Called Of God Order Printed Copy

Author: Kenneth Hagin Jr
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About the Book

"Called Of God" by Kenneth Hagin Jr. is a book that explores the concept of divine calling and how individuals can discover and fulfill their specific purpose in life. Through personal anecdotes and biblical teachings, Hagin Jr. discusses the importance of following God's direction and staying faithful to His plan for our lives. The book emphasizes the significance of listening to the voice of God and stepping into the unique calling that He has placed on each person. Ultimately, "Called Of God" serves as a guide for readers seeking to walk in their God-given purpose and make a positive impact in the world.

George Whitefield

George Whitefield was born at Gloucester in 1714. His mother kept the Bell Inn, and appears not to have prospered in business; at any rate, she never seems to have been able to do anything for her son’s advancement in life. Whitefield’s early life, according to his own account, was anything but religious; though, like many boys, he had occasional prickings of conscience and spasmodic fits of devout feeling. He confesses that he was ‘addicted to lying, filthy talking, and foolish jesting’, and that he was a ‘Sabbath-breaker, a theatre-goer, a card-player, and a romance reader’. All this, he says, went on till he was fifteen years old. Poor as he was, his residence at Gloucester procured him the advantage of a good education at the Free Grammar School of that city. Here he was a day-scholar until he was fifteen. The only known fact about his schooldays is this curious one, that even then he was remarkable for his good elocution and memory, and was selected to recite speeches before the Corporation of Gloucester at their annual visitation of the Grammar School. At the age of fifteen Whitefield appears to have left school, and to have given up Latin and Greek for a season. In all probability, his mother’s straitened circumstances made it absolutely necessary for him to do something to assist her in business and to get his own living. He began, therefore, to help her in the daily work of the Bell Inn. ‘At length’, he says, ‘I put on my blue apron, washed cups, cleaned rooms, and, in one word, became a professed common drawer for nigh a year and a half.’ This, however, did not last long. His mother’s business at the Bell did not flourish, and she finally retired from it altogether. An old school-fellow revived in his mind the idea of going to Oxford, and he went back to the Grammar School and renewed his studies. At length, after several providential circumstances had smoothed the way, he entered Oxford as a servitor at Pembroke at the age of eighteen. Whitefield’s residence at Oxford was the great turning-point in his life. For two or three years before he went to the University his journal tells us that he had not been without religious convictions, But from the time of his entering Pembroke College these convictions fast ripened into decided Christianity. He diligently attended all means of grace within his reach. He spent his leisure time in visiting the city prison, reading to the prisoners, and trying to do good. He became acquainted with the famous John Wesley and his brother Charles, and a little band of like-minded young men. These were the devoted party to whom the name ‘Methodists’ was first applied, on account of their strict ‘method’ of living. At one time he seems to have been in danger of becoming a semi-papist, an ascetic, or a mystic, and of placing the whole of religion in self-denial. He says in his Journal, ‘I always chose the worst sort of food. I fasted twice a week. My apparel was mean. I thought it unbecoming a penitent to have his hair powdered. I wore woollen gloves, a patched gown, and dirty shoes; and though I was convinced that the kingdom of God did not consist in meat and drink, yet I resolutely persisted in these voluntary acts of self-denial, because I found in them great promotion of the spiritual life.’ Out of all this darkness he was gradually delivered, partly by the advice of one or two experienced Christians, and partly by reading such books as Scougal’s Life of God in the Soul of Man, Law’s Serious Call, Baxter’s Call to the Unconverted, Alleine’s Alarm to Unconverted Sinners, and Matthew Henry’s Commentary. ‘Above all’, he says, ‘my mind being now more opened and enlarged, I began to read the Holy Scriptures upon my knees, laying aside all other books, and praying over, if possible, every line and word. This proved meat indeed and drink indeed to my soul. I daily received fresh life, light, and power from above. I got more true knowledge from reading the Book of God in one month than I could ever have acquired from all the writings of men.’ Once taught to understand the glorious liberty of Christ’s gospel, Whitefield never turned again to asceticism, legalism, mysticism, or strange views of Christian perfection. The experience received by bitter conflict was most valuable to him. The doctrines of free grace, once thoroughly grasped, took deep root in his heart, and became, as it were, bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. Of all the little band of Oxford Methodists, none seem to have got hold so soon of clear views of Christ’s gospel as he did, and none kept it so unwaveringly to the end. At the early age of twenty-two Whitefield was admitted to holy orders by Bishop Benson of Gloucester, on Trinity Sunday, 1736. His ordination was not of his own seeking. The bishop heard of his character from Lady Selwyn and others, sent for him, gave him five guineas to buy books, and offered to ordain him, though only twenty-two years old, whenever he wished. This unexpected offer came to him when he was full of scruples about his own fitness for the ministry. It cut the knot and brought him to the point of decision. ‘I began to think’, he says, ‘that if I held out longer I should fight against God.’ Whitefield’s first sermon was preached in the very town where he was born, at the church of St Mary-le-Crypt, Gloucester – ‘As I proceeded I perceived the fire kindled, till at last, though so young and amidst a crowd of those who knew me in my childish days, I was enabled to speak with some degree of gospel authority.’ Almost immediately after his ordination, Whitefield went to Oxford and took his degree as Bachelor of Arts. He then commenced his regular ministerial life by undertaking temporary duty at the Tower Chapel, London, for two months. While engaged there he preached continually in many London churches; and among others, in the parish churches of Islington, Bishopsgate, St Dunstan’s, St Margaret’s, Westminster, and Bow, Cheapside. From the very first he obtained a degree of popularity such as no preacher, before or since, has probably ever reached. Whether on week-days or Sundays, wherever he preached, the churches were crowded, and an immense sensation was produced. The plain truth is, that a really eloquent, extempore preacher, preaching the pure gospel with most uncommon gifts of voice and manner, was at that time an entire novelty in London. The congregations were taken by surprise and carried by storm. From London he removed for two months to Dummer, a little rural parish in Hampshire, near Basingstoke. From there he accepted an invitation, which had been much pressed on him by the Wesleys, to visit the colony of Georgia in North America, and assist in the care of an Orphan House which had been set up near Savannah for the children of colonists. After preaching for a few months in Gloucestershire, and especially at Bristol and Stonehouse, he sailed for America in the latter part of 1737, and continued there about a year. The affairs of this Orphan House, it may be remarked, occupied much of his attention from this period of his life till he died. Though well-meant, it seems to have been a design of very questionable wisdom, and certainly entailed on Whitefield a world of anxiety and responsibility to the end of his days. Whitefield returned from Georgia at the latter part of the year 1738, partly to obtain priest’s orders, which were conferred on him by his old friend Bishop Benson, and partly on business connected with the Orphan House. He soon, however, discovered that his position was no longer what it was before he sailed for Georgia. The bulk of the clergy were no longer favourable to him, and regarded him with suspicion as an enthusiast and a fanatic. They were especially scandalized by his preaching the doctrine of regeneration or the new birth, as a thing which many baptized persons greatly needed! The number of pulpits to which he had access rapidly diminished. Churchwardens, who had no eyes for drunkenness and impurity, were filled with intense indignation about what they called ‘breaches of order’. Bishops who could tolerate Arianism, Socinianism, and Deism, were filled with indignation at a man who declared fully the atonement of Christ and the work of the Holy Ghost, and began to denounce him openly. In short, from this period of his life, Whitefield’s field of usefulness within the Church of England narrowed rapidly on every side. The step which at this juncture gave a turn to the whole current of Whitefield’s ministry was his adoption of the system of open-air preaching. Seeing that thousands everywhere would attend no place of worship, spent their Sundays in idleness or sin, and were not to be reached by sermons within walls, he resolved, in the spirit of holy aggression, to go out after them ‘into the highways and hedges’, on his Master’s principle, and ‘compel them to come in’. His first attempt to do this was among the colliers at Kingswood near Bristol, in February, 1739. After much prayer he one day went to Hannam Mount, and standing upon a hill began to preach to about a hundred colliers upon Matthew 5:1-3. The thing soon became known. The number of hearers rapidly increased, till the congregation amounted to many thousands. Whitefield’s own account of the behaviour of these neglected colliers, who had never been in a church in their lives, is deeply affecting: ‘Having’, he writes to a friend, ‘no righteousness of their own to renounce, they were glad to hear of a Jesus who was a friend to publicans, and came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance. The first discovery of their being affected was the sight of the white gutters made by their tears, which plentifully fell down their black cheeks as they came out of their coal-pits. Hundreds of them were soon brought under deep conviction, which, as the event proved, happily ended in a sound and thorough conversion.’ Two months after this Whitefield began the practice of open-air preaching in London, on 27 April, 1739. The circumstances under which this happened were curious. He had gone to Islington to preach for the vicar, his friend Mr Stonehouse. In the midst of the prayer the churchwardens came to him and demanded his licence for preaching in the diocese of London. Whitefield, of course, had not got this licence. The upshot of the matter was, that being forbidden by the churchwardens to preach in the pulpit, he went outside after the communion-service, and preached in the churchyard. From that day forward he became a constant field-preacher, whenever weather and the season of the year made it possible. Two days afterwards, on Sunday, April 29th, he records: ‘I preached in Moorfields to an exceeding great multitude. Being weakened by my morning’s preaching, I refreshed myself in the afternoon by a little sleep, and at five went and preached at Kennington Common, about two miles from London, when no less than thirty thousand people were supposed to be present.’ Henceforth, wherever there were large open spaces round London, wherever there were large bands of idle, godless, Sabbath-breaking people gathered together, in Hackney Fields, Mary-le-bonne Fields, May Fair, Smithfield, Blackheath, Moorfields, and Kennington Common, there went Whitefield and lifted up his voice for Christ. The gospel so proclaimed was listened to and greedily received by hundreds who never dreamed of going to a place of worship. The ministrations of Whitefield in the pulpits of the Church of England from this time almost entirely ceased. He loved the Church in which he had been ordained; he gloried in her Articles; he used her Prayer-book with pleasure. But the Church did not love him, and so lost the use of his services. The Church was too much asleep to understand him, and was vexed at a man who would not keep still and let the devil alone. The facts of Whitefield’s history from this period to the day of his death are almost entirely of one complexion. One year was just like another; and to attempt to follow him would be only going repeatedly over the same ground. From 1739 to the year of his death, 1770, a period of thirty-one years, his life was one uniform employment, and he was always about his Master’s business. From Sunday mornings to Saturday nights, from the 1st of January to the 31st of December, excepting when laid aside by illness, he was almost incessantly preaching Christ and going about the world entreating men to repent and come to Christ and be saved. There was hardly a considerable town in England, Scotland, or Wales, that he did not visit as an evangelist. When churches were opened to him he gladly preached in churches; when only chapels could be obtained, he cheerfully preached in chapels. When churches and chapels alike were closed, or were too small to contain his hearers, he was ready and willing to preach in the open air. For thirty-one years he laboured in this way, always proclaiming the same glorious gospel, and always, as far as man’s eye can judge, with immense effect. In one single Whitsuntide week, after preaching in Moorfields, he received one thousand letters from people under spiritual concern, and admitted to the Lord’s table three hundred and fifty persons. In the thirty-four years of his ministry it is reckoned that he preached publicly eighteen thousand times. His journeyings were prodigious, when the roads and conveyances of his time are considered. He visited Scotland fourteen times; he crossed the Atlantic seven times, backward and forward, in miserable slow sailing ships, and arrested the attention of thousands in Boston, New York, and Philadelphia. He went over to Ireland twice, and on one occasion was almost murdered by an ignorant Popish mob in Dublin. As to England and Wales, he traversed every county in them, from the Isle of Wight to Berwick-on-Tweed, and from the Land’s End to the North Foreland. His regular ministerial work in London for the winter season, when field-preaching was necessarily suspended, was something prodigious. His weekly engagements at the Tabernacle in Tottenham Court Road, which was built for him when the pulpits of the Established Church were closed, comprised the following work: Every Sunday morning he administered the Lord’s Supper to several hundred communicants at half-past six. After this he read prayers, and preached both morning and afternoon. Then he preached again in the evening at half-past five, and concluded by addressing a large society of widows, married people, young men and spinsters, all sitting separately in the area of the Tabernacle, with exhortations suitable to their respective stations. On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday mornings, he preached regularly at six. On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday evenings, he delivered lectures. This, it will be observed, made thirteen sermons a week! And all this time he was carrying on a large correspondence with people in almost every part of the world. That any human frame could so long endure the labours that Whitefield went through does indeed seem wonderful. That his life was not cut short by violence, to which he was frequently exposed, is no less wonderful. But he was immortal till his work was done. He died at last very suddenly at Newbury Port, in North America, on Sunday, 29 September, 1770, at the comparatively early age of fifty-six. He was once married to a widow named James, of Abergavenny, who died before him. If we may judge from the little mention made of his wife in his letters, his marriage does not seem to have contributed much to his happiness. He left no children, but he left a name far better than that of sons and daughters. Never perhaps was there a man of whom it could be so truly said that he spent and was spent for Christ than George Whitefield. [Adapted from J. C. Ryle’s ‘George Whitefield and His Ministry’ in Select Sermons of George Whitefield; see also George Whitefield’s Journals, Robert Philip’s Life and Times of George Whitefield, and Arnold Dallimore’s 2-volume biography George Whitefield.]

Christian Depression and the use of Medication

An acquaintance of mine, Becky, is a grandmother who cites her chief joy in life as “pleasing the Lord and walking faithfully with him.” She delves into Scripture daily, and for decades has shepherded others through Bible studies. Christ has claimed her heart, and daily stirs her mind. Yet seasons of guilt and uncertainty have punctuated Becky’s walk with her Lord, because while she remains steadfastly devoted to Christ, she also struggles with clinical depression. To maintain her clarity and focus on God’s word, she needs help from an antidepressant medication. As is often the case, depression runs in Becky’s family. When despair first gripped her in her twenties, Becky had already watched her mother slide through the deep darkness into a mental breakdown. She’d witnessed firsthand how depression can ravage a life, as well as the critical roles that medication and counseling can play in drawing sufferers back into the world again. But even these experiences didn’t banish Becky’s concerns about taking antidepressants herself. She wondered if she were right to take medication for an issue that seemed spiritual. Her guilt only deepened when someone in authority at church claimed, “It’s rare for someone to really need antidepressants, because usually things can be solved biblically.” “Hearing that from the pulpit sent me into the depths of guilt,” she relates. “I feel so guilty that I must take this medication that has kept me well for years.” A Troubling Subject The doubts swamping Becky trouble so many of us who suffer from depression. Some of us worry that reliance upon medications implies a paltry faith. Others confuse antidepressants with opioids, and fear addiction. In an opposing scenario, our pain-averse culture, which prioritizes comfort and instant gratification, can mislead us toward chemical prescriptions for normal, refining grief. Throughout, questions churn: Are antidepressants permissible? Or sufficient? Does our need for them reflect a deficit in faith? How do they factor into other means of grace with which God has blessed us, such as prayer, study of the word, and counseling? After a careful exploration of depression, its treatment, and how the Bible guides us in suffering, these questions should give way to discernment and gratitude. No medication can sponge away the blackness in our hearts. But in his steadfast love and mercy toward us, God has gifted us with medical science as a means of common kindness. In the right circumstances, when carefully combined with counseling and spiritual disciplines, antidepressants can ease some of us back into daylight. While we should never rely on medication exclusively, neither should we demonize those who use it as part of a comprehensive approach. More Than Sadness At this point in the discussion, we need to define terms. In the undulating course of life, seasons of grief, tears, and bleakness can trouble all of us. In most cases, these valleys have limits. We may sink low, but we retain our capacity to climb, and eventually we crest into the bright air again. Clinical depression, also called major depressive disorder , falls outside these usual variations in emotion. The fact that depression increases the suicide rate by 27 times that of the general population should alert us to something gone terribly awry. 1 In major depression, hopelessness, despair, and lack of motivation persist long after wounds have healed, for reasons even the victim can’t always pinpoint. Sufferers can’t control their descent into darkness, nor can they wrench themselves from its clutches by sheer will, because the social, spiritual, and practical factors we can easily see interact with changes deep in the brain, hidden from view. The ramifications are not only spiritual, but also physical (see the table below), 2 hampering engagement in even the most basic stuff of living. Laughter, conversation, and interaction feel impossible, even with those we love. 3 Routine self-care overwhelms, and some of us find ourselves bed-bound, too bereft of joy to drag ourselves into the world. In many ways, living through depression resembles dying. It’s crucial to distinguish this affliction from appropriate sadness or grief, because God works through our suffering to refine us (Genesis 50:20; Jonah 2; Romans 5:2–5). We should never seek chemical means to buttress ourselves through the typical peaks and valleys of our emotions. Not only can melancholy and anguish be worthy responses to the travails of a sinful world, but God also disciplines us, shapes us, and draws us closer to himself through our ordeals. Even Jesus wept in the face of loss (John 11:34–36). Depression, however, isn’t typical grief. It can persist even when our days unfold free from catastrophe. It’s a complex beast, whose sufferers desperately need prayer, Christian love, and professional help. A Complicated Problem Too few sufferers of major depression actually receive the help they need. Guilt — which is a feature of the disorder (see the table) — and stigma discourage many with depression from seeking assistance. 4 In a survey of 5.4 million adults in the US reporting an unmet need for mental-health services, 8.2% did not seek mental-health treatment because they did not want others to find out, 9.5% because “it might cause neighbors/community to have a negative opinion,” and 9.6% due to concerns about confidentiality. Some 28% believed that they could handle the problem without treatment, and 22.8% did not know where to go to receive treatment. 5 Such statistics reveal that the road to healing slouches uphill. Many tread it alone. Yet even those who seek help embark upon a tortuous path, without easy remedies. We have no quick-fix cures for depression, because the neurobiological underpinnings that fuel our despondency are much more elaborate than a simple chemical imbalance. Regions of the brain responsible for memory and executive function shrink in depression, as do the pathways connecting these areas to sites controlling mood, fear, and drives. 6 Brain cell loss is accelerated among the depressed. 7 The actions of chemical signals between nerve cells are disrupted, especially serotonin, a neurotransmitter that helps regulate mood, sleep, appetite, and pain. 8 While we don’t know in all cases whether these changes cause depression or arise as a result of the disorder, they hint at why sufferers struggle to recover. In depression, the architecture of our own brains traps us in the dark. And yet, while neurological changes abound in depression, even biology doesn’t tell the entire story. While some individuals are genetically prone to major depression, 9 a first episode requires the intermingling of this risk with social, psychological, and spiritual triggers. Medical illnesses contribute in up to 15% of cases, and depression increases the risk of a future heart attack by two to threefold among people with heart disease. 10 People with seasonal affective disorder, who struggle with depression during the winter months, respond well to bright-light therapy, while others without this temporal pattern don’t. Some sufferers struggle with anxiety in depression, others with melancholy, and still others with catatonia or psychosis. This variability hints that the current diagnosis we call major depression is probably an umbrella term, a catchall phrase encompassing multiple related syndromes with similar effects, but distinct causative mechanisms. This diversity in depression creates treatment challenges, as one person’s struggle doesn’t resemble another’s. Promising research suggests that MRI scans of the brain may differentiate between depressive subtypes and allow for more precise, targeted treatments. 11 But this research is preliminary. In the meantime, depression continues to wreak havoc upon its victims, earning the eleventh spot on the World Health Organization’s list of conditions causing the greatest disability and mortality. 12 Treatment of such a highly convoluted, variable, and debilitating disorder doesn’t proceed simply. Imperfect Options The two mainstays of treatment for clinical depression are antidepressant medications and psychotherapy or counseling. While both these avenues can provide life-giving support, neither offers a quick fix. And while both play vital roles in recovery, neither diminishes the importance of spiritual disciplines as we strive to reclaim our joy. Most antidepressants work by increasing the concentration of serotonin in the brain. Given strong evidence for reduced serotonin transmission in depression, for decades we hoped that replenishing serotonin would reverse the disorder. Given what we now know about brain structure and circuitry in depression, it’s no surprise that antidepressants produce modest effects. Although these medications can promote crucial improvements in symptoms, when used alone they facilitate full remission in only about 50% of cases. 13 While this effect can be life-giving for half of sufferers, it’s disappointing for a class of medications we hoped would definitively treat the illness. (Imagine our predicament if insulin reduced blood sugar in only half of diabetics, or if antibiotics eradicated the most common bacterial infections only half the time.) Research also reveals only a small benefit of antidepressant therapy over a placebo pill. Just meeting with a health care provider to receive a placebo constitutes personal connection and care, and ameliorates symptoms in up to 35% of cases. 14 Such research, coupled with criticism that studies supporting antidepressants often suffer from publication bias, has sparked debate about whether antidepressants work at all. Last year, a research group attempted to put the issue to rest by conducting a large meta-analysis of FDA data on antidepressants, and found that all twenty-one agents studied were more effective than placebo. The study garnered significant media attention, with exuberant headlines proclaiming, “The Debate Is Over!” But the data warrant a more restrained response. We can confidently glean from the review that antidepressants can lessen symptoms of depression after eight weeks of therapy. That’s good news for those clambering in the gloom, for whom even a minor improvement can provide stability to engage with the world. But it still doesn’t mean antidepressants have earned a reputation as a miracle cure. 15 Taken in total, research on antidepressants supports their use as one component of a comprehensive approach. Antidepressants are often necessary to equip us for the hard work of recovery, but they are not typically sufficient . While antidepressants can lift our darkened mood, full recovery also requires attention to elements that pharmacology cannot penetrate: our social support, our patterns of thinking, our habits and histories, and especially our walk with Christ. While antidepressants improve serotonin signaling, psychotherapy and counseling can help us navigate the social and cognitive barriers to recovery. And a rich life of prayer and Bible intake, with support from the body of Christ, is essential to usher us through the storm. Non-Pharmacological Support The term psychotherapy often scares Christians, as they automatically associate it with the atheist Sigmund Freud. The term, however, refers to multiple approaches in clinical psychology, many quite different from Freudian psychodynamics. According to the medical literature, cognitive-behavioral therapy and interpersonal therapy are most effective in depression, but other methods also garner favor. 16 Psychotherapy and counseling can be crucial to keeping depression at bay. Studies show that antidepressants and psychotherapy have similar efficacy in treating acute depression, but after treatment ends , those who discontinue antidepressants commonly relapse. 17 By contrast, the benefits of psychotherapy persist long after treatment stops. Dr. Karen Mason, associate professor of counseling and psychology at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, has witnessed this phenomenon firsthand. “There’s a biological vulnerability that antidepressants address, but people are also dealing with social and behavioral issues that reinforce their depression,” she relates in personal correspondence. “You might be on antidepressants alone for six months, and they help, but as soon as you stop them you become depressed again because patterns of thinking are still there.” In Dr. Mason’s experience, spiritual support can also be crucial to recovery. “People struggle through the lens of their faith,” she remarks. “In depression, usually the person has a low sense of self-worth, and faith can influence this.” For the believer, our value in Christ, and as God’s image-bearers, helps us sift past the shadows and cling to life. Whether we enroll in psychotherapy or use an antidepressant, our identity in Christ, and what God has done for us through the cross, remain central. A Multifaceted Approach For those of us with mild cases of major depression (as determined by a professional using validated instruments), it’s reasonable to begin with a trial of therapy or counseling alone, and to consider an antidepressant after several months if there’s no improvement. But those with severe cases are at high risk for suicide. In such harrowing circumstances, the precaution of an antidepressant in addition to counseling can be lifesaving. Indeed, given the benefits of psychotherapy and antidepressants together, the American Psychiatric Association (APA) recommends combination therapy in moderate to severe cases of major depression. 18 The APA further recommends that sufferers who improve with antidepressants continue these medications for four to nine months after a first episode, as the risk of recurrence is high before this period. For those who have endured three or more major depressive episodes, the APA recommends continuing an antidepressant for life . Such recommendations can unnerve us. We might worry about addiction, and question the strength of our faith. We read headlines announcing that primary care physicians now prescribe 40% of antidepressants, often without documenting a psychiatric diagnosis, and we wonder if we’re aiding an epidemic of self-medication to numb the ordinary ripples of life. 19 Before we chastise one another, consider that while half of people recover from a first episode of depression without further issues, after three episodes the risk of recurrence approaches 100%. 20 In chronic and recurrent depression, maintenance antidepressants don’t imply addiction, but rather a vital precaution to safeguard against future episodes. Addictive drugs produce euphoria, sedation, or other states that veer from reality and dishonor God (1 Corinthians 6:19–20). Our craving for such substances never abates as long as we continue taking them. Few people, by contrast, covet antidepressants. About 60% of people who take an antidepressant complain of uncomfortable side effects, including diarrhea, nausea, vomiting, insomnia, drowsiness, weight gain, sexual dysfunction, and anxiety. 21 Given these unpleasant effects, the dropout rate for antidepressant therapy is high, with many stopping the medications before their depressive symptoms resolve. 22 Addiction isn’t even an appropriate consideration. When used wisely in severe depression, antidepressants don’t offer an escape from suffering, but rather equip us to contend with it. When used with discernment, these medications can root us in reality, and help us to focus with clarity on our risen Lord. Becky, who shared her experiences at the start of this article, emphasizes their role with this point: “This issue has kept a short tether between the Lord and me as I seek him and stay in his word — I know I must!” Depression and Christian Suffering Even when we grasp that major depression isn’t normal sadness, we can still struggle with misconceptions that depression is somehow “un-Christian.” “How can a believer like me struggle with depression when I have the gospel?” one sufferer asked me. Another admitted, “I feel like there must be something wrong with me and my alleged ‘faith.’ I end up chastising myself for not having the kind of faith that would lead me out of this depression.” Such comments echo those of Dr. Beverly Yahnke, executive director of The Lutheran Center for Spiritual Care and Counsel: Far too many well-intentioned Christians are imbued with the conviction that strong people of faith simply don’t become depressed. Some have come to believe that by virtue of one’s baptism, one ought to be insulated from perils of mind and mood. Others whisper unkindly that those who cast their cares upon the Lord simply wouldn’t fall prey to a disease that leaves its victims emotionally desolate, despairing and regarding suicide as a refuge and comfort — a certain means to stopping relentless pain. 23 An assumption common to such doubts is that gospel hope should guard us against maladies of the mind. But such assertions lack both empathy and biblical grounding. Christ has triumphed over death (1 Corinthians 15:55; 2 Timothy 1:10), and when he returns, all its wretched manifestations will wash away (Isaiah 25:7–8; Revelation 21:4). But for now , we still live in the wake of the fall. We must never mistake the Christian life for a prance through a garden path. Jesus warns that persecution will follow us into the world that has rejected him (Matthew 16:24–25; John 1:10–11; 15:20). All creation groans (Romans 8:22–28). Sin still seethes across the globe, stirring up calamity, infiltrating the synapses in our brains to tangle our thoughts and feelings. Our Savior himself was a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief (Isaiah 53:3), even though he shared perfect communion with the Father. While sin stains the world, even those most devoted to Christ can sink into despondency. The gospel doesn’t promise us freedom from pain, but an abundantly more precious gift: the assurance of God’s love, which prevails over sin and buoys us through the tempests. Christ offers us hope that transcends the crooked wantonness of this broken world. Suffering can bear down on us. Depression can crush even the most faithful among us. But in Christ, nothing can separate us from God’s love (Romans 8:38–39). The Source of Our Hope Christians should feel empowered to consider medical treatments — whether antidepressants or otherwise — as blessings, given by God as evidence of his mercy. We clearly see from Jesus’s ministry that healing displays the Father’s love for us (Mark 1:40–41; 3:1–5; Matthew 8:1–3; John 9:1–7). Prophets and apostles also mention physical means of healing as instruments to nurture the hurting (Isaiah 38:21; 1 Timothy 5:23). Perhaps the best example is the parable of the good Samaritan, when the passerby stops to tend to an injured man’s wounds with bandages, oil, and wine (Luke 10:25–37). Such passages should chase away our guilt if we require antidepressant medications as part of a multifaceted, prayerful approach to depression. And yet, while we partake of these ordinary means of grace, they cannot offer us the renewal we find in Christ. We quench our parched souls only from the living water that springs from the gospel. We’re right to accept medical advances for what they are — blessings from God, gifts to help us heal and prosper. While we seek treatment, however, we must still turn our eyes toward God (2 Chronicles 16:12). The need for a heavenward gaze does not limit itself to depression, but to any ailment of mind, body, or soul. As Christians we cleave to a hope that far exceeds any protocol or prescription. Whether we use medications or not, a vital response when we sink into despair is to pray and to meditate as best as our clouded minds permit on his living and active word (Philippians 4:6; James 1:5; Hebrews 4:12). When we kneel before our Lord in humility and supplication, and with palms open lift our burdens to him, he draws us near (Psalm 34:18), even as we struggle through the avenues of medications and counseling. In the coming age, our Savior will chase away the specters that loom over creation (Revelation 21:4). In the meantime, we take comfort that he too has walked in darkness. He too has endured deep suffering, not from brain circuitry gone awry, but willingly, for our sake, out of abundant love for us (John 3:16). And to that truth we cling, even when the shadows descend, even as we labor through medications and therapy, and breathlessly scramble for the light.