The Comfort of Religious Depression

“Why art thou cast down, O my soul?” — Pasa. xlii. 5.

HE Psalmists question is one of real surprise. He is unable to account for his own experience. If it had been a case of primal awakening to the sense of sin, he would not have wondered at his despondency. But the mystery lay in the fact that his depression was not merely a downcastness but a casting down. He had been already wp — summering in the heights of glory. He had entered into the joy of the Lord. He had gone up to God’s house with the voice of gladness; the hour of Divine worship had been to him the experience of a holiday. And all at once the collapse had come. Without seeming reason, with no fault of his own, there had followed a fall — a fall in spirits, a fall of energy. He had not been shaken in his belief; his sight of the Promised Land was not less clear; he had the full confidence that all things would yet be right. Nevertheless, spite of his faith, spite of his earnestness, spite of his freedom from blame, there had come to him a pause in the glory, an unaccountable Divine silence; and in astonishment he asked, Why? We ask the question with him, for we have felt the same. Why should my spirit be allowed to subside from its own soaring? Why should a cloud be suffered to rest on that hill-top which yester morn was gleaming in the sun? It is because there are higher hills to climb and wider fields to survey. God sends a cloud, not to arrest, but to stimulate, my progress. He would not have me remain in any single room of His ample house; He would lead me through all its many mansions. As I enter each room I am dazzled; I say, “I shall make this my tabernacle, I shall travel no more.” Then He darkens the windows and dims the glory. He does not want me to linger there — in a mere fragment of the building. He wants me to see the whole house, because I am the heir and ought to know my property. He first enchants me and then He disenchants me. Is not His disenchantment also good! Is it not well to eclipse imperfect glories! If I am permanently enamoured of the ladder’s first step, Ishall never go further up. Is it not well that I should cease to be enamoured — that reaction should come, that weariness should come, that spiritual hunger and thirst should come! How otherwise shall I see all the parts of my Father’s house!

Lord, I have been in a great error about my despondent moments. I have thought them the index of a fall; and, all the time, they have been the prognostics of arise. I thought my sin was again gaining dominion over me; and, all the time, my shadow came from Thee. Often in the hour of prosperity I have said, “I am basking in Thy favour”; often in the downcastness of my spirit I have cried, “It is the experience of Thy frown.” Yet the downcastness may be a greater proof of Thy favour than the sunshine. When Thou hast furnished a higher room for me Thou sendest a shadow over the lower; Thou dimmest my former joy. I can see no material cause for the dimness. The room has been as carefully swept. The furniture has not lost its varnish. There is no change in the outer environment — the street is as quiet, the sun as bright, as yesterday. But the old joy is not there; in surprise I cry, “Why art thou cast down, O my soul!” Let my comfort be that Thou art the cause, O Lord! If it comes not from moth and rust, if it comes not from street and lane, I know it must come from Thee. Let me take it asa gift — Thy gift! Let me receive it as a call — Thy call! Let me hail it as a voice of promotion summoning me up the golden stair! Let me welcome it as Thy message, “Come up higher”! Let me translate it from the language of earth into this language of heaven — “Arise and depart, for this is not your rest; there remaineth for you more commodious room”!