Dealing with the Doldrums of the Christian Life

Feelings are a fickle thing. There are times when I feel really excited, totally committed, like the Spirit is right here, clear, profound, powerful.

 

Then there are times in the Christian life when I feel "meh."

 

Honestly, though? Most of the time that "meh" feeling comes in the wake of backsliding on a sin, or if I've gotten "busy" and have wandered from my usual commitments of prayer and meditation on the Scriptures. It happens when I stop connecting with other believers, and try to do that "lone ranger" Christian thing that a lot of us try to do.

 

Sometimes it comes in the wake of a particularly stressful period. Maybe when I'm sick. I just can't seem to get that "Holy Ghost" mojo going, because... well... meh...

 

Then there are times when the "meh" just comes with no apparent explanation.

 

Navigating this terrain of shifting inner states requires wisdom. While our emotions are an undeniable part of our God-given humanity, they are not the compass by which we chart our course toward God, nor are they the foundation upon which our relationship with Him is built.

 

That foundation is infinitely more secure: it is the solid, objective reality of God's unchanging promises declared in Jesus Christ, promises delivered reliably through His appointed gifts – His powerful Word and His tangible Sacraments.

 

But what are those "peaks of awareness," those seeming "spiritual highs?" Are they just a product of the mind, a surge of dopamine, an emotional hallucination?

 

Not necessarily.

 

Scripture acknowledges the Spirit's intimate work within us, fostering joy, peace, and a sense of belonging. Paul affirms in Romans 8:16, "The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God."

 

The crucial verb here is "bears witness." In Greek it's a single compound word: συμμαρτυρεῖ (*symmartyrei*). It's formed from syn (meaning "with" or "alongside") and martyreō (meaning "to bear witness", the word we get martyr from).

 

This isn't about the Spirit generating an internal feeling that we interpret as assurance. Instead, it signifies a co-witnessing. The Holy Spirit testifies alongside our human spirit. 

 

How does He do this? Primarily through the external, objective Word of God. When the Gospel message—the astonishing news of our forgiveness, adoption, and reconciliation through Christ's sacrifice (cf. Gal 4:4-7)—is preached, read, or heard, the Holy Spirit takes that external declaration and applies it directly to our hearts.

 

He convinces our spirit of its truth. Our spirit, thus enlightened and assured by this divine testimony attached to the Word, then gladly concurs: "Yes, it is true! I am God's child!"

 

The peril lies not in experiencing these moments of felt assurance, but in making the feeling itself the object of our pursuit, rather than the unchanging source of the Spirit's witness – the Word.

 

A faith built on chasing emotional highs becomes inherently unstable because, as life proves time and again, feelings ebb and flow. Today’s mountaintop experience can dissolve into tomorrow’s valley of "meh."

 

Therefore, our confidence, our true anchor, must be fastened not to the fluctuating intensity of our subjective experience, but to the objective, historical, and eternally valid reality of what Christ accomplished for us, a reality consistently declared in the Gospel message.

 

One of the Reformers, Philip Melanchthon, put it this way. Saving faith "is not merely historical knowledge but the acceptance of the divine promise... by which we receive the forgiveness of sins and justification" (Apology of the Augsburg Confession IV, 48).

 

It's almost impossible not to be emotional about this. That's where that "spiritual high" comes from, that feeling of nearness, when we truly take hold of what God has promised us and refuse to let it go. When we draw near to Christ through His promise, feelings often follow. But it's the promise, not the feeling that is our foundation.

 

That means, you can trust the promise even when you're the deepest doldrums of "meh," or even in the midst of depression.

 

But does that mean the "meh" doesn't matter? That we should just ignore it?

 

NOPE. That's where I used to go with this, but I think the spiritual maturity of being in my mid-40s rather than the zeal of being a seminarian in his 20s comes in.

 

We should pay attention to that "meh," because while it might sometimes just be the body running out of energy, or a lack of sleep, it can also be an alarm that something else is wrong in our walk.

 

Consider the "meh" like a tornado alarm. It might mean nothing at all, but it could be a warning of impending devastation. It's best to respond accordingly. 

 

I said before that sometimes the "meh" comes in the aftermath of sin.

 

When we step outside God's good design, when we choose our way over His, our conscience, educated by God's unchanging Law, sounds an alarm. It rightly accuses us.

 

I talked about this passage a couple weeks ago, the do-do versen from the seventh chapter of Romans. Notice, though, the emotive reaction Paul has from recognizing his repeated failure to do what he knows is right:

 

"For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate... Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?" (Rom 7:15, 24).

 

The Greek verbs expose the raw conflict: the deep desire (θέλω - thelō) warring against the actual deed (πράσσω - prassō; ποιῶ - poiō). This profound disconnect culminates in a cry of misery: ταλαίπωρος ἐγὼ ἄνθρωπος (*talaipōros egō anthrōpos*) – "I, a distressed, miserable man!" 

 

That feeling of spiritual deadness, the "meh" following known sin, can often be the Holy Spirit employing the Law's sharp edge to convict us, to show us our need, and to turn us back toward mercy (cf. Jn 16:8). It is a painful, yet potentially grace-filled, experience. The true danger lies in lingering under the weight of that accusation without immediately running to the Gospel's liberating declaration of pardon.

 

The remedy isn't found in trying harder to feel better or to somehow offset the wrong, but in hearing anew the promise of complete forgiveness offered freely for Christ's sake (1 Jn 1:9). In fact, that's exactly what Paul does here.

 

I know, I'm not a mathematician, so bear with me. But after Romans 7 comes Romans 8. 🤯

 

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death. For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do. By sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, in order that the righteous requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit. For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit. For to set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. [vv 1-7, emphasis added]

 

There's a lot of emotive language there. How we "set our minds," whether on the things of the Spirit or the Flesh makes a difference. Remember, the Spirit is bearing witness on our behalf. When we set our minds on the Spirit, we know peace. The Spirit isn't essentially a feeling, but knowing the Spirit can give us peace, the feelings can follow when we recognize the Spirit.

 

Notice, it's not like the other kind of "spirits," like alcohol, that you're going to feel if it's in you no matter what. We must fix our minds, our thoughts, on the Spirit who is in us already. The feelings do not always come, and they might come in a variety of ways, but the feelings follow from the Spirit's presence, they do not dictate the Spirit's presence, and they might not always be there.

 

That means, when the feelings are gone, it doesn't mean we've lost the Spirit. It means we've let our minds wander to the flesh, to the wrong place.  

 

The Spirit doesn't zap us with the feeling, our feeling comes as a natural and human response to a recognition of the Spirit's presence in us.  

 

Admittedly, though, it's not so simple, typically, as just changing our thoughts. Getting the mind to focus isn't always about a momentary decision, though it can be. Fixing our minds on the Spirit isn't always natural, or easy to do.

 

How do we go about doing that? How do we get our minds off of the flesh and onto the Spirit?

 

God, in His wisdom, established specific pathways through which He promises to convey His grace, sustain faith, and nourish the inner life.

 

The Word: It is the bedrock: "Faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ" (Rom 10:17).This passage emphasizes the spoken word or the specific utterance concerning Christ. To neglect engaging with Scripture—hearing it preached, reading it personally, meditating upon it—is akin to refusing physical food. Spiritual weakness, listlessness, and that pervasive "meh" are the natural consequences. The blessed individual described in Psalm 1 finds delight in God's instruction, meditating (יֶהְגֶּה - yehgeh, from הָגָה - hāgâ, suggesting a low murmuring, pondering, or deep reflection) on it day and night (Ps 1:2). This is far more than scanning words; it's allowing God's truth to seep into the soul's soil.

 

Prayer: Prayer is the vital breath of the spiritual life, the intimate conversation between a child and their Father. Jesus Himself demonstrated a life marked by consistent, dedicated prayer (Mk 1:35; Lk 6:12). To neglect prayer is to sever that line of conscious dependence and open communication, starving the relationship.

 

Fellowship (Koinonia): The idea of the "lone ranger" Christian life runs counter to the biblical model. We are called into a body, a community. Hebrews 10:24-25 urges: "And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another." Christian existence is designed for community, a place where we receive mutual comfort, necessary correction, accountability, and the strengthening presence of God through His Word proclaimed and Sacraments shared (Acts 2:42). Attempting to navigate faith in isolation frequently leads to spiritual decline and fosters that very sense of disconnection described as "meh."

 

When we neglect these God-given avenues, we aren't simply failing to generate positive internal states; we are, in effect, distancing ourselves from the very means through which God has promised to pour out His sustaining grace and strength. The resulting spiritual malaise is a symptom of this self-imposed spiritual malnourishment.

 

That external pressures like chronic stress, physical illness, or overwhelming life circumstances can induce the "meh" feeling points toward a crucial theological understanding: God often chooses to reveal His strength precisely in the midst of our weakness. This counters the expectation that God primarily shows up in moments of triumph, health, and felt power. Instead, He frequently meets us most profoundly in our struggles, our limitations, and even our sense of emptiness.

 

Consider the Apostle Paul's plea regarding his "thorn in the flesh," a persistent affliction (2 Cor 12:7-10). Three times he begged God to remove it. God's answer was not removal, but a revelation: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Cor 12:9). Paul's remarkable conclusion? "Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me." The phrase "rest upon me" comes from the verb ἐπισκηνόω (*episkēnoō*) literally meaning "to pitch a tent upon" or "to dwell in."

 

It evokes the Old Testament language of God's defined presence, the tabernacle, the dwelling of God among his people. Astonishingly, Paul desires Christ’s mighty power to tabernacle, to make its dwelling place, precisely upon the landscape of his weaknesses!

 

So, when life’s pressures mount and leave us feeling spiritually drained, depleted, and decidedly "meh," it is not necessarily a signal of God's withdrawal or displeasure. Could it be, instead, an invitation? An invitation to cease relying on our own resources, our own emotional equilibrium, and to depend utterly on His all-sufficient grace? Our very weakness, paradoxically, can become the arena where Christ’s resurrection power chooses to reside and demonstrate its reality. Faith, in these moments, is the stubborn trust in God's promise even when our bodies ache, our minds race, and our emotions lie dormant.

 

To allow God to "tabernacle" among us, like the first tabernacle, isn't about working ourselves up through self-imposed emotional experiences. It's about returning to God's word and His promise. He dwells where He's promised to dwell. So return to the word, the prayer, to the community where we hear the word, recall your baptism, take the Lord's Supper. God has attached his promise to all of these things.

 

When our feelings falter, his promise remains secure.

 

In Jesus' name,

Judah