Seeing the Unseen: A Window into Complex, Chronic Suffering
It is often said that you never know the burden those around you are carrying. Most of us have no idea what some people in our lives are enduring. We assume that if someone looks healthy, shows up to work, and keeps their commitments, they must be fine.
There is a man online named Chris Williamson, a popular YouTube host known for his articulate interviews and athletic image, who recently released a documentary chronicling his prolonged health battle. He describes a maze of overlapping illnesses such as Lyme, mold toxicity, gut infections, and viral reactivations, along with relentless protocols that consumed his time, finances, and emotional reserves. It is a portrait of complex illness where there may be “loads wrong,” but no single culprit to target. The result of complex illnesses is not only fatigue and brain fog but also the slow erosion of abilities, identity, and hope.
As I watched his story, I thought of my close family members who live with chronic medical problems, and the church members I work with who endure long illnesses. It reminded me of many conversations I have been in when sufferers cannot articulate their experiences with great clarity. Williamson’s story gives us a window into the kind of medical suffering that often remains invisible. Many experience a kind of quiet misery, smiling in the pew, clocking in at work, parenting faithfully, while their inner world feels like a war zone.
Williamson does not speak from a Christian framework. For him, sickness is something to be conquered. This the pattern for many in the world, but the history of the world shows us that suffering is normal, and many have endured it not with resignation but with hope, joy, and witness. This is something I see every day.
What should Christians make of this kind of suffering? How should we think, feel, and respond? Tim Keller’s Walking with God through Pain and Suffering has helped me think through these questions with both honesty and hope. His writing has shaped the way I see suffering, and some of those themes are reflected here.
1. Refuse the Myth That Suffering Must Be Quickly Solvable
Modern Westerners tend to assume that every problem has a fix and that the fix should be available on demand. Complex illness exposes how fragile that expectation is. For many, the harder they work to get over their sickness, the worse they actually feel. Trying harder will not always fix our problems. This kind of suffering does not exist because of a lack of faith or because we have done something wrong. It is simply the reality of bodies that are finite, mysterious, and fallen.
We see this throughout the Bible. God’s people often suffer without immediate explanations. Joseph languished in prison. Job pleaded into silence. Paul begged for a thorn’s removal and heard the Lord say, “My grace is sufficient for you” (2 Corinthians 12:9). These stories remind us not to add guilt to the grief of suffering. If we are sick and not improving, it does not mean we are doing faith wrong. It does not mean we need to solve some hidden puzzle. We may want to find a solution, but we do not have to. Some suffering may not be solvable this side of heaven. God told Paul that his thorn would remain, and that His grace would meet him in it. Suffering is not a math problem to be solved; it is a pilgrimage with a God who walks beside us in the dark.
2. Let Suffering Expose and Reorder What We Treasure
Suffering reveals our functional trusts, the things we rely on for worth and stability. Many fear that their sharp minds or productive capacities will never fully return. When illness limits the very gifts we have built identity on, the soul panics. This reveals how good things can quietly become ultimate things.
God may use suffering and sickness to accomplish greater purposes in our lives. Suffering should remind us that He does not love us for our productivity; He loves us as His image-bearers, and for believers, He loved us in Christ. Suffering loosens our grip on performance-based worth and invites us to receive our identity by grace. This does not make the losses small, but it provides us with a sturdier love that remains even when we experience great losses.
3. Remember That God Is Present and Compassionate, Especially When He Feels Absent
God’s provision for our comfort is not through complicated techniques but through His Son. Scripture tells us that the Son of God took on flesh and entered our pain. Jesus died on the cross to remove our deepest affliction: our sin, shame, and death. The resurrection declares that suffering did not have the last word with Jesus, and it will not have the last word with us either.
When complex illness clouds cognition, scrambles sleep, or flattens emotions, prayer may feel impossible. Romans 8:26 meets us with encouragement: “The Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” God carries our prayers when we cannot. To the believer who feels spiritually numb, God is not measuring you by intensity; He is holding you by covenant love.
