, she had no idea what a hatchet could do.

You can see where this is going, right? I listened and did a quick visual inventory; the speaker appeared to have all her limbs intact. Sure enough, there was a mishap that day, though, and the speaker nearly lost a finger in Daniel’s hatchet demonstration, she said, holding up one hand as evidence.

“Now I have a Daniel scar,” she said tearfully.

My mind was racing. I knew I needed to pick up that theme when I spoke next. That was too good to let go.

When I rose, I took off my suit jacket, laid it on the small pew behind me and approached the podium. “You don’t know me, and I don’t know you,” I began. “But we share a common story.”

“Depression is a disease that tells you lies. It tells you you are not worthy, your life doesn’t matter, that the world would be better off without you in it,” I said. “I know because, like Daniel, I’ve been there and still am there some days. And based on statistics, at least a few of you in this room today know exactly what I’m talking about. You have been there too. Maybe you’re there today.”

By this point, I was unbuttoning my right shirt sleeve and rolling it up to my bicep to reveal the semicolon tattoo there. “This is my Daniel scar,” I continued. “This is a reminder that seven years ago I thought the world would be better off without me in it. The pain was too great.

“The thing about depression is it often afflicts people who you have no idea could be depressed. People like me, an extreme extrovert. People like Daniel, who was the joy of your lives.”

Heads were nodding all across the room. Tears were flowing. Tissues were being passed.

I briefly explained the meaning of the semicolon as an alternative view when you think life has placed a period at the end of your story. Change the period to a semicolon and realize your story is not over. There’s more to your story.

“There may be some of you here today who believe the world would be better off without you in it,” I said. “But I want you to see this room full of people who will tell you a different story. You are loved. Your life matters. You are needed.”

I also reassured everyone there they were not to blame for Daniel’s death. Whatever they thought they could have done, whenever they could have called, whatever they could have said, they had to let it go. Blaming yourself for someone else’s self-inflicted death is a burden you don’t need to carry.

Honestly, I’ve never cried so much delivering a funeral message as I did today. Somehow, with these people in this moment, this was personal. I needed to speak a word of gospel hope, and I needed these strangers to trust I was not some passthrough preacher who didn’t know what he was talking about.

I needed them to know I had some skin in the game.

“Here’s the point,” I continued. “Everyone here today now has a Daniel scar. And you’ve got to decide whether that scar is going to make you better or bitter. You’ve got to decide whether you’ll be angry or you’ll be challenged to live your life in a more beautiful way.”

Then I was able to declare the message of hope of the gospel: “The Bible teaches us there is nothing that can separate us from the love of God, neither famine nor war nor principalities nor powers ... or depression. Nothing we do can separate us from the love of God.”

And from there I was able to share the gospel hope of Christ’s resurrection from the dead, of his promise that where he has gone, there we also may be, that though we appear dead we will yet live, that Jesus is the resurrection and the life. I was able to speak the words of the Apostle Paul that this mortal body must give way to the immortal body. It may look like death has won the day, I said, but it has not. Jesus Christ has defeated death.

After the message, I took my place beside the open casket as friends and family passed by to pay their respects one last time. Never ever in 20 years of officiating funerals have I had so many people stop to whisper a word to me as they passed by. Several held up fingers, wrists, arms to show me their semicolon tattoos. “I have one too,” they whispered knowingly.

And one man gave the greatest compliment I’ve ever received at a funeral: “I don’t know you, but I’ll never forget you and what you said today.”

Maybe this is just one of those had-to-be there moments. Perhaps the emotion of this day can’t be transferred in writing. But this one message speaks to us all: We all have Daniel scars.

We all carry wounds and remembrances of near-misses and tragedies and pain and sorrow that shape who we are. And we have a choice about how to tell that story. We can hide our pain under a shirt and coat and pretend it isn’t there, or we can let those who are struggling know they are not alone.

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Mark Wingfield serves as executive director and publisher of Baptist News Global.