Barely enough: Manna in the wilderness of depression

Sometimes I wish one of the Gospels told a story in which Jesus slumps in the shade of a tree and can't make himself face another crowd or meet one more supplicant's plea for help. If, for example, in Mark's account of the stormy voyage on the Sea of Galilee (4:35–41), Jesus looked blankly at those who woke him to ask if he cared about their desperate plight and mumbled, "Sorry, guys. I just can't think about that right now," then went back to sleep on the cushion in the stern, theologians who focus on Christology would have even more reasons for debate.

The rest of us, however, would possess a cherished resource. We would have a text in which we could see the Lord's Messiah bludgeoned and nailed to a cross of gaping emptiness and paralyzing anxiety, not amidst the drama of public betrayal, screaming crowds and cruel despots, but on an ordinary day when he would have, even should have, prayed or sung or roused himself to face one more challenge but simply couldn't. Then we could say to family members, friends and colleagues who have fallen victim to the dark force we call depression, "See, God knows your deep despair. Even in this hell, you are not alone."

We want, often desperately, to say something helpful that might mitigate the suffering of someone who ordinarily contributes to the richness of our days but who seems a diminished, gray shadow drained of vitality, joy and purpose. Statistics on the incidence of clinical depression vary widely, but conservative estimates indicate that around 12 percent of women and a slightly lower number of men in developed countries fall victim at least once in their lives to sustained, debilitating depression.