The Discipline of Desolation
''I am withered like grass. But thou, O Lord, shalt endure forever'' (Ps. 102:11, 12).
The heart can be so disillusioned and desolate that it is inarticulate. There were moments in the life of David, the sweet singer of Israel, when he could say of himself, ''I was dumb with silence, I held my peace, even from good; and my sorrow was stirred . . . . But I, as a deaf man, heard not; and I was as a dumb man that openeth not his mouth'' (Ps. 39:2; 38:13). At other hours of desolation and distress the heart can be described itself, sometimes in the depth and beauty of meter turned to a minor strain. It was under such circumstances that David composed Psalm 102 by inspiration of God's Spirit.
Hear his heartfelt and humble complaint, with many comparisons to portray his feelings: ''My days are consumed like smoke, and my bones are burned as an hearth. My heart is smitten, and withered like grass . . . I am like a pelican of the wilderness: I am like an owl of the desert. I . . . am as a sparrow alone upon the housetop . . . . My days are like a shadow that declineth; and I am withered like
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grass'' (vss. 3-7, 11). Like smoke, grass, pelican, owl, sparrow alone; how desolate can become the human soul!
''My heart is smitten and withered like grass''! and idly does the smoke drift from the chimney or camp fire. Purposely and passionless it floats away, to be dissolved into thin air, and leaving behind burnt embers and bitter ashes. Thus can our days be consumed when the heart is desolate; passing without purpose, drifting without direction, fading without feeling for us, leaving only burnt hopes and bitter heartaches. Consumed like smoke!
''My bones are burned as an hearth''! A hearth is the symbol of hospitality and hope, with blaze that beckons and heat that heartens, with warmth that welcomes and grate that gladdens. But when the hearth is cold and cheerless, with no friendly flame within nor flaming friend alongside, how deep the desolation. Burned into the blackness of despair; ashes gray with anguish, cruelly cold with fire unkindled, worthless without warmth of home or hearty friendship. Thus is the heart of the desolate. Burned as an hearth!
''My heart is smitten and withered like grass!'' There was a day when the grass was green and new, a delight to man and to beast. How pleasant to the eye of man, how refreshing and restful to his spirit, is the green grass. What a reminder it can be to him of God's goodness and mercy, as the poet sang,
''This glad green earth, this blue above
May tell the wonders of Thy love.''
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In its spring-time beauty and freshness the grass is like the young heart: green, good, glad and a joy to others and to itself. But the grass can become scorched and withered, under summer sun and desolating drought; until it is a symbol of sadness rather than of gladness, of blasted dreams rather than of dreamy blessing, of days that are past forever rather than of promise that is future. Thus is the desolate heart: withered even unto seeming insensibility, yellow even unto seeming uselessness, laid low in languor and listlessness, dry and no longer a delight to any. Withered like grass!
''I am like a pelican of the wilderness''! What a picture of dreariness and desolation: a wilderness, wide and waste, a land of weariness and woe, without habitation or inhabitant except for a lone pelican. His very appearance is pathetic, to say nothing of his best posture and lowly position. No companions, no resting place, no song, no pleasures nor prospects, only solitude and silence. Thus can be the desolate heart: like a pelican in the wilderness!
''I am like an owl of the desert!'' The wilderness is weariness enough, and a wasteland; but the desert is utter desolation. Shifting sand under pitiless sun, great rocks and deep gorges, dry watercourses that disfigure the landscape rather than make it a delight, far horizons that hold no prospect for better days except the cruelly maddening mirage that beckons, then bewilders into blinding tears when it turns into nothingness, that is the desert. No lilt of laughter from little children nor light of lover's eye,
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no friendly fireside nor faithful friends and family, no sight that gladdens nor song that strengthens; only an owl, distant, drab, dreary, doleful. Thus is the desolate heart, like an owl of the desert!
''As a sparrow alone upon the housetop''! The house is symbolical of home and hospitality, hearth and warm hearts, love and laughter, shelter and security; but not the housetop. It faces the unfriendly elements, the extreme heat of summer and bitter cold of winter, the driving rain and the drifting snow, the lightning's flash and the cold starlight, the thunder's roll and the wind's moan. The housetop is outside the house, and is no habitation for the helpless soul, not even for the homeless sparrow. Thus is the desolate heart, outside the habitation of the happy, exposed to pitiless circumstances that sadden the soul already sorrowful and solitary. As a sparrow alone on the housetop!
''Like a shadow that declineth''! The sunshine can be cheery and challenging; but the shadow, cheerless, chill, changeful, chastening. To be sure, the shadow can symbolize the shelter that strengthens, as sang Solomon, ''I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste'' (Song of Solomon 2:3); but it frequently is the figure of the fearsome and fearful, as David's word, ''The valley of the shadow of death'' (Ps. 23:4). Steadily although almost imperceptibly, sternly and without hindrance or delay, the shadow lengthens and deepens across life's pathway