Black Shuck rides again.

Depression seems very rife at the moment. Several of my close friends, and I also, have been feeling low. Whether this is a seasonal thing or a product of the circumstances in which we find ourselves, I'm not sure. I certainly find myself feeling for two friends who are at present suffering gross injustices, and having to live with the results and implications. Their problems put my self-pity in the shade, and yet when the black dog comes -even for no apparent reason - there seems to be little that can be done.

No platitude will bring us out, or free us from the pad, pad, pad of Black Shuck dogging our steps, and yet our darkness is not all self-pity. There are many troubles that are in the world at the moment - troubles that have always been there and will continue to be ,and other troubles that come out of the darkness periodically. Whatever the magnitude of these troubles, they burden us, and not even the thought of what Our Lord went through on our behalf seems to lift our spirits. Indeed, I've found that can make things worse.

I find myself turning to Psalm xxxix, and find that the psalmist too gets overburdened with the cares of this life.

Psalm xxxix. Dixi, Custodiam
I SAID, I will take heed to my ways : that I offend not in my tongue.
2. I will keep my mouth as it were with a bridle : while the ungodly is in my sight.
3. I held my tongue, and spake nothing : I kept silence, yea, even from good words; but it was pain and grief to me.
4. My heart was hot within me, and while I was thus musing the fire kindled : and at the last I spake with my tongue;
5. Lord, let me know mine end, and the number of my days : that I may be certified how long I have to live.
6. Behold, thou hast made my days as it were a span long : and mine age is even as nothing in respect of thee; and verily every man living is altogether vanity.
7. For man walketh in a vain shadow, and disquieteth himself in vain : he heapeth up riches, and cannot tell who shall gather them.
8. And now, Lord, what is my hope : truly my hope is even in thee.
9. Deliver me from all mine offences : and make me not a rebuke unto the foolish.
10. I became dumb, and opened not my mouth : for it was thy doing.
11. Take thy plague away from me : I am even consumed by the means of thy heavy hand.
12. When thou with rebukes dost chasten man for sin, thou makest his beauty to consume away, like as it were a moth fretting a garment : every man therefore is but vanity.
13. Hear my prayer, O Lord, and with thine ears consider my calling : hold not thy peace at my tears.
14. For I am a stranger with thee : and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.
15. O spare me a little, that I may recover my strength : before I go hence, and be no more seen.

When depressed, I think that we're often tempted to say, "Snap out of it! Stop moaning or being self-pitying. Don't wallow!" Sometimes we're told to do this by a loved-one who can't quite see the situation. We hold our tongues before God, trying not to express the depths of inexplicable misery that has suddenly come upon us in the midst of our lives and in the midst of the loveliness of God's Creation in the hope that it will pass. But the darkness descends and we sit there stewing like a plum pudding trying to keep it all in.

When at last we can find our voices, we cry out to God to let it end somehow. "How long have I got to put up with this lousy life? I can't do anything right. All that mankind can do is at least empty and at worst destructive. What on Earth is the point of it all, that men should rise up and fall down and disappear?"

Is there any point to life? If we exist to glorify God and enjoy life, then why is one day much like another? Why is there so much to worry about, so much that crushes our spirits?

Once we have vented our spleen, then comes the silence, that unfair silence of God. A silence that is even more crushing that the darkness that has already befallen us. All we want is that glimmer of light to just allow us to get up and walk into oblivion where even we forget who we are.

And why is God silent?

Well, what words would He use to comfort us? There aren't words in the English language - or in any language for that matter - that can rouse someone from depression. That is why there is silence. It is said that Mother Theresa of Calcutta ended her life in the silence of God, just a darkness. St John of the Cross spoke of the Dark Night, and countless saints suffered the same complaint. Is it then the case that they couldn't see the wood for the trees, that these folk had passed into the cloud that surrounds God? From far away we hear the voice of God, but close up to Him we find ourselves in the Cloud of Unknowing, the cloud through which God speaks to us in words that our ears cannot hear; indeed, all we hear is silence. But these are words of healing. Mother Theresa's healing was her passing from this life into the bosom of God.

Our duty to God is to offer Him the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving. If it's a sacrifice then it is something that we can expect to hurt us at times. We're still expected to offer Him thanks and praise when life is miserable, pointless, difficult, and it does hurt us to do so. But if it hurts us then we can be sure that we are actually offering God something worthwhile, something that He won't ignore because it is offered out of love.

We are built to love, to care, and there is much to care about - the sick, the homeless, the poor, destitute, starving, naked, orphaned and oppressed... whether physically so, mentally so, or spiritually so. So if we are truly built to care and love, then depression is part of the course when our poor finite little selves get overwhelmed with a greater quantity of misery.

We must wait for God silently to break our silence. The Dayspring from on High will break upon us, but not until our sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving is complete in His eyes.