4. Relocate Hope from a Healing Timeline to Jesus and His Promised Future
If our deepest hope is to become healthy again on our own schedule, despair is close at hand. We should pray for healing and pursue the best treatment we can find. But we must not stake our souls on outcomes we cannot control. Christian hope is shaped by the resurrection. God promises that our bodies and minds will one day be made new (1 Corinthians 15; Revelation 21). That future does not make present pain painless, but it anchors us. This is not forever, and we are not forsaken.
There is a promise of healing. It may not come in this life, but all who trust in Christ will be healed in the final resurrection. This re-centering helps us hold two truths at once. First, we work and wait for relief now because medicine is a gift and persistence matters. Second, we rest in the certainty of ultimate restoration later because Jesus has secured it. Christian hope holds both, leading to diligent effort, deep trust, and the possibility of real peace (Philippians 4:6–7).
5. Name Disappointment and Keep Going
One of the brutal realities of suffering is what might be called “disappointment fatigue”. These are the repeated moments when a sufferer’s hopes of healing are raised only to be dashed again. This can happen over and over. We must not minimize this reality in the lives of those who suffer.
Biblical hope coexists with lament. The Psalms teach us to say the hard things to God without letting go of God. Faith is not the absence of tears; it is bringing our tears to the Father and trusting Him to count them (Psalm 56:8). If you are caring for someone with complex illness, remember that setbacks reopen grief. Offer your presence more than platitudes. Lament with them. Pray slowly. Keep promises. Celebrate small mercies such as an hour of clearer thinking, a night of better sleep, or a test that narrows the field a little bit. Tiny graces are not tiny to those in long trials.
6. Become a Church Where Hidden Sufferers Do Not Suffer Alone
Many people who endure complex illnesses, grief, or other long seasons of hardship grit their teeth and live in quiet misery. It does not have to be this way. We should envision churches where sufferers experience belonging without having to pretend to be well. This requires deliberate care.
Normalize lament. We can use Psalms of sorrow in worship to remind us that grief is a faithful response to life in a fallen world.
Practice patient presence. Chronic illness often resists tidy timelines. Stay present. Text again. Visit repeatedly. Pray without ceasing.
Offer tangible help. This might include rides to appointments, meals that match medical diets, or help navigating paperwork. Many lack the resources to handle these needs on their own.
Protect energy. Trust people when they say they are fatigued or overwhelmed. Do not take last-minute cancellations personally.
Guard dignity. Speak to the person, not just about their condition. Ask before giving advise. Listen before offering strategies.
When the body of Christ functions as a body, no member needs to suffer alone (1 Corinthians 12:26).
7. Let Weakness Become a Meeting Place with Christ
Second Corinthians 12:9–10 gives us a wonderful paradox: “When I am weak, then I am strong.” This is not a motivational slogan. It is the mystery of union with Christ. In weakness, we learn dependence, humility, and prayer from the inside. We discover that grace is not theoretical. It is active, God’s power resting upon us when our own power is gone. That is our strength (2 Timothy 2:1).
For the sufferer, this often looks like painfully ordinary faithfulness. It means getting through today, whispering “Lord, have mercy,” accepting help when it is offered, refusing cynicism when everything seems hopeless, and thanking God even when things are hard. Heaven sees that faith. God honors it. Over time, He often deepens compassion, patience, and love in ways we could not have learned any other way.
Hearing the Stories of Sufferers
When we hear the stories of sufferers, two things happen. We grow in awareness, realizing how many may be enduring in silence. In listening, we grow in sympathy and resolve, wanting to become the kind of Christians (and the kind of church) where hidden sufferers are seen, believed, and accompanied.
If complex illness is like a long investigation, the church should be the quiet task force that keeps showing up, praying, cooking, driving, contributing, and hoping when hope feels heavy. We cannot promise outcomes. But we can embody the presence of the One who can, the crucified and risen Lord who knows our frame, remembers that we are dust, and will raise us in glory.
Until that day, we refuse easy answers, honor small victories, grieve real losses, and point suffering people toward the steadfast love that outlasts every setback. Not everyone has this hope. But if you have been comforted by Christ, you know the comfort that will comfort others (2 Corinthians 1:3–4). Your suffering will not be forever. You are not forsaken. And together, we wait for the day when every tear will be wiped away, and all things will be made new.