In a Fog (Of Depression)

 

In a Fog

(Of Depression)

In a Fog (Of Depression) - Audio/Visual 

While he lived on earth, anticipating death, Jesus cried out in pain and wept in sorrow as he offered up priestly prayers to God. Because he honored God, God answered him. Though he was God’s Son, he learned trusting-obedience by what he suffered, just as we do. (Hebrews 5:7-8)

The fog of a broken heart. It’s a dark fog that slyly imprisons the soul and refuses easy escape. It’s a silent mist that eclipses the sun and beckons the darkness. It’s a heavy cloud that honors no hour and respects no person. Depression; discouragement; disappointment; doubt. All are companions of this dreaded presence. The fog of a broken heart disorients our life. It makes it hard to see the road. Dim your lights. Wipe off the windshield. Slow down. Do what you wish, but nothing seems to help. When this fog encircles us, our vision is blocked, and tomorrow is a forever away. When this billowy blackness envelops us, the most earnest words of help and hope seem but vacant, empty phrases.

If you’ve ever been betrayed by a friend, you know what I mean. If you’ve ever been dumped by a spouse or abandoned by a parent, you’ve seen this fog. If you’ve ever placed a spade of dirt on a loved one’s casket or kept vigil at a dear one’s bedside, you recognize this cloud. If you’ve been in this fog, or are in it now, you can be sure of one thing — you’re not alone. Even the saltiest of sea captains have lost their bearings because of the appearance of this unwanted cloud. Like the late singer-songwriter, John Prine, said – “If heartaches was commercials, we’d all be on TV.”

Think back over just the last two or three months; longer if you wish. Regardless of your memory’s length, how many broken hearts did you encounter? How many wounded spirits did you witness? How many stories of tragedy did you read about? The woman who lost her husband and son in a freak car wreck. The attractive mother of three who was abandoned by her husband. The child who was hit and killed by a passing garbage truck as he was getting off the school bus while his mother, who was waiting for him, witnessed the slow-motion tragedy unfold before her horror-filled eyes.

The list goes on and on. Foggy tragedies. They blind our vision and destroy our dreams. Forget any great hopes of reaching the world. Forget any plans of changing society. Forget any aspirations of moving mountains. Forget all that. Like the 70’s Sammi Smith song, just “(h)elp me make it through the night,” we beg. The suffering of the broken heart. By some estimates clinical depression is ten times more rampant now than it was a century ago. The World Health Organization, although not always right, accurately predicted that by the year 2020 depression would become the second leading cause of disease worldwide. It used to be that older people were happier. People in their 60’s and 70’s generally scored higher in the areas of contentment and appreciation of life. That’s changed. Age doesn’t seem to bring the same satisfaction as it once did. But how can that be? Education is accessible to most. We've made advancements in everything from medicine to technology, yet 66% of us can't find an adequate reason to check the “Yes” box on the happiness questionnaire. Maybe we’re just too busy numbing ourselves by reading about the miseries of others on our iPhones.

Go with me for a moment to witness what was perhaps the foggiest night in history. The scene is amazingly simple; you’ll recognize it quickly. A grove of twisted olive trees. Ground cluttered with large rocks. A low stone fence. A dark, dark night. Now, look into the picture. Look closely through the shadowy foliage. See him? See the solitary figure? What’s he doing? Flat on the ground. Face stained with dirt and tears. Fists pounding the hard earth he’d made. Eyes wide with a stupor of fear. Hair matted with salty sweat. That’s Jesus. Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.

Maybe you’ve seen the classic portrait of Christ in the garden. The one where he’s kneeling beside a big rock in a snow-white robe with hands peacefully folded in prayer and a look of serenity on his face. Halo over his head, and a spotlight from heaven illuminating his golden-brown hair. I’m no artist, but I can tell you one thing: Heinrich Hofmann, who painted that scene in 1890, didn’t use the gospel of Mark as his muse. Look what Mark wrote about that painful night:

They came to an area called Gethsemane. Jesus told his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took Peter, James, and John with him. He sank into a pit of suffocating darkness. He told them, “I feel bad enough right now to die. Stay here and keep vigil with me.” Going a little ahead, he fell to the ground and prayed for a way out: “Papa, Father, you can — can’t you? — get me out of this. Take this cup away from me. But please, not what I want — what do you want?” He came back and found them sound asleep. He said to Peter, “Simon, you went to sleep on me? Can’t you stick it out with me a single hour? Stay alert, be in prayer, so you don’t enter the danger zone without even knowing it. Don’t be naive. Part of you is eager, ready for anything in God; but another part is as lazy as an old dog sleeping by the fire.” He then went back and prayed the same prayer. Returning, he again found them sound asleep. They simply couldn’t keep their eyes open, and they didn’t have a plausible excuse. He came back a third time and said, “Are you going to sleep all night? No — you’ve slept long enough. Time’s up. The Son of Man is about to be betrayed into the hands of sinners. Get up. Let’s get going. My betrayer has arrived.” (Mark 14:32-42 – The Message)

Look at those phrases. “He sank into a pit of suffocating darkness.” “I feel bad enough right now to die.” “He fell to the ground and prayed for a way out,” all while his closest friends were sawing logs. Does that look like the picture of a saintly Jesus resting in the palm of God? Hardly. Mark used black paint to describe the scene. We see an agonizing, straining and struggling Jesus. We see “a man of sorrows.” (Isaiah 53:3) We see a man struggling with fear, wrestling with commitments, and yearning for relief. We see Jesus in the fog of a broken heart. The writer of Hebrews would later pen, “While he lived on earth, anticipating death, Jesus cried out in pain and wept in sorrow as he offered up priestly prayers to God. Because he honored God, God answered him. Though he was God’s Son, he learned trusting-obedience by what he suffered, just as we do. Then, having arrived at the full stature of his maturity and having been announced by God as high priest in the order of Melchizedek, he became the source of eternal salvation to all who believingly obey him.” (Hebrews 5:7-10)

What a portrait. Jesus in pain. Jesus on fear’s stage. Jesus cloaked, not in sainthood, but in humanity. And we know that God didn’t save his Son from the cruelty of the cross, but through Christ’s death, burial and resurrection, God saved us from a similar fate. God may not always manifest immediately by lifting the fog, but he will pierce the darkness of which the fog may only be a harbinger.

The next time the fog finds you, you might do well to remember Jesus in the garden. The next time you think that no one understands, reread the fourteenth chapter of Mark. The next time your self-pity convinces you that no one cares, pay a visit to Gethsemane. And the next time you wonder if God really perceives the pain that prevails on this dusty planet, listen to him pleading among the twisted trees that he created.

Seeing God like this does wonders for our suffering. God was never more human than at this hour. God was never nearer to us than when he hurt. The Incarnation was never so fulfilled as in the garden. As a result, time spent in the fog of pain could be God’s greatest gift. It could be the hour that we finally see our Maker. If it is true that in suffering God is most like man, then maybe in our suffering we can see God like never before.

The next time you are called to suffer, pay attention. It may be the closest you’ll ever get to God. And watch closely. It could very well be that the hand that extends itself to lead you out of the fog is the hand of the one who was pierced for your transgressions. He was crushed for our sins. The punishment that brought our peace was on him; and by his wounds we are healed. (Isaiah 53:5)

Grace,

Randy