How Does Church Respond to the Heavy-Hearted?

Whoever sings songs to a heavy heart is like one who takes off a garment on a cold day, and like vinegar on soda. (Proverbs 25:20 ESV)

When you pour vinegar on soda, a reaction occurs. It's an exciting sight for elementary students, but it can be messy and smelly. The situation becomes even more concerning when we shift from discussing a Play-Doh volcano to comparing it with a human heart that comes desperately seeking solace in a church.

Many of the people who drag themselves into church on a Sunday morning are slogging around with heavy heart. Sadly, some will be contemplating suicide. Others are weighing whether or not to leave a spouse or quietly planning their next sinful escapade. But they’re in church. Desperate. Or maybe too broken to even call it desperation.

And what do we give them?

Preacher jokes? A smooth program? Peppy songs?

I suppose there is a place for some of this. Not everyone there has a heavy heart. Deeply hopeful singing is different than forced hope. I’m not encouraging dour worship or dry preaching. It’s okay to be hopeful. In fact, it’s necessary. But a blind optimism that sings happy songs to heavy hearts is cruel. It’s administering superficial remedies to profound wounds.

And that’s what this proverb is talking about. When you sing songs to a heavy heart, you’re refusing to meet them where they are. You’re forcing your emotion upon their emotion. When you do this, don’t be suprised to get a violent reaction.

Some of those who are violently reacting to Christ and the church, are doing so for this very reason. They came with heavy heart. And where met with shallow cliches, slick worship presentations, and feel good talks. Nobody met them in their pain. Rather than offering to take a jacket, pulling them in by a comfortable fire for a soul-soothing chat, we’ve ripped off a garment on a cool day.

Culture that is void of real gospel healing will always produce this reaction. The only balm for weary souls and heavy hearts is the real gospel. Not talking about the gospel. Or living on the periphery of the gospel. But real gospel stuff that faces the reality of sin, brokenness, and pain.

When people come to a place where they ought to receive the relief but instead they are met with a callous mockery of their deepest wounds, they won’t stick around. And sadly, as they leave many will do so under the mistaken belief that they tried this “Jesus thing” but it didn’t work.

But it isn’t Jesus that has failed them. It’s our song that failed them. It’s our empty little ballads that we were so enamored with that we missed the work of the Savior. People are hurting and broken and desperate for Jesus and we are giving them seamless transitions and eloquent speeches. We are singing songs to heavy hearts. Pretending like our borrowed and tattered and marred beauty is what attracts sinners. Or that our lyrics and thoughts are the balm desperate souls need.

Just, give me Jesus.