Depression’s benefits? While I wish I never had to battle this foe, I do see that our Lord has used my wrestling against depression to advance my sanctification. It has deepened my dependence on God, intensified my prayers, and forced me out of self-reliant independence.

I’m beginning to write this just a few days before February, the longest month of the year. I know what the number of days on the calendar says and how February compares to the other eleven months. But for those of us who battle against “seasonal affective disorder” (appropriately but cruelly abbreviated as SAD), the grayness of February seems to fit C. S. Lewis’s image of “always winter and never Christmas.” Actually, my battles against depression aren’t limited to the winter, thus SAD only presents new twists to a battle that simmers most of the year.

I have learned a tremendous amount in my decades infested by depression.[1] Along the way, I have seen the goodness of God, his power to lift, and the hope of the gospel. In this article, I want to share some of those insights—for those who struggle but also for non-strugglers who want to love their neighbors. Many people in your spheres of influence may be all too familiar with this particular burden.[2]

A working definition may be in order as I begin. Depression is not just sadness. Depression is hopelessness. The problem with depression is not that you feel down. It’s that you feel nothing. Depression is not the opposite of happy. It’s the opposite of vitality. At times, when I fight against depression, I recognize situations as happy or sad, exciting or upsetting, joyous or discouraging—but I feel none of those emotions. It’s as if I’m an outside observer to my own life, thinking, “I wish I felt the feelings that seem appropriate to that situation.”

Did you notice I chose to say, “battle against depression” instead of “struggle with depression?” This is not mere semantics. Words cut like scalpels in the surgery against depression, and vocabulary selection makes a difference. I choose not to say, “I’m depressed.” That centers things too internally and ontologically. It implies I am my emotional state. But we are far more than just our feelings. In fact, we are not our feelings. Our identity is grounded elsewhere. I also choose not to say (out loud or internally) “I struggle with depression.” That feels too even-handed, with the outcome too much in question. I am the victor in this battle or, at least, I need to be. How I see and express things tilts the scales either in my favor or against it. I advance in the battle with words carefully chosen. I don’t just struggle with depression; I push it back. I battle against it. I fight.

As part of this battle, I must take on an argument some Christians make about depression. They believe (consciously or not), “Christians shouldn’t be depressed—ever! We have the joy of the Lord. The fruit of the spirit includes joy. We’re more than conquerors.” In other words, depression is a sign of immaturity, a lack of faith, or a form of sin. I remember hearing one preacher mock Christians who say they’re “doing OK under the circumstances.” He blurted out sarcastically, “Well, what are you doing under there?” I hope what follows puts that argument to rest. I must brace myself with rigorous thought, based on a firm foundation from Scripture, if I’m to understand depression and triumph over it.

I find four major sources of help, as I dig in: The complexities of our personhood, the richness of the Psalms, the examples in Scripture, and the benefits from practical strategies.

The Complexity of Our Personhood

We are multifaceted creatures, made up of physical, emotional, spiritual, social, aesthetic and other natures, and each of those dimensions has layered complexities of its own. I can experience a myriad of emotions at once, even some which seem contradictory. I am influenced by physical energy (or the lack thereof), the weather, the artwork on my walls (or scribblings from children who think they’re Monet), what I ate last night, who I spoke to last, how many unanswered emails are in my inbox, and the latest news I may have heard (including the slant of the news agency that reported it). Put all this into the mix during a pandemic, while waiting for a vaccine, facing economic uncertainty, and watching footage of unrest at The Capitol and we begin to see how complex life can be.

Thus, while I do acknowledge that “the joy of the Lord is my strength” I also experience that joy (which is a far richer experience than mere “happiness”) while also sensing a multitude of other emotions. It is possible to know the joy of the Lord while crying beside a grave. Joy and sorrow are not mutually exclusive. The same can be said of simultaneous feelings of regret (for sin) and gratitude (for forgiveness); love (for our family) and anger (at what sin may be doing to them); pride (for our country) and shame (at some of the ways we treat each other); compassion (for people who suffer) and outrage (at the causes of that suffering). We are not unidimensional beings.

By the way, that phrase, “the joy of the Lord is your strength” (Neh. 8:10) was uttered by Nehemiah who had also experienced “mourning” (1:4) and “sadness of heart” (2:2). I also note that the Lord did not rebuke Nehemiah for those feelings with “Snap out of it, Nehemiah, don’t you know that my joy is your strength?!”

The Richness of the Psalms

I find the most potent antidepression medication in the Psalms.[3] It’s amazing how many Psalms can be categorized as laments. You know what I mean. They’re the ones that begin with “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?” (Ps. 13:1) or “Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck.” (Ps. 69:1) or “All night long I flood my bed with weeping.” (Ps. 6:6). If you were to categorize all the Psalms into groups such as Thanksgiving Psalms, Messianic Psalms, Royal Psalms, etc. Lament Psalms would have the largest collection.

They all tend to follow a similar pattern. They begin with expressions of emotions about their circumstances (not a denial of them), move to recollections of God’s character, and culminate in vows to continue to trust in God. You might think of it as a process from emotions to intellect to volition. Can you see that sequence in Psalm 13?

Emotional recounting of pain:

How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
And every day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;
My enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”
And my foes will rejoice when I fall.

Intellectual recollection of God’s character:

But I trust in your unfailing love;
My heart rejoices in your salvation.

Volitional resolve to trust in God:

I will sing to the Lord,
For he has been good to me.

These categories may not be as watertight as I have indicated. Our emotions, intellect, and will weave in and out. Other Lament Psalms express things in different orders. But together these crucial parts of God’s revelation serve as templates for us, as we craft our own expressions of lament, recall God’s character, and make vows to cling tightly to the God who loves, accepts, saves, and transforms.

I have benefitted greatly from perhaps the darkest lament Psalm, the 88^th one. I used to teach that it was the one lament Psalm that never turned the corner from griping to trusting. Unlike the other lament Psalms, this one does not conclude with a turn-around phrase that begins with the word “but.”

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