David

The Discipline of Disgrace

The only wisdom we can hope to acquire
is the wisdom of humility; humility is endless.

— T.S. Eliot

    Just about the time I think I've got it all together, some unsightly emotional display, some inappropriate reaction, some other embarrassing behavior blows my cover and I have that horrible experience of being found out. It's humiliating!

    But humiliation is good for the soul. Through it God deals with our self-admiration and pride. Without it we could never make the most of our lives.

    The trouble with us is that we want to be tremendously important. It's a terrible trait, the essential vice, the utmost evil. It's the sin that turned the devil into the demon he became.

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    Obscurity and humility, on the other hand, release God's greatness. It is the basis of our life with God and our usefulness in this world. Thomas à Kempis wrote, "The more humble a man is in himself, and the more subject unto God; so much more prudent shall he be in all his affairs, and enjoy greater peace and quietness of heart."

    Because ambition and pride is the center of our resistance to God and the source of so much unhappiness, "God opposes the proud" (James 4:6); he brings us to our knees, where He can then begin to do something with us.

    Here's another story about David and how God worked through the most humiliating experience of his life:

David fled from Saul and went to Achish king of Gath. But the servants of Achish said to him, "Isn't this David, the king of the land? Isn't he the one they sing about in their dances: 'Saul has slain his thousands, and David his tens of thousands'?"

    David took these words to heart and was very much afraid of Achish king of Gath. So he pretended to be insane in their presence; and while he was in their hands he acted like a madman, making marks on the doors of the gate and letting saliva run down his beard.

    Achish said to his servants, "Look at the man! He is insane! Why bring him to me? Am I so short of madmen that you have to bring this fellow here to carry on like this in front of me? Must this [mad] man come into my house?"

    David [then] left Gath and escaped to the cave of Adullam (1 Samuel 21:10-22:1).

    David fled south from Nob — with Saul in hot pursuit — and he made his way across the Judean hills and through the Valley of Elah where a few years before he had engaged Goliath in combat.

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    Ten miles away, further down the valley, lay Gath. Gath was one of the five cities of the Philistines (Gaza, Ashdod, Ashkelon, Ekron, Gath), all located on or near the southern coast of Palestine in the region now known as the Gaza Strip. It was the city from which Goliath had been sent out to the Valley of Elah to challenge Israel. It was to Gath — the home of his enemies — that David now turned for shelter from Saul.

    I don't know what possessed David to flee to Gath. Perhaps he thought he wouldn't be recognized, since this was several years after his encounter with Goliath, and he had grown to manhood. Perhaps he disguised himself in some way. But David was instantly recognized, and his presence was reported to king Achish of Gath: "Isn't this David, the king of the land? Isn't he the one they sing about in their dances: 'Saul has slain his thousands, and David his tens of thousands'?"

    The phrase "they sing" could be translated, "they still sing," suggesting a popular tune. David's fame was celebrated everywhere — even in Philistia.

    You have to understand the implications of this song. David had slain his ten thousands of Philistines; his fame had been established at the expense of bereaved Philistine women and children. Here was an opportunity to take vengeance.

    Furthermore, he was considered "the king of the land [of Israel]." It's doubtful that the Philistines knew of David's divine election and secret anointing, but they must have thought of David as the defacto king of Israel.

    By some means David became aware that he had been found out, and that he was facing imprisonment and death, so David lost his nerve (see Psalm 34 and 56). Motivated by sheer terror, David pretended to go mad, foaming at the mouth and scrawling crazy slogans on the walls.

    According to the title of Psalm 56 the Philistines "seized him" and brought him to Achish, who dismissed him with the

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contemptuous remark: "Behold, you see a madman! Why have you brought him to me? Am I lacking madmen that you have brought this to ply his madness against me? Must this come into my house?"

    The word translated "mad man" (21:15), used three times by Achish, suggests something other than insanity. The word in other Near Eastern languages means "highly aggressive" — violent and dangerous — which gives added force to the king's remark: ". . . you have brought this to ply his madness [ravings] against me?" Achish was afraid of David. The title to Psalm 34 supplies the conclusion of the matter: Achish "drove him away," out of his court and out of town — David, run out of town on a rail, utterly humiliated. David, the tough guy, the hero of Israel, the man they celebrated in song and dance had wimped out in the face of physical danger and made an utter fool of himself.

    With no place else to go, unwelcome in both Israel and Philistia, David fled into a labyrinth of broken ridges and rimrock about three miles from Gath and crept into a cave.

    The cavern in which he found refuge was called the Cave of Adullum (Adullam means refuge). It can't be located with certainty, but the traditional site is a dark vault located on a shelf at the top of a near-perpendicular cliff. In that dark place — humiliated, crushed, alone — he wrote Psalm 34 and Psalm 56. He was at his nadir.

    In that dark place David cried out to God: "This poor [humiliated] man called, and the LORD heard him." There he learned that "The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit" (34:6, 18). Lord Byron wrote from Reading Jail, "How else but through a broken heart can Lord Christ enter in?"

    Furthermore, David learned to boast in the Lord rather than in his own ability (34:2). Through shame and disgrace he became a more modest man — one whom God could shape and use.

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The wisdom of humility

    Pride is the seat of all unrighteousness and unpleasantness. It's what separates us from God and from one another. That's why God must oppose it.

    God has many ways to bring us to our knees, but the best way is through humiliation. He brings us to the place where we see how utterly depraved we are. When we've been thoroughly shamed and broken, then God can do something with us.

    John Newton knew:

I asked the Lord that I may grow
in faith and love and every grace.
Might more of his salvation know;
and seek more earnestly his face.

'Twas He who taught me thus to pray,
and He I trust has answered prayer,
But it has been in such a way
as almost drove me to despair.

I thought that in some favored hour,
at once He'd answer my request,
And by His love's transforming power,
Subdue my sins and give me rest.

Instead of that He made me see
the hidden evils of my heart,
And bade the angry powers of hell
assault my soul in every part.

Nay, more, with His hand He seemed
intent to aggravate my woe,
Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,
blasted my gourds, and laid me low.

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"Lord, why this?" I trembling cried.
"Wilt Thou pursue this worm to death?"
"This is the way," the Lord replied,
"I answer prayer for grace and faith."

"These inward trials I employ
from sin and self to set thee free,
And cross they schemes of earthly joy
that thou might find thy all in Me."

    Our humiliations are not cruel accidents. They are handed to us by a gracious, kindly Father. He exposes our depravity so he can bring it to an end. Our dishonor takes us to the place where we glory in our weakness rather than in our perceived strength.

    The unwise decision that wipes out our business, the thoughtless remark that makes us look like a fool, the shameful outburst that flames our face, the moral failure that impairs our reputation — these are God's gifts to us. By the time they have reached us they have been filtered through his goodness and mercy. It is the will of a Father and Friend whose wisdom and love are infinite.

    God's intentions are always good. He has no other motive than love. He lets us humiliate ourselves, not to ruin us, but to lift us up higher than we've ever been before (1 Peter 5:6).

    The author of Hebrews has this to say,

"My son, do not make light of the Lord's discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines those he loves, and he punishes everyone he accepts as a son."

    Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as sons. For what son is not disciplined by his father? If you are not disciplined (and everyone undergoes

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discipline), then you are illegitimate children and not true sons. Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the Father of our spirits and live! Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it (12:5-11).

    Humiliation is not punishment. Jesus took that chastisement on the cross (Isaiah 53:5). There is now no condemnation (Romans 6:1). Nor does our humbling arise out of God's frustration and anger. No, he disciplines us for our good, to produce a harvest of holiness and humility. "Where grows the golden grain?" Maltbie Babcock asks, "In a furrow cut by pain."

    Our response to humiliation is the test of our understanding of God's heart. Do we resist his loving discipline? Do we become resentful at it? Do we try to hide ourselves and our shame? Or are we "trained" by it? Do we see the affection behind the hand that humbles us; do we accept the burning shame and let it make us what God wants us to be?

He said, "I will crowd action upon action,
The strife of faction
Shall stir me and sustain;
O tears that drown the fire of manhood cease."
But vain the word: vain, vain;
Not in endeavor lieth peace.

He said, "I will withdraw me and be quiet;
Why meddle in life's riot?
Shut be my door to pain.

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Desire, thou dost fool me, thou shall cease."
But vain the word: vain, vain;
Not in aloofness lieth peace.

He said, "I will submit; I am defeated,
God hath depleted
My life of its richest gain.
O futile murmurings, why will ye not cease?"
But vain the word: vain, vain;
Not in submission lieth peace.

He said, "I will accept the breaking sorrow
Which God tomorrow
Will to his son explain."
Then did the turmoil deep within him cease.
Not vain the word: vain, vain;
For in acceptance lieth peace.

    - Amy Carmichael

Dying to ourselves

    William Law wrote, "Accept every [humiliation] with both your hands as a true opportunity and blessed occasion for dying to self and entering into a fuller fellowship with your self-denying, suffering Savior. Look at no inward or outward trouble with any other view. Reject every other thought about it. And then every bitterness will become the blessed day of your prosperity."

    "Dying to self," as Law said, is the issue. Everything comes down to our readiness to die. Until we're willing to put to death our need to be prominent and important we will never amount to anything. Jesus said, "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me" (Luke 9:23).

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    The cross in Roman times was designed for one purpose only — for dying. It had no other use. It has no other use today. It is the place where we put to death our pride and presumption and quietly humble ourselves under the mighty hand of God. "Not my will, but yours be done."

    Cross-bearing is accepting humiliation and living with it while it bides its time. Rome's prisoners fought and struggled with their executioners. They refused to mount their crosses until they were lashed into submission. It must not be true of us. We must quietly and humbly accept the place where we're stretched out to die. "In acceptance lieth peace."

    It is in proportion as we see God's will in our humiliation and surrender ourselves to bear it that we will begin to find earth's bitterness sweet and its hard lessons easy. The secret is acceptance — saying yes to God as he permits those events that bring about our humbling. It is his will that we are in this hard place; in that will we must rest. We must accept what he has permitted and let it work in us what he has willed.

    George MacDonald wrote of his own dishonor, "I learned that it is better . . . for a proud man to fall and be humbled than to hold up his head in pride and fancied innocence. I learned that he that will be a hero will barely be a man. He who has been humbled is sure of his manhood."

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