When Pain Becomes Truth, the Wound Begins to Rule

That may sound like a striking phrase. Something that stays with you. But to me, it is much more than a statement. It is a spiritual reality. Depression pushes a person down. Repression pushes what lives inside a person inward. Expression brings out what was never meant to remain imprisoned.

What is pushed inward does not disappear. It is not healed. It is not resolved. At most, it becomes quieter. But silence is not the same as freedom. A prison cell can also be silent. A basement can also be dark and quiet, while all kinds of things are rotting inside it.

That is exactly what happens to many people. They learn to function, but they do not become free. They learn to control their pain, but not to open their hearts. They learn to identify their triggers, but not to break their chains. They learn to talk about trauma, boundaries, safety and self-image, but sometimes move further and further away from words such as truth, repentance, forgiveness, deliverance and worship.

The tragedy is that this way of thinking has not remained outside the church. Psychology has penetrated further and further into the church. Not as an obvious enemy. Not carrying a flag bearing the word “deception.” It entered as help. As professionalism. As modern knowledge. As carefulness. As language for damaged people. And of course, that sounds sympathetic. Who would not want to deal carefully with people who are in pain?

But that is precisely where the problem begins. Not everything that sounds helpful brings freedom. Not everything that sounds professional comes from God. Not everything that numbs pain heals the wound. And not everything that enables someone to function again is restoration.

I do not reject all psychology. That would be too easy. There are observations from psychology that can be useful. There are patterns that are described well. There are people who genuinely want to help others out of sincere compassion. But psychology must never lead the church. It may serve, but it must not rule. It may help bring order, but it must never correct the Word of God. The moment psychology becomes the lens through which we read the Bible, we have not become wiser. We have lost our way.

The Subtle Lies of Therapeutic Christianity

One of the greatest lies deeply woven into psychology is that trust is supposedly the foundation of every good relationship. Say in a psychological setting that you cannot trust any human being, and you will quickly be declared the problem yourself. It will be called fear of commitment, a trauma response, avoidant attachment or relational damage. As though an inability to trust people is, by definition, proof that something is wrong with you.

But the Bible says something completely different. The foundation of every good relationship is not trust. The foundation is love.

No human being is trustworthy. Period.

Not your spouse. Not your pastor. Not your best friend. Not your leader. Not your therapist. Not your child. Not your parents. Not yourself. Only God can be trusted. That sounds harsh to a generation that has been taught that trust is the highest relational ideal, but it is exactly where the Bible repeatedly directs us. Jeremiah 17 does not cautiously say that we should “be a little careful” about trusting people. It says that the man who trusts in man is cursed. Why? Because the human heart is deceitful above all things.

Love therefore does not begin with trusting people. Love begins with God. First, we must learn to love God above everything else. Not as religious theory, but in practice. The Bible teaches us what love is, how God loves, how we love Him and how obedience is always part of that. After that, we must learn to love ourselves in the proper place. Not haughtily. Not arrogantly. Not as though we are the centre of everything. But as people who are learning to receive God’s love, even in the midst of our shortcomings, weaknesses, shame and brokenness.

You cannot give what you have not received yourself. In an emergency on an aeroplane, you must put on your own oxygen mask before helping someone else. Not because you are selfish, but because otherwise you will collapse before you can save anyone else. Love works in the same way. God’s love must first be able to flow into us. We must learn to allow that love in. Through our walls. Through our shame. Through our pain. Through our false self-images. And when His love fills us, that love can flow through us to those around us.

Love is therefore never selfish. True love is always giving. But love is not naïve either. Love is directed towards restoration, but only when all the parties involved are willing to change. When someone is unwilling to change, love will still choose to forgive, but it will not provide the same opportunity for the same destructive situation to happen again. Love can forgive without reopening the door to repetition. Love can bless someone without giving that person renewed access to your heart, home or life.

That is not bitterness. That is wisdom.

A second lie is that pain automatically speaks the truth. Pain is real. Pain must be taken seriously. Pain must not be dismissed with a cheap Bible verse or a pious smile. But pain is not revelation. Pain is a signal. Trauma tells us that something has been damaged, but trauma must not become a prophet. Fear can scream, but fear is not a reliable guide. Shame can feel profound, but shame rarely tells the truth about identity.

