It seems entirely fitting that I conclude my column for Christian Renewal at the same location where I began: under the broom tree. For me, the broom tree has come to symbolize both the failure of short-sighted faith and the triumph of divine grace to rescue, restore and replenish. Elijah the prophet – exhausted, dejected, fearing for his life – was ready to resign his commission while lying under the broom tree until the Lord summoned him to get up, eat and go about his work again. No time for self-pity, Elijah. There's work to be done.

So it is in the gospel ministry. We pray, study, visit and attend to countless other tasks, sometimes wondering if anyone is listening or if (dare we say it?) we have made any difference in the world. Even if we don't vocalize it, many of us in the ministry secretly cry out to God, "I alone am left, O Lord. Just deliver me from all of this misery."

For years now I have been envious of my ministerial col­leagues who go about their work with an unmistakable delight. Nothing – not even the most distressing pastoral situation – ever seems to deter them from the joy of their labors.

By and large, this has not been my experience in the pas­torate. I find myself gravitating toward the negative and critical, which easily degenerates into anger and depression. It certainly is not an endearing quality in a pastor. As a dear colleague in the ministry said to me not long ago, "You wound too easily. If you're going to survive in the ministry, you'll have to develop thicker skin." And so I devote these concerns to daily prayer and make war against the impulse to sink into the cesspool of self pity and despair.

Along the way, I've come to appreciate two melancholy saints in particular: the poet/songwriter William Cowper and the great British preacher, Charles Spurgeon. I thank God for men like these. They, too, wrestled with the blue funk of depression. Cowper struggled against it for much of his adult life, and even attempted suicide on more than one occasion. Out of these struggles came some of the most beautiful poetry the church has ever sung.

Even more helpful has been the advice of Spurgeon, who addressed this very issue in an article entitled "The Minister's Fainting Fits." He writes:

Our work, when earnestly undertaken, lays us open to attacks in the direction of depression. Who can bear the weight of souls without sometimes sinking to the dust? Passionate longings after men's conversion, if not fully satis­fied (and when are they?), consume the soul with anxiety and disappointment. To see the hopeful turn aside, the godly grow cold, professors abusing their privileges, and sinners waxing more bold in sin – are not these sights enough to crush us to the earth?

So what does this melancholy pastor suggest to his col­leagues in the min­istry? Spurgeon shares some insightful thoughts:

• Bear in mind your own weaknesses and shortcomings, and remember that God in His sovereign grace is able to use our tears and heartaches to accomplish great things;

• We are to give of ourselves completely in service to the Lord. "We are not to be liv­ing specimens of men in fine preservation, but living sacrifices, whose lot is to be consumed; we are to spend and be spent..."

• Take care of your physical needs, even if it means a leisurely stroll or a time away from the study. "A day's breathing of fresh air upon the hills, or a few hours, ram­ble in the beech woods' shady calm, would sweep the cob­webs out of the brain of scores of our toiling ministers who are now but half alive."

• Adversity humbles the godly and magnifies divine grace. "By all the castings down of his servants God is glorified, for they are led to magnify him when again he sets them on their feet, and even while prostrate in the dust their faith yields him praise. They speak all the time more sweetly of his faithfulness, and are the more firmly established in his love. Such mature men as sonic elderly preachers are, could scarcely have been produced if they had not been emptied from vessel to vessel, and made to see their own emptiness and the vanity of all things round about them. Glory be to God for the furnace, the hammer, and the file. Heaven shall be all the fuller of bliss because we have been filled with anguish here below, and earth shall be better tilled because of our training in the school of adversity."

So thank you, Lord, for melancholy saints. Time and again they have reminded me that our light and momentary afflic­tion is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.