USQUEQUO, DOMINE? (Open-Letter to our Shepherds on World Mental Health Awareness Day 2025)

Krus at Lipunan: A Filipino Theology of Liberation

USQUEQUO, DOMINE?

(How long, O Lord?)
Open-Letter to our Shepherds on World Mental Health Awareness Day 2025

October 10, 2025

“How long, O Lord? Will you utterly forget me? How long will you hide your face from me?” — Psalm 13:1 (NABRE)

Dear Shepherds — bishops, priests, religious, and all who bear the scent of the sheep — Peace be with you!

I do not write as an authority but rather as one who has gone through silent periods, times when faith was hardly there and the heart was so heavy that even words found it hard to express. During the quiet time of praying and suffering, I discovered that a lot of people among us have hidden weights. Some identify them as mental health problems, while others simply say it is a time when making it through the day is the only grace there is. I write to invite you to join me not to answer my query, but to listen — the listening that gets one healed.

The psalmist is not doubting God's existence but is expressing his yearning for company when he asks God, “How long, O Lord?” He is praying a prayer that combines hope and fatigue; it is a cry that is typical of those who have tried to remain faithful amid total silence and have therefore suffered.

Nevertheless, it happens too frequently that during these times of quiet struggles when we seek help from the Church, we get not a presence but a prescription instead: “Pray harder.” “Offer it up.” “You just need more faith.” Despite their good intention, such statements can end up putting up walls rather than knocking them down.

What we require are not more explanations of pain and suffering. Rather, we need those who have the courage to be there when life is oppressive and heavy. We need someone who will join us underneath our proverbial fig tree of sorrow (cf. John 1:48) not for the purpose of healing us, but simply to realize that sometimes just being there is already love.

God is very much present in the voices of the oppressed. If we accept this as the case, then the battle for inner peace is pretty much the same as one of the places where God shows His warmth, the same as the struggle. The theologian Gustavo Gutiérrez noted in one of his famous sayings, “To know God is to do justice.” ¹ Justice today implies not only listening but also hearing those whose mental health worries are often neglected or told to be spiritual matters.

Challenging situations in life do not indicate a lack of faith. Instead, they point to our being — the frail, attractive spot where grace touches limitation. With His words, "Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened," (Matthew 11:28) Jesus did not seek perfection. He merely extended His embrace.

Still, a lot of people are not very eager to bring up their mental health issues in the Church and are afraid of being judged or misunderstood. It is true that we widely proclaim our victories and joys through testimonies and still very rarely do we allow for mourning and showing weakness. Our theology of Easter sometimes forgets that Holy Saturday exists, that holy day of silence between pain and resurrection.

According to Gaudium et Spes, the Second Vatican Council declares that “the joys and hopes, the griefs and anxieties of the people of this age... are the joys and hopes, the griefs and anxieties of the followers of Christ.” ² Thus, the Church is to share not only the blessings but also the hardships of the world and to walk with the troubled in humility.

Visualize a Church where confessionals serve as hearing places; where sermons openly speak about psychological health matters; where church basements are the venues for discussions that turn stigma into acceptance. Visualize seminaries teaching the future priests not only the logic of faith but also the vocabulary of compassion—where simply hearing is regarded as a merciful act.

Isaiah prophesizes about the Servant of the Lord saying, “A bruised reed he shall not break, and a smoldering wick he shall not quench” (Isaiah 42:3). The Church is indeed to that same extent gentle — to see that some souls come to Mass very fragile or damaged and all they need is not a remedy but kindness.

Shepherds, I begged you: please listen not only to those who teach mental health but also to those who live in mental health every single day. Your psychology supplies you with schemes, but your lived life gives faces to this life.

In person-centered therapy, Carl Rogers, the founder, noted, "Amazingly, when someone really hears you without passing judgment... it does feel good." Perhaps this is the essence of pastoral care—not advice, but simply being there.

Viktor Frankl, proposed that "suffering ceases to be suffering when in some way it finds meaning." This meaning is not imposed; it is discovered in compassionate company. Oftentimes, it may just be sitting with the wounded in silence, gently scribbling a love letter to God.

This is the universal situation — the people in all layers of the society, such as families, schools, offices, and even priests, are suffering from emotional and spiritual exhaustion silently. They put on their smiles to serve and to go on with the flow, but deep down they wish for someone to listen to them without the clock ticking.

What we need is that kind of Church which is compassionate enough to recognize this reality. The Church which will strongly proclaim that one's mental health care is not a problem at all but a rightful use of God's gift of life.

Pope Francis is referring this in Fratelli Tutti when he says, “draw near to those who suffer without trying to explain everything.” ⁵ In other words, He reminds us that to suffer with, that is to be truly compassionate, is not to be like the one who benefited from the nearness coming from the distant one.

As the Church turns into the community of the people who listen, it will be the place for the healing.

If we understand theology as faith seeking understanding, then very probably the most accurate theology of today is suffering seeking fellowship.

When Jesus shouted from the Cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46), He was precisely where human suffering is most lonely. That shout was not an expression of doubt, but faith — unrefined, authentic, lasting.

The inner battles we must fight can also become the point of meeting with God who is waiting beside the wound. In the most secret and uninviting parts of our lives, grace often speaks the loudest.

Dear shepherds, may you learn to preach not only with clarity but with compassion. May your hands anoint not only with oil but with understanding. May your parishes become sanctuaries where silence can breathe, and tears can pray.

Every so often, the most sacred prayer is a silent dialogue with a friend who is attentive. Every so often, the most genuine faith is the one that chooses to keep hoping after a night of weariness. And every so often, the most Christ-like gesture is merely to be there with a suffering person — no explaining, no fixing, just loving.

Let the Church that listens be the Church that heals. For we, the weary, are not far from God. We are the ones He never stops hearing, even when all we can whisper is —

“How long, O Lord?”

Endnotes

1. Gutiérrez, G. (1973). A Theology of Liberation. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books.
2. Vatican II. (1965). Gaudium et Spes [Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World]. In Vatican Council II: The Conciliar and Post-Conciliar Documents. Vatican City.
3. Rogers, C. (1961). On Becoming a Person: A Therapist’s View of Psychotherapy. Boston: Houghton Mifflin.
4. Frankl, V. (1959). Man’s Search for Meaning. Boston: Beacon Press.
5. Pope Francis. (2020). Fratelli Tutti [On Fraternity and Social Friendship]. Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana.