Quick answer: Many people carry their darkest struggles alone for years, surrounded by people who know about them but have never come close enough to truly know them. Healing begins when someone is willing to meet you at your “coal face”: to listen without fixing, to see past the dust, and to walk with you one millimetre at a time. In Matthew 9, Jesus does exactly this, sitting at the table with the people everyone else kept at a distance.
In this post:
- No One Knows Coal Like a Coal Miner
- Knowledge Versus Knowing
- Jesus Comes to Your Coal Face
- How to Let Someone Meet You at Your Coal Face
- Walking Up Out of the Mine Together
Recently I went to a service at a church I hadn’t been to before. During a quiet moment, a man came in through the side door and made his way to the back. He wasn’t dressed like most of the congregation. His clothes were old, and he looked scruffy.
Later in the service, food was brought forward for the food bank. He carried up a basket full of groceries. As he turned to go back to his seat at the rear, he went over to the vicar and gave him a fist bump. Nice, I thought.
After the service we went into the hall for a cup of tea, and I saw him sitting by himself. He interested me, so I went over for a chat. He lived in the city, and during the week he worked on a programme keeping the streets and gardens tidy. I think he had some kind of intellectual disability. But I wasn’t there to diagnose him. I was there to listen and to learn.
Then I heard someone wanting my attention. A nicely dressed older man had come over to meet me, the visitor. I told him I was having a conversation with Michael (name changed).
Right there, within Michael’s hearing, he said, “Oh, you won’t get much of a conversation out of him. He can’t string two sentences together.”
I said, “Oh no, we’re having a great conversation.” And he wandered off.
I wondered if he had ever gone down into the coal mine of Michael’s life. (I’ve written before about how easily we shoot the wounded and the different in our churches.)
No One Knows Coal Like a Coal Miner
There’s a phrase that has been running around in my head for quite a while now. I can’t shake it.
No one knows coal like a coal miner.
I have this picture in my thinking.
A man walks up out of the mine. He’s been down in the dark for a long, hard shift. Helmet still on his head. His face is black with coal dust. Everything is black, except his eyes. They look out at you through the dirt, almost too bright.
He’s heading for the showers. And he’s not alone. His mates are walking with him, other miners, just as coal-faced as he is. There’s a camaraderie between them. They’ve been somewhere together that the rest of us haven’t. Unless you’ve been at the coal face, you can’t share it.
What I’ve Seen at People’s Coal Face
Some years ago a counsellor who had spent her own time at the coal face said something to me I’ve never forgotten. She said, “You seem to be able to enter the dark and the evil of people’s stories, and none of it sticks.” In other words, I can go down the coal mine, and it doesn’t kill me.
I wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or concerned. But I think she got it right. Over almost 30 years in mental health support, chaplaincy and pastoral work, I’ve sat with people at their coal face. I’ve heard stories of rape. Of violence. Of plain, dark evil.
Here’s what has struck me most. It’s not just how dark it is down there. It’s how alone people are. Most of them have been carrying their coal for years, and nobody has come down the mine to sit with them.
Maybe that’s you.
Everyone Has a Coal Face
We all have one. A place we go down into, or even live. It’s dark, hard, and the air is thick.
For some of us it’s a marriage that’s falling apart. For others it’s abuse we’ve never told anyone about. Grief that won’t lift. An addiction. A diagnosis. A shame we carry that nobody else can see. We come up for church on Sunday, wash our faces, and keep up the performance until we go back down as we leave the carpark.
Knowledge Versus Knowing
Surrounded by People Who Only Know About You
There’s a difference between knowledge and knowing.
A scientist can tell you the chemical composition of coal. A geologist can tell you where to find it. A stockbroker can tell you what it’s worth this week. And the family at the Saturday barbecue knows coal as a neat, labelled bag they picked up at the shop.
All of them have knowledge of coal. But no one knows coal like a coal miner.
It’s the same with your coal face experience. You might be surrounded by people with knowledge. The doctor who knows your diagnosis. The friend with good advice. The people at church who know the headlines of your story. Some of them even talk about you, the way that man talked about Michael, right where he could hear. But how many of them have ever come down the mine and sat with you, vulnerable and speechless?
Knowledge has watched from a distance. Knowing has gone down the mine.
Why It’s So Lonely Down There
Most people keep a healthy distance. They pull out the telescope and look at your blackened face from somewhere safe and clean. Because coming down into the dark is risky. It might get on them.
And if you’ve been at the coal face long enough, you start to feel something. Maybe you’ve never said it out loud in church, but somebody once put it to me like this:
If that’s you, I want you to hear this. That longing isn’t weakness. You were never meant to be alone with your coal. You need someone to meet you at the coal face. Not everyone can hold what you carry, so it’s wise to look for safe people who will value your vulnerability.
Jesus Comes to Your Coal Face (Matthew 9:10–13)
Jesus doesn’t use a telescope.
He didn’t wait for people to clean up before he’d sit with them. He went to the people in the ditch. Listen to this from Matthew chapter 9:
He Sat Down With People Covered in Coal Dust
Notice where Jesus is. At the table, eating with them. In that culture, sharing a meal meant sharing your life. These were the people everyone else kept at a distance. And Jesus sat down right in the middle of their coal pit.
Now notice the Pharisees. Watching from across the room. Telescopes out. They had plenty of knowledge about God and about sin. But they didn’t know these people. The Pharisees had knowledge. Jesus had knowing. Microscopes out too, examining and prosecuting the minutiae of their fellow coal-dust chokers.
No One Knows Your Coal Like Jesus
Jesus says, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick.” He isn’t put off by your coal dust. It’s exactly why he came.
And he doesn’t just visit the mine. He goes all the way down, into our darkness, all the way to the cross, all the way to a tomb where only resurrection life can explode the old and bring the new. There is no coal face you’re standing at that he hasn’t been to.
No one knows coal like a coal miner. And no one knows your coal like Jesus.
How to Let Someone Meet You at Your Coal Face
So what does it look like to stop being alone down there? Here are five things to look for, and to let happen.
1. Let Someone Ask the Questions
Look for the people who ask gently curious questions. Not interrogation, not fixing. Questions that say, “I actually want to know.” Good conversations don’t leave you feeling judged. And when they ask, take the risk of answering honestly.
2. Say It Out Loud
It’s interesting that conversation and conversion come from the same root. Things begin to change when the coal comes out of the dark and into words, across a table, with someone who’s listening. I know it can be hard to put the deep things into words, but the words are there.
3. Let Someone See Past the Dust
Remember the miner’s eyes, shining through all that black? The right person won’t just see your coal. They’ll see you, and hold a picture of who you could become, even when you can’t see it yourself. It’s a compelling vision. A vision that looks beyond the rawness of the “now” to a time when you will be clean.
4. Let Yourself Be Listened To
How does it feel to be listened to? Listened to deeply? Will this person simply be another person coming with knowledge, rather than a vulnerable desire to know? Many of us would rather be useful than be listened to.
It takes time. Unhurried time where you feel the other is both safe and kind. Years may pass before you are able to share your darkest coal. That’s OK. That’s normal. Deep listening is standing on sacred ground.
In the deepest places, we don’t want to be F.A.S.S.ed: fixed, advised, saved, or set straight. We simply want to be known, loved and held.
5. Take the Next Millimetre
A good companion won’t carry you out of the mine on their back. They won’t do for you what you can and should do for yourself. Instead, they’ll offer a ladder with millimetre-high rungs. Small steps. Your steps. Encouragement to keep moving even when you slip back.
Walking Up Out of the Mine Together
I think back to that picture of the miner heading for the showers. He’s not walking alone. His mates are beside him, as black as he is. That’s what community was always meant to be.
Not a place where you have to scrub up before you walk in. But a table like the one in Matthew 9, where people covered in coal dust sit down with Jesus, and with each other.
A church where Michael doesn’t sit alone with his cup of tea. A place where people pull up a chair and listen.
Here’s the beautiful thing. Once someone has met you at your coal face, you become the kind of person who can go down the mine for someone else.
Knowledge has watched from a distance. Knowing has gone down the mine.
You don’t need more people who know about you. You need someone who will meet you at the coal face. If you’d like to talk, you’re welcome to book a Soultalk conversation with me.
For your thinking compass
How to Build a Thinking Compass
- Leaving the dark hole happens millimetre by millimetre. I can do this.
- I have knowledge and knowing that can help others.
- I am not alone in my coal mine. Jesus knows everything and accepts me as I am.
- It feels good to be deeply listened to. This is something I can offer to others.
- Say to yourself, and others the wisdom of St. Francis (see below) ‘ (name), you are my beloved son/daughter. You are a son/daughter of heaven and a son/daughter of God’
Quotes to Consider
- Don’t walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don’t walk behind me, I may not lead. Walk beside me, just be my friend. — Commonly attributed to Albert Camus
- Only those willing to stand close enough to listen will ever hear those closest to the problem. — Jim Wallis
- Much of his later life, Francis would live on the plain below Assisi, in what is called the Portiuncula, where he first worked with the lepers and gathered his community of friars. On occasion when Francis would walk up the hill to town, he would deeply fear encountering his father in the streets, who would often curse him and reject again his son. Continual rejection from his father hurt him so much that Francesco would invite a beggar from the streets to accompany him, walk by his side and protect his soul. He instructed him, “When my father hurls curses and abuse at me, I will hear them painfully in one ear, but I ask you to walk on my other side and whisper ‘Francis, you are my beloved son. You are a son of heaven and a son of God’. Just keep repeating it till I believe it again!” That alone could save him from the sour and sad heart that a father’s rejection forever bestows on a son. — Richard Rohr
- Evangelism is just one beggar telling another where to find bread. — D.T. Niles
Further Reading
- I Am Known — Living behind a mask out of fear of rejection? Discover the life-changing safety of knowing you are fully seen and perfectly loved by God.
- The Making of a Void — Feeling abandoned? Discover how the “a-void” of loneliness impacts the soul and how grace crosses the gap to bring healing and connection.
- How to Overcome Anxiety Through Solidarity: I Am With You — When guilt isolates, “I am with you” is the only bridge back to hope. Discover the power of solidarity in the face of judgment and shame.
- I Need a Safe Place — Discover how to build safe spaces and practice unhurried listening. Learn to avoid fixing others and cultivate a truly good soul refuge.
- I Am in Turmoil and Need a Confidant — Feeling overwhelmed by life storms Find out why we need a trusted confidant to sit with us in turmoil instead of trying to fix us
- When No One Understands You. 11 Reasons — Feeling alone and misunderstood? Discover 11 reasons why others may struggle to connect with your story and how to find peace through it.
About the Author
Barry Pearman has spent almost 30 years as a mental health support worker, community chaplain, and pastor, and has walked through depression himself. His training includes SoulCare Foundations under Dr Larry Crabb, a Bachelor of Applied Theology, spiritual direction training, and certificates in CBT interventions, pastoral therapy, and integrated mental health care. Read more about Barry Pearman’s background and training.
Turning the Page offers a grace-filled path to mental wholeness through faith and hope.
Photo by Frankie Mish on Unsplash