When pain becomes truth, the wound begins to rule. Everything is then viewed through the lens of what happened. Obedience then becomes dependent on feelings. The future is then held hostage by the past. God is then judged from the perspective of pain, instead of pain being judged from the perspective of God’s truth.

A third lie is that functioning is the same as being healed. Someone is working again, laughing again, participating again, attending services again and saying that things are improving. But functioning is not freedom. A slave can also function. A person in bondage can also arrive punctually. A traumatised person can also smile. The question is not whether someone is functioning. The question is whether someone is free.

EMDR: Repression in Modern Clothing

We must therefore also be honest about EMDR. I believe that it is irresponsible for a Christian to undergo EMDR. Not because I understand nothing about pain or trauma. Precisely because I believe that pain and trauma must not be pushed inward, but must come out into the light of God.

EMDR is often presented as trauma processing. But in simple terms, this is what it involves: someone thinks about a painful memory while the therapist simultaneously has them follow something with their eyes, uses sounds or introduces another distracting stimulus. The intention is for the memory to become less intense. Less sharp. Less vivid. Less emotional. In scientific language, EMDR is also described as a treatment intended to reduce the vividness and emotionality of distressing memories. The working-memory model says that someone holds a painful memory in mind while the brain is simultaneously burdened with a second task, causing the memory to become less vivid and less emotional.

Read that again carefully. Less vivid. Less emotional.

That is then called processing. I call it repression in modern clothing.

Because what happens? The pain does not truly come out. The wound is not laid open before God. The memory is not brought into truth, grief, forgiveness and deliverance. The emotional charge is reduced. The sharp edge is taken off. The feeling is numbed. Someone may perhaps be able to function better afterwards, but that is not God’s definition of healing.

When the smoke detector goes off and you knock it off the ceiling, the noise is gone. But the fire has not been extinguished. When someone feels less in connection with a memory, that does not automatically mean that the wound has been healed. It may also mean that the connection to the pain has been closed off. And what is closed off is not free. It is imprisoned.

That is why I consider EMDR dangerous. Spiritually dangerous. Not because people notice nothing after EMDR, but precisely because they often notice less. Pain is not released, but numbed. Grief is not lived through, but suppressed. Fear is not brought under the lordship of Jesus, but is technically made less perceptible. That can bring temporary relief. Of course. Numbing also brings relief. But numbing is not healing.

There is also every reason to be critical of the claims surrounding EMDR. A well-known meta-analysis concluded that EMDR did not appear to be more effective than other exposure techniques and that the eye movements, which are so central to the method, did not appear to be necessary. A recent review of the adverse effects of EMDR also stated that the safety of EMDR has received insufficient attention: of 51 randomised studies, only nine studies mentioned adverse effects, and only one study used systematic assessment protocols.

In ordinary language, that means this: the positive side is proclaimed loudly, but the harmful side is measured far less thoroughly. And that is serious. Especially when we are speaking about vulnerable people dealing with trauma, pain, fear and brokenness.

In addition, recent literature warns that EMDR and similar techniques may undermine the quality of memories by making them less vivid and less emotionally negative. It is also stated that eye movements may increase spontaneous false memories. To me, that is not a minor technical detail. We are speaking here about memory, truth, suggestion, inner openness and the human soul. That is not neutral territory. It is spiritual territory.

I therefore place EMDR in the same danger zone as hypnosis. Not because every technical detail is identical, but because both work with guided focus, influence over consciousness, memory, suggestion and inner accessibility. And anyone who takes the Bible seriously knows that this is not innocent. In the Bible, witchcraft represents manipulation, intimidation, domination and control. It is about exercising power over the inner person. That is precisely why a Christian must not deal naïvely with methods that touch the soul without Jesus Christ being Lord over the process.

Repression: The Basement in Your Heart

Repression sounds complicated, but it is actually very simple. Something painful happens. Something too great to bear. Something you do not understand. Something you are ashamed of. Something that frightens you. Instead of feeling it, naming it, crying about it, processing it and bringing it to God, you push it inward. You place it in a basement in your heart, close the door and carry on.

From the outside, that looks strong. You do not collapse. You keep working. You keep caring. You keep laughing. You keep going to church. Perhaps everyone even says how strong you are. But meanwhile, that pain is lying in the basement. And what lies in the basement does not remain there quietly. It begins to leak.

That leakage looks different for everyone. In one person, grief becomes cynicism. In another, fear becomes control. Shame becomes perfectionism. Anger becomes curt responses. Rejection becomes a compulsion to prove oneself. Unprocessed grief becomes exhaustion. Bitterness becomes a character trait. And after a while, someone says: “That is simply who I am.”

No. That is not who you are. That is what happened to you and what was never brought into the light.

Repression never works. Never. It may temporarily reduce the pressure, but ultimately you will still have to pay the bill. And not only you. The people around you pay as well. Your spouse pays. Your children pay. Your friends pay. Your congregation pays. Because what you do not process, you project. What you do not speak out speaks in another way. The tears you do not shed become hardness. What you do not confess becomes darkness. What you do not forgive becomes bitterness.

Even in the natural world, we see that suppression can backfire. The well-known “white bear” study on thought suppression showed that attempts not to think about a particular thought can actually cause that thought to return. Research into expressive writing also shows that putting stressful or traumatic events into words can be associated with improvements in physical and psychological well-being. That does not surprise me. God did not create human beings to be storage places for unspoken pain.

Pain must come out. Bitterness must come out. Sin must come out. Not as drama. Not to attract attention. Not to construct a victim identity. But because truth belongs in the light. God does not heal by boarding up the basement door more securely. He heals by bringing light into the basement.

Worship Changes the Focus of the Heart

God has given Christians keys that the world does not possess. One of those keys is worship.

Isaiah speaks about a garment of praise instead of a spirit of heaviness. That is not merely beautiful imagery for a song. It is a spiritual key. Depression pulls the heart downwards. Worship directs the heart upwards. Depression magnifies the problem in the mind. Worship magnifies God. Not because the problem suddenly ceases to exist, but because the problem is no longer at the centre.

That is what worship does. It shifts the focus of the heart. At first, the pain is at the centre. The fear. The loss. The rejection. The memory. The question of why God allowed it. But in worship, God once again becomes greater in our thinking. His faithfulness comes back into view. His power comes back into view. His goodness comes back into view. And there He can work. There He can raise us up. There He can give room to breathe where there was oppression.

That does not mean that someone with depression simply has to sing louder and then everything will be resolved. That is superficial. But it does mean that worship is not a luxury. Worship is expression. Worship is faith speaking before feelings have caught up. Worship is the moment when a person says: my pain is real, but God is greater. My grief is real, but God is faithful. My battle is real, but Jesus is Lord.

David did this continually. He did not deny his distress, but he did not allow his distress to rule. He addressed his soul. He brought his complaint to God. He wept, cried out, lamented, confessed, worshipped and hoped again. That is not repression. That is expression before the face of God.

Derek Prince and the Psychology Books

Derek Prince once spoke about a friend of his in Australia, a successful pastor who had young pastors under his leadership. One day, this man told them that they had to get rid of all their books about psychology and counselling. From that moment onward, they would counsel only from the Bible. Afterwards, a married couple came to them who had experienced marital problems for many years and had received counselling for years. The pastor told the man that the Bible said he had to love his wife, but that he was not doing so. He told the woman that the Bible said she had to submit to her husband, but that she was not doing so. As long as they were unwilling to obey God’s Word, there was no point in continuing to talk.

That is confrontational. And that is precisely why we need it.

Because how much counselling is actually a postponement of obedience? How many conversations circle the same mountain for years because no one dares to say: this is sin, this is bitterness, this is pride, this is rebellion, this is unforgiveness? How often do people want understanding, but no change? How often do they want language for their wound, but no cross for their flesh?

God is not against guidance. God is against lies. God is not against care. God is against idols. And psychology becomes an idol the moment it is given the final word about something the Bible has already made clear.

Demons Use Pain as a Prison

There is something else that we speak about far too little in the church. Demonic powers can trap people in pain, bitterness and trauma. They use open wounds as points of entry. A moment of trauma is not only psychologically intense; it can also be spiritually dangerous. In moments of deep shock, fear, humiliation, abuse, abandonment or violence, the soul can become so exposed that the enemy attempts to enter.

Demons use pain to keep people trapped. They reinforce lies. They whisper that you will never be safe again. That no one loves you. That God has abandoned you. That you are dirty. That you are guilty. That you will never be free again. They construct a prison out of memories, feelings and lies, and then convince you that this prison is your identity.

When demons have imprisoned someone in pain and trauma, that person cannot become free merely by talking. No therapy can then break the chain. Counselling can at most describe what the prison looks like, but the door remains closed. Only Jesus can deliver. Only the Holy Spirit can reveal what is truly happening. Only the power of God can break the demonic grip.

Forgiveness is a powerful weapon in this. Forgiveness does not say that it was not that bad. Forgiveness does not say that the perpetrator was right. Forgiveness does not mean that justice is unimportant. Forgiveness means that you take judgement out of your own hands and return it to God. In doing so, a chain is broken. Bitterness keeps you connected to the person who harmed you. Forgiveness cuts that connection.

But sometimes forgiveness is not the only thing that is necessary. Sometimes deliverance must take place. Sometimes a spirit of fear, shame, death, rejection, bitterness or slavery must be cast out in the name of Jesus. Sometimes inner vows must be broken: “I will never feel again.” “I will never cry again.” “I will never allow anyone to come close to me again.” Such words may seem like protection, but they can become prison doors.

And here is the good news: God can heal. God can restore. God can deliver. Not symbolically. Not only in the past. Not only in the stories of other people. Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. The Holy Spirit has not retired. The blood of Jesus has not lost its power. The name of Jesus still stands above every name.

Where demons have bound, Jesus can loose. Where trauma has closed, God can open. Where bitterness has poisoned, forgiveness can cleanse. Where sin has given ground, confession can remove that ground.

God Must Be Number One Again

This is ultimately the heart of the matter: God must be number one again.

Not as a slogan. Not as a song lyric. Not as a Christian layer over a therapeutic system. Truly number one. In our pain. In our relationships. In our memories. In our depression. In our traumas. In our bitterness. In our sin. In our restoration.

When God is number one, His Word has the final word. Not my feelings. Not my diagnosis. Not my past. Not my therapist. Not my trigger. Not my wound. His Word.

That does not mean that restoration will be easy. True healing is often more painful than numbing. It is easier to push something away than to bring it into the light. It is easier to function than to grieve. It is easier to maintain control than to cry. It is easier to use therapeutic language than to say: Lord, I have sinned. It is easier to say that you are “in a process” than to truly bow down.

But God works at the root. Always. He does not put a plaster over a festering wound. He does not call darkness a process. He does not call sin an identity. He does not call slavery coping. He does not call numbness peace. He brings truth. And truth sets people free.

The church must therefore learn once again to speak about true freedom. Not about functioning better while the basement remains full. Not about feeling less while the wound still holds power. Not about methods that make the smoke detector quieter while the fire continues to burn.

What must come out, must come out.

Pain must come out into the light of God. Bitterness must be released. Sin must be confessed. Lies must be exposed. Tears must be shed. Worship must rise. Forgiveness must be spoken. Demons must be cast out. The Holy Spirit must once again be given room to do what no method can do.

In Your Authority in Christ, Neil T. Anderson cites a telling example of a well-known African bishop who, during a visit to the United States, asked in astonishment why so much counselling took place in the American church. When his host, Dr Paul Cedar, attempted to explain it, the bishop replied sharply: “In America, you counsel people. In Africa, we repent.” In other words: in America, you counsel people; in Africa, we repent.

And when counselling is still needed after that entire process, psychology may perhaps help to dot the i’s and cross the t’s. But it must never hold the pen with which the story is written. In my experience, there is often very little left once God has truly done His work.

Because God’s purpose is not for you to feel less.

God’s purpose is for you to become free.