One day the leader of my Bible study group—a lovely lady named Barbara—announced she’d received a breast cancer diagnosis and would begin treatment the following week. She hushed the murmurs of concern and sadness with a smile and her triumphant proclamation: “I’m not afraid! God is in control!”
Illustration by Hokyoung Kim
Barbara continued, “Don’t you worry about me, friends. I’m fine.” She looked around the room expectantly and said, “God is good—all the time!” There was a moment of silence before a couple of women gave the response it seemed she was waiting for: “All the time—God is good.”
Barbara nodded. “Let’s say it like we mean it, friends. Together: God is good, all the time …”
Most of the group shouted the reply as if we were at a pep rally: “All the time, God is good!” While I agreed with the theological sentiment, I couldn’t join the jubilation that morning.
When I received my own life-altering medical diagnosis a few years prior, I was shocked and disoriented by the news. It took me quite some time to wrap my head around the information and adjust to the changes that ongoing treatment brought to my life. I understood that everyone processes difficult news in a different way. Each of us brings our own unique history, faith journey, level of resilience, and personality type to the challenges we face. Barbara was an upbeat, energetic personality, and perhaps she was able to take the news in stride. But there was something about this episode that left me feeling unsettled.
When I spoke with Barbara after the Bible study to offer empathy and support, she insisted that there is only one “correct answer” for a Christian when it came to faithfully responding to any trial. I told her I understood that it could be a shock to receive news of a cancer diagnosis.
“I’m ‘considering it all joy,’ as the book of James tells us we’re supposed to do,” she replied. “I have nothing to fear.” She went on to tell me that her cancer diagnosis had created fresh opportunities for her to witness to several medical staff members at the hospital when she’d gone for testing. “Sharing the good news is what it’s all about, right? This is just another occasion for His glory.”
I didn’t disagree, but I also couldn’t help feeling that she wasn’t telling me the whole story. I tried again with another question. I wanted to get past the surface, to speak to her in a more genuine way. I asked, “How are your husband and kids handling this? This is a challenge for your whole family.”
Again, she waved me off and responded, “Nothing is too hard for God. We’re all trusting Him.”
I gave her a hug, offered to bring her family a meal or two, and walked away wondering if there was something lacking in my faith because I didn’t respond to my diagnosis with the same upbeat confidence Barbara exhibited. I reminded myself that comparison was a trap and that it wasn’t a contest—but there was something else about the way the morning had unfolded that left me disconcerted. I just couldn’t name it that day.
As Barbara stepped into the challenge of chemo in the following weeks, she continued to present an upbeat, Bible-quoting public face to her battle. I didn’t question her faith in the slightest. But as I listened to the way others in the Bible study talked about Barbara, I realized she was communicating volumes about what she expected faith to look like and how a “strong” Christian should respond to trials. I could tell that many of the women in our group felt the way I did, as if something was inadequate in them or their faith was somehow less than.
There is often a fine line between maintaining an optimistic mindset and what is known as unhealthy or toxic positivity. This pressure to display only positive emotions and suppress anything negative can squelch honesty and possibly even shame a person who is suffering. The tricky part about recognizing toxic positivity is that it uses familiar, encouraging language to respond to difficult human realities. It might sound like empathy but in fact is a way for the speaker to avoid or short-circuit meaningful engagement with unpleasant emotions.
In the church, this can show itself in tidy spiritual clichés ("Don't worry about losing your job. God's got this!") or overheated spiritual language ("Don't say anything negative. After all, our tongues have the power of life and death!"). Many of us learn in church what the “right” answers to hard questions are supposed to be. Since we don’t want to ruffle people’s feathers, lose their support, or have them judge us for a perceived lack of faith, there may be a temptation to hide behind a shiny façade.
A church where toxic positivity is the norm communicates that it’s not safe to be appropriately honest about our struggles, doubts, or weaknesses. That lack of honesty can deeply injure our soul, especially when we’re facing a big trial. And ultimately, a church with a culture of religious performance isn’t a safe, healing, or holy place—for anyone.
We also don’t find this behavior represented in the pages of Scripture. Look at King David’s emotional honesty, for example. He told the Lord when he was afraid (Ps. 6:2-3), exhausted (Ps. 6:6), hopeless (Ps. 13:1), and guilty (Ps. 51:1-19). He wrote psalms of lament as well as psalms of joy and worship in order to wrestle his way back to hope. He did not omit the messy, uncomfortable parts of his story so he could present a polished religious front to God and others.
His inspired words show us that our full human selves are welcome before God. Jesus underscored this as He welcomed doubters and strugglers throughout His ministry. What’s more, He did not filter His own emotions. He wept over Lazarus (John 11:1-44), showed righteous anger about money changers doing business in the temple (Mark 11:15-17), grieved over Jerusalem (Luke 19:41-44), and was so deeply distressed by the things He would face on the cross that His sweat became like blood (Luke 22:44).
Each of us handles trials differently. Some of us are wired to be sunny, upbeat “glass half full” people. Others are given to seeing the glass as mostly empty. Whatever our proclivity, God loves us just as we are, meets us at the point of our need, and is not put off by our struggles or confusion.
I was concerned about what Barbara was communicating to the women at the Bible study, but I didn’t know her well enough to have a heart-to-heart talk while she was undergoing treatment. So I decided to speak with them directly about my own experience with a difficult diagnosis.
I shared how frightening it was for me to hear the words from my doctor and told them how, in that shocking and unsettling moment, I wondered if I could trust God to help me meet the challenge. I wasn’t sure what to expect from the other women, but thankfully, my confession led to a meaningful discussion that continued in our group for weeks about the nature of faith and doubt.
We discovered that honesty birthed a nourishing optimism that caught several of us (including me!) by surprise. It was authentic hope—the kind that comes from being seen and known by people on the same journey as you. The kind that God intended for us to share with one another through seasons of both joy and tribulation (Rom. 5:3-5).
A few months later, Barbara reported she was cancer free, and I joined her in celebration. Yes, God is good all the time—even when we doubt and worry, even when we feel lost in fear, grief, sadness, or a hundred other genuine human emotions. And He is always there to carry us as we make our way toward hope.
