Why Are You Downcast?

Introduction: Too Close to Where We Got In

A mother tucked her little boy in bed. She kissed him goodnight, pulled up the covers, and went downstairs.

Not long after, she heard a loud thump and then crying. She hurried upstairs and found him on the floor.

“What happened?” she asked.

Through tears he answered, “I fell out of bed.”

“Well, how did that happen?”

He sniffled and said, “I guess I stayed too near to where I got in.”

Now friends, isn’t that the story of many Christians? We come to Jesus, we begin well, we have that first joy and excitement—but we stay too close to where we got in. We never grow. We never move deeper. And so we fall.

So let me ask you a personal question: How different is your walk with the Lord today than the day you first believed?

Do you love Him more now? Is your joy stronger, your peace deeper, your walk more secure? Or … are you still teetering near the edge of the bed?

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Section 1: Easier to Start Than to Stay

I once asked a group of married couples a simple question:

“Which is easier—to get married or to stay married?”

Almost every couple laughed. And they said the same thing: “It’s easier to get married!”

And then I asked, “Do you love your spouse more now than you did on the wedding day?”

And again, almost every couple said, “Oh, much more now!”

Now here comes the zinger. If you loved each other at the start, and your love is greater now than ever before—why is it harder to stay married than it was to get married?

That’s usually when the room goes quiet.

And it’s the same spiritually.

Which is easier—to become a Christian, or to stay a Christian?

Do you love Jesus more now than when you first gave Him your heart?

If His love for you is the same yesterday, today, and forever … and if your love for Him is greater than when you started … then why is it harder to stay?

It’s not that Jesus has changed. It’s not that His grace has worn thin. The problem is that we drift. We grow comfortable. We get complacent. We stay too near to where we got in.

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Section 2: When the Soul Is Downcast

Psalm 42 says it twice:

“Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? Hope thou in God, for I shall yet praise Him.”

That’s the cry of a discouraged believer. The psalmist was weighed down, troubled, attacked by enemies, discouraged in spirit.

And haven’t we been there? Sleepless nights, worry in the pit of your stomach, feeling like God is far away?

But notice: the psalmist doesn’t talk to God here—he talks to himself. He preaches to his own heart:

“Why are you cast down, soul? Why are you discouraged? Don’t forget God. Don’t forget His promises. Hope in God, for I will yet praise Him!”

That’s what discouragement is, brothers and sisters—it’s forgetting God. It’s unbelief. It’s listening to the enemy instead of standing on God’s promises.

A discouraged Christian is poor advertising for the Gospel. Because if we say Jesus saves, if we say God provides, if we say His peace passes understanding, then why do we live as if He doesn’t?

Now don’t misunderstand—believers do get discouraged. But we don’t have to stay there. The cure for discouragement is to remind ourselves: Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him.

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Section 3: A Cold Church and a Fiery Saint

Let me tell you about a little gray-haired saint who moved to town. She loved Jesus with all her heart, but she didn’t know what kind of church she had wandered into.

It was a modern church—everything done decently, in order, predictably, and … (pause) … cold.

The service was routine. Hymns were mumbled, prayers were formal, saints were dozing. The preacher droned on and on.

But this little saint, she wasn’t used to cold religion. Somewhere in that sermon, the preacher said something that blessed her heart, and she couldn’t hold it in.

She shouted: “Hallelujah! Thank You, Jesus!”

The saints sat bolt upright. The preacher lost his place. The whole service went into shock.

Well, she came back the next week. Same thing happened.

Finally, the church board called a meeting. “Pastor, we’ve got to stop this woman. She’s ruining our services!”

The pastor said, “Don’t worry. Next week I’ll preach a sermon so dull, so dreary, so hopeless, she won’t find anything to shout about.”

So the next Sunday, he explained away every miracle in the Bible. He said the Red Sea wasn’t really a sea, just a marsh. The Israelites crossed in ankle-deep water.