A friend of ours has recently suffered from an attack of deep depression, the second in his eighteen years. He came to see us a few days ago after a long pause. Lauren, who is closer to him, was not at home when he arrived, and thus I felt somewhat awkward asking him about his personal affairs. The British tend to be unusually touchy about such things. When I nevertheless broached the subject, he told me that he had broken down several weeks ago because he had felt that things made no sense and that most people surrounding him were a pain to be with, but that he had no strength to be on his own. When she returned from work, his mother found him in his room, where he had been sobbing for hours. He is now seeing someone and he feels a bit better. For a while I just sat there, unsure how to proceed. Then I told him that the trouble was that he was correct about his assessment of the situation. We had a laugh. That accomplished, I added quietly that it was a miracle that some sensitive, decent, and wise people managed to live well in spite of the fact that things made no sense and that they were surrounded by people who were a pain to be with. Lauren arrived as I was finishing my sermon, and we returned to the beginning of our friend’s story.