When have we felt downcast or discouraged, and how did we find hope in God?

[Chrysostom]

When your soul is cast down and disquieted within you, you do well to take up the psalmist’s words and make them your own. This very questioning, “Why art thou cast down, O my soul?”, is not a mark of weak faith but of a faith that will not surrender to despair. The soul that simply sinks under sorrow without a struggle has already given up the fight. But to turn upon your own despondency and demand an account of it, to address your own heart as David did, is the beginning of recovery. You are not ignoring your feelings; you are bringing them before God, and that is the sure path to hope.

Yet see to it that your hope rests not on any earthly comfort or on the praise of men, for these are uncertain and fleeting. The apostle Paul, when pressed beyond measure and despairing even of life, said that this happened so that he might not trust in himself but in God who raises the dead. His trials were not signs of God’s absence but the very means by which God’s power was made manifest in him. Death worked in him, he says, but life in those to whom he ministered. The afflictions of the faithful are the seed of rest and joy for others, and for themselves they work a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. Do not seek your rest here; if you do, you will never truly find it. The rest that remains for the people of God is not the possession of any earthly land or the removal of every trouble, but the hope that enters within the veil, where Christ has gone as our forerunner.

Consider how the saints comforted themselves: they considered that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed. They looked not to the things which are seen, but to the things which are not seen. If even in worldly matters men choose a brief toil for a long rest, how much more should we embrace light affliction for a moment when an eternal weight of glory is set before us? Your prayer from the sixty-second psalm is a guard for the soul: “Rest in God alone, my soul, for my hope comes from Him.” That rest is not the rest of idleness but the quiet confidence of a heart fixed on God’s promises. Do not let your hope be fractured by looking partly at your circumstances and partly at Him, but pour out your heart before Him who is a refuge for us.

Remember also that when you feel the sting of discouragement, it is often because you have set your affection too much on the approval of others or on some earthly good. The praise that comes from men is a snare; Christ pronounces a woe when all men speak well of you. Seek the praise that comes from God only. He who looks down on human glory will receive glory from above. So let your hope be anchored not in the shifting sands of this world but in the unchanging character of God, who is your Savior and your God. He who did not spare His own Son will with Him freely give us all things. Bring your downcast soul to Him, command it to hope in God, and you shall yet praise Him who is the health of your countenance. The night may be long, but joy comes in the morning, and the God of love and peace will be with you.

 

[Silas]

You put your finger on the heart of the struggle when you quote the psalmist talking to his own soul. That raw honesty before God is exactly the right starting place. There’s no need to pretend. You can say, “My soul is cast down within me,” because God already knows the turmoil. The danger isn’t in admitting discouragement; it’s in leaving God out of the equation when you’re trying to find your way through it.

When I’m downcast, I’m usually trying to solve things with my own understanding, my own strength, my own frantic planning. I’ve taken my eyes off the throne. The psalmist models something different. He preaches to himself: “Hope thou in God.” It’s a deliberate choice. He doesn’t wait for the feelings to lift first; he speaks truth into his own heart. That’s where hope begins to rise, not in ignoring the pain, but in looking past it to the God who is still in control, still faithful, still working.

You asked how we find hope. We find it by bringing God back into the picture. Factoring Him in changes everything. Suddenly the impossible doesn’t seem so final, because we’re dealing with the One who made heaven and earth. But hope needs a foundation, and that foundation is the finished work of Jesus Christ. Rest doesn’t come from me trying harder to feel hopeful. It comes from ceasing from my own works and trusting what He has already accomplished. He died, He rose, and His word is settled forever. That’s where my soul can quiet down.

When my own resources run out, that’s often God’s way of teaching me to rest in Him alone. I remember times when the pressure was so heavy I didn’t see a way forward. But each time I turned back to His promises and said, “Lord, I can’t, but You can. I’m going to trust Your word,” peace came, not because the circumstances instantly changed, but because I was no longer carrying the weight on my own. He is the health of my countenance, the One who lifts my head, not because I muster up optimism, but because I look to His faithfulness.

Jesus understands every sorrow you’re feeling. He walked through the deepest darkness and overcame it. Without Him, the world has no real hope. But you have been brought near. You are not without God. You are not without hope. So let your soul wait on Him. Tell it again: “Hope thou in God, for I shall yet praise Him.” His past deliverances and His unchanging word give you good reason to trust Him now. Keep resting there, and you’ll find strength for today and confidence for the future.