The coffee was cold. It sat in front of Brian, untouched and unpleasant. Its once inviting aroma now felt distant and unfamiliar. He had been battling a deep depression for months, one that consumed his every thought and drained him of all joy and purpose. As he stared at the cup, he couldn’t help but feel conflicted—wanting to find comfort in its warmth, yet unable to shake off the icy chill that had taken over his spirit.
He was sitting in the small café where he used to meet friends and enjoy the bustle of life around him. It was filled with small tables scattered around the room, each one occupied by chattering people and the occasional solitary figure. Soft light cascaded through the windows, casting shadows on the polished wooden floors. The walls were adorned with colorful artwork and bookshelves lined the perimeter, adding to the cozy atmosphere.
The air was filled with the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee, mingled with the scents of pastries and sandwiches being prepared in the kitchen. The various blends of coffee beans, each with their own unique scent, intermingled for a comforting and inviting smell.
But now the café felt like a hollow shell, the bustle of activity only serving as a reminder of happier times. His hands trembled slightly as he lifted the cup, but he couldn’t bring himself to take a sip. The coffee, now cold and neglected, served as a fitting metaphor for the tepid emotions that consumed him. The chatter and laughter of other patrons seemed distant and muffled, like a vague memory. He couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness that engulfed him, like an abandoned vessel in an endless sea. The once warm and welcoming atmosphere now mirrored his own internal turmoil.
“Brian,” a gentle voice interrupted his thoughts. His gaze shifted upwards to see Pastor Mike approaching his table, dressed in his full clerical attire and with a genuine look of concern on his face. “May I sit with you?”
Brian nodded, unable to muster the energy for words. It was like trying to light a match in a room without oxygen. Each thought was suffocating, asphyxiating him until all he could do was nod in response.
Pastor Mike took the seat across from him, his presence a warm contrast to the bleakness that surrounded Brian.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he said. “I came here to work on my sermon.” When Brian didn’t say anything, Pastor Mike continued softly, “I’ve been worried about you. I haven’t seen you at church in a while. Is everything okay?”
Brian shrugged, his eyes downcast, like a pair of wilted flowers dropping toward the ground, heavy with sorrow. “I don’t know. Everything feels wrong. I can’t seem to find any purpose or joy anymore.”
“You sound depressed.”
Brian nodded slightly. “I’ve tried everything—medication, therapy. Nothing seems to help.”
Pastor Mike reached into his bag and pulled out a small, worn Bible, its corners worn and frayed from years of use, the once bright cover now faded—signs of frequent handling.
He opened it to a marked page and gently slid it across the table to Brian. “I’d like to share something with you, if that’s all right.”
Brian glanced at the open page, then nervously around at others in the café, slightly embarrassed to have his Christianity on full display. “Psalm 3?” he asked.
“Yes,” Pastor Mike explained. “It’s a psalm of David, written during a time of great distress. David was fleeing from his son, Absalom, who had turned against him. He was surrounded by enemies and overwhelmed by fear, just as I’m sure you feel surrounded by invisible enemies. But in his darkest moment, he found refuge in God.”
Brian picked up the Bible and began to read aloud: “LORD, how they have increased who trouble me. Many are they who rise up against me. Many are they who say of me, ‘There is no help for him in God.’” This immediately resonated with him. Like Pastor Mike said, he did feel beset by invisible enemies, and he felt he had no help from God.
Brian continued reading, “But You, O LORD, are a shield for me. My glory and the one who lifts up my head. I cried to the LORD with my voice, and He heard me from His holy hill. I lay down and slept; I awoke, for the LORD sustained me. I will not be afraid of ten thousands of people who have set themselves against me all around. Arise, O LORD; save me, O my God! For You have struck all my enemies on the cheekbone; You have broken the teeth of the ungodly. Salvation belongs to the LORD. Your blessing is upon Your people.”
As he finished, Brian felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—hope, perhaps. It was a small flame—a fleeting and uncertain glimmer—but it was enough to stir something deep within his soul, like the first spark of a flame that could grow into wildfire.
Brian’s eyes met Pastor Mike’s, and he noticed the deep wrinkles etched around the man’s eyes and mouth, telling of a lifetime of laughter and worry. His eyes were a piercing blue, full of intensity and compassion as he studied Brian’s face.
“David felt abandoned and afraid,” the pastor began, “but he remembered God was his defense, his glory, and his justifier. Even when everything seemed hopeless, he found refuge in God’s presence. And so can you.”
Tears welled up in Brian’s eyes, and he hastily wiped them away. “I don’t know if I have that kind of faith.”
Pastor Mike sighed, but Brian could see in his eyes that it was not a sigh of annoyance but of understanding and empathy.
“The Scriptures describe faith as a race that is run,” he said. “Not a sprint, but a marathon. Have you ever run a marathon before, Brian?”
“I have, actually. About three years ago.”
“Did you get tired?”
Despite himself, Brian chuckled. “Of course. I was in really good shape, but running a marathon takes a lot out of anybody.”
“Faith is like that,” Pastor Mike explained. “The race of faith is a marathon, and at times we get tired. It’s bound to happen. What did you do when you got tired in the marathon?”
“I got water from the water stations.”
“As you run the race of faith, Brian, you need to stop for a moment’s rest at the water station of your Baptism, remembering you are a child of God and that the Father does not abandon His children.”
Brian nodded slowly, absorbing the words. “Thank you, Pastor. I think I needed to hear that.”
Pastor Mike reached across the table and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You know what the greatest thing is about the marathon of faith?”
Brian shook his head.
“You don’t run it alone.” Pastor Mike took his Bible back and flipped close to the back of the Bible. “Hebrews twelve begins, ‘Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.’”
A glimmer of a smile crept onto Brian’s face, slowly breaking through the heavy fog that had been weighing him down. The darkness still lingered around him, but it no longer felt insurmountable. It was as if a sliver of light had pierced through the thick veil of despair, offering a glimmer of hope in an otherwise bleak world.
As if reading his mind, Pastor Mike quoted the Gospel of John from memory, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
Brian looked down at his hands, slightly hesitant, then back at Pastor Mike. “Will you pray for me, Pastor?”
“Certainly,” he said as they closed their eyes. “Lord Jesus Christ, You are the light that entered the world. Let Your light shine upon Brian, that he may know You are never far from him—that You are his beacon of hope in the darkness that swarms him. May You grant him rest, both physically and spiritually, for You are our refuge with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.”
As the final words of Pastor Mike’s prayer hung in the air, Brian felt a weight lifting off his shoulders. The anchor of depression still tugged at him, but now he knew he had a refuge in Christ where he could find rest and solace whenever he needed it. A glimmer of hope flickered in his heart, as if the warmth of Christ’s love was pushing back the thick fog of his despair for the first time in what felt like ages.
He closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath, feeling the comforting presence of his Savior surround him like a shield. The gentle rustle of leaves in the wind seemed to echo the soothing words of Pastor Mike’s prayer, bringing a sense of peace to his troubled soul. In this moment, Brian knew he was not alone and that there was always light at the end of even the darkest tunnels with Christ, the Light of the world, by his side.
The Lutheran Column 