Depression: Looking Up from the Stubborn Darkness (5 page)

• The cross says that life will not be easy. If Jesus serves, we will serve. If Jesus suffers, we, too, will experience hardships. No servant is greater than the master. Yet things are not always the way they appear. Suffering is part of the path that leads to glory and beauty. “He who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him” (Ps. 126:6). Suffering has a purpose. It is changing us so that we look more and more like Jesus himself. “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.”
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But that death is not the end of the story.

• When someone has suffered like you, they understand you before you speak. They can even supply words that describe your suffering. Jesus suffered; therefore, he knows our suffering.

It is hard to argue when we are reminded that Jesus shared in our sufferings and has compassion for those who suffer. It is easier to protest, however, when we hear the proposition that God is both good and generous. At this moment in your life, it would seem that goodness and generosity, especially from the all-powerful God, could only be demonstrated by a removal of the depression. If he takes it away, you are persuaded. If not, you remain a doubter.

But remember what you already know. First, Jesus suffered, and Jesus was dearly loved as the only Son of the Father. When we suffer what seems like endless pain, it is hard to believe that God loves us, but Jesus’ suffering proves that it can be true. That doesn’t mean that we always understand what is going on behind the scenes, but
it is true nonetheless. Somehow, temporary suffering and love can go together.

Second, “He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?” (Rom. 8:32). The cross is the only evidence that can fully persuade you that God is, at all times, good and generous. There is no arguing with someone who is willing to make this ultimate sacrifice. If someone gives his only child for you, you can’t doubt that person’s love. When the memory of such a costly sacrifice becomes distant, and life’s frustrations tempt us to doubt, all we need is a quick reminder. Our God says, “If I have sacrificed my Son for you, do you really think I am going to be stingy and withhold my love now?”

When children don’t get what they want when they want it, they have a hard time believing that their parents truly love them. After all, what could be better than satisfying all their wants? But parents know about a more sophisticated love. They know that catering to their children’s wishes is not always in their children’s best interests. Sometimes they should eat broccoli. Sometimes it is best for them to go to bed, even though their friends are still outside playing. But just try to persuade children of your love at those times! All you can do is remind them that you love them. “My child, you know that I love you and want only the best for you. I know that what I am doing now could seem mean, but think about it. You know that I never want to be cruel to you. I love you. You will have to trust that I love you this time because I know it doesn’t feel that way.”

God is good and he is generous. He is not stingy. He commands his people not to covet because it is a form of denying his generosity. He is not trying to hold out on you until you are whipped into shape. Demons would have you believe such things. Instead, he says, “Open wide your mouth and I will fill it” (Ps. 81:10). He invites us to the most lavish of banquets, and all he requires is that we are hungry and bring nothing (Isa. 55:1–3).

This is not a religious attempt to drum up some good feelings. It
is
harder to be surprised by the goodness and generosity of God when you feel so miserable. Of the Puritan William Cowper it was said, “It is possible to be a child of God, without consciousness of the blessing, and to have title to a crown, and yet feel to be immured in the depths of a dungeon.”
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The goal is simply to remind you of the truth. Your job is simply to believe (John 6:29).

What have been your responses to these ideas? Pay attention to them. Indifference? Ambivalence? A glimmer of hope? Hostility? Does it seem like talk about stars and galaxies when all you want is to get your car fixed?

What is your response saying? What is it revealing about you?

Are you a fair weather friend who trusts God during the good times but becomes more suspicious in the hard times? If so, welcome to the human race. Set your sights on someone like St. Basil. Gregory of Nyssa remarked that his faith was “ambidextrous”—he welcomed pleasure on one hand and affliction on the other.

You must do battle at this point with depression’s tendencies toward passivity. Don’t wait to have faith inserted into your heart. Seek the Lord. If there is any guarantee in Scripture, it is that he will reveal more and more of himself to those who seek him. Read the great prayers of Scripture (Eph. 1:17–23; 3:14–19), and make them your own.

Rick had been depressed for ten years. Sometimes depression was merely drudgery; usually it was a combination of pain and numbness. When he reflected on his tenure with the “black dog,” he would add that depression was a thick wall that separated him from other people. Try as he might, he was unmoved by the joys and sorrows of other people, and other people seemed to move away from him.

When a wall exists between yourself and others, you can assume that it exists between God and yourself, and that certainly was the case with Rick. He believed the right things about God, but those right things had very little to do with a back-and-forth relationship. But a moment came when he simply called out to the Lord, “Help, this is too much to bear.” Though he still struggled with depression, something deep changed within him and there was no turning back. Hope and purpose were on their way.

Have you ever been to a church service in which the order and content of the service were prescribed from start to finish? These are called liturgical services. They consist of prayers and readings that have been prepared in advance.

If you are depressed, aspire to be a liturgical worshipper.

If you wait until you feel motivated to worship, you might be waiting a long time. If you are remotely inclined to communicate with God, you might find that words fail and you have nothing to say. When you drag yourself to worship, the service had better be mapped out ahead of time.

Everything turns inward in depression. A beautiful flower momentarily catches your attention, but within seconds the focus bends back into your own misery. You see loved ones who are celebrating a recent blessing, but before you can synchronize your feelings with theirs, you have doubled back to your own personal emptiness. Like a boomerang that always returns, no matter how hard you try, you can’t get away from yourself.

Pain is like that. If any part of your body is injured, you can’t get away from the pain. You may have brief distractions, but then the throbbing breaks through your consciousness and dominates again. At its peak, there seems to be no way out. You feel trapped by it.

Alternatives are few. You could try fighting, but that just earns you a few more seconds of distraction. So you just try to survive the day.

But there are other alternatives. More accurately, there are choices. You are standing at a crossroads, and you will take one path or another. There is no such thing as not choosing because “not choosing” is one of the paths. It, too, is a choice.

Your decision is between calling out to the Lord or not. This is the choice that has confronted those in misery throughout history. Listen to the prophet Hosea, who wrote these words on behalf of
the Lord: “They do not cry out to me from their hearts but wail upon their beds” (Hosea 7:14).
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You can sit in silence or cry to the Lord. You can cry on your bed or cry to the Lord. These are the two choices.

Now you can see why liturgical prayers might be very useful. When you try to call out to the Lord, you have no words. You don’t have words to describe your experience; you don’t have words to bless God; and you don’t even know what to request. This would seem to doom you to silence if it weren’t for the fact that God is pleased to communicate with his people. He delights in teaching us how to call out to him.

God might feel far away, but our feelings mislead us on this one. Scripture is filled with promises of God’s presence with his people. Do you want evidence? God speaks to us and desires to be spoken to. Only someone close can do such things. He speaks to us, especially through Scripture, and he calls us to speak with him. When we are tongue-tied, he actually gives us words to say.

Yet it is not a script that he gives us. When we speak from a script, we are pretending. We wear the mask of another. We become actors. Instead, God gives us poetry that, somehow, gives voice to the silences in our hearts. If we had the skill and the words, we would write many of those same words.

The Psalms are where you find many of these poems. They are God’s liturgy, prepared for you in advance.

How long, O L
ORD
? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? (Ps. 13:1)

I am a worm and not a man. (Ps. 22:6)

My heart is in anguish within me; the terrors of death assail me. Fear and trembling have beset me; horror has overwhelmed me. I said, “Oh, that I had the wings of a dove! I would fly far away and be at rest—I would flee far away and stay in the desert.” (Ps. 55:4–7)

I sink in the miry depths, where there is no foothold. I have come into the deep waters; the floods engulf me. I am worn out calling for help; my throat is parched. My eyes fail, looking for my God. (Ps. 69:2–3)

My soul is full of trouble and my life draws near the grave. ... You have put me in the lowest pit, in the darkest depths. ... But I cry to you for help, O L
ORD
; in the morning my prayer comes before you. Why, O L
ORD
, do you reject me and hide your face from me? (Ps. 88:3, 6, 13–14)

Begin a search. Start with words and phrases that reflect your experience. If that seems too much, ask someone to read selected psalms to you.

Don’t forget that although these psalms are expressing very raw emotions, they are words that God himself is giving you. He is the minister who has arranged the order of service. He is the father who is teaching you how to speak.

When you hear the words of Psalm 22, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” you might think about your own experience. Depression feels like being forsaken. But you also remember that these were Jesus’ words on the cross. They point to the fact that when you read these liturgical prayers, you are not alone. David composed many of them, the Israelites sang them, the church has
recited them, and they all point to Jesus. Ultimately, they are all his songs, and you are being taught to sing with him. Jesus is the Divine Singer, and now the songs of the Son of God have been given as gifts to the children of God.

What these psalms do is straighten the trajectory of our lives. Using the words he gives us, God gently turns our hearts toward him. Instead of everything bending back into ourselves, we are able to look straight, outside of ourselves, and fix our eyes on Jesus (Heb. 12:2).

Keep this pattern in mind. It is the path of hope. The fact that all your thoughts turn back on yourself is oppressive. The self cannot carry the load. The way we were intended to function was to be able to look outward, toward God and other people. As you say the Psalms and remember that Jesus said them first, you will gradually find your focus changing. Perhaps you will notice it in the way you greet someone before she greets you; perhaps you will start writing some of your own prayers. Step by step you will emerge from your isolated darkness.

As you make the words of Jesus your own, try working with larger portions of individual psalms. This will allow you to recite words about your own experience and about God. For example, Psalm 22 begins with an honest expression of the heart: “Why have you forsaken me?” This is a statement of faith because you are saying it to God. You know enough about his character that it makes no sense to you to feel so forsaken. But when you sing the larger psalm, it will guide you to a new place.

He has not despised or disdained the suffering of the afflicted one; he has not hidden his face from him but has listened to his cry for help. (v. 24)

The poor will eat and be satisfied; they who seek the L
ORD
will praise him ... . All the ends of the earth will remember and turn to the L
ORD
, and all the families of the nations will bow down before him, for dominion belongs to the L
ORD
and he rules over the nations. (vv. 26–28)

Hope, as you will find, is a skill that takes practice. There is no verse, pill, or possession that will make it magically appear. Reciting psalms that you have claimed as your own is part of that practice.

When you go to a liturgical service, there are times when your heart feels revived and full of life. You recite the Scripture and prayers with great passion. At other times you might feel as if you are going through the motions, but you say the prayers and read the Scripture because the words are true. God hears them, and he is pleased that you are crying out to him, however feebly it may seem, rather than wailing on your bed. “The prayers offered in the state of dryness are those which please him best.”
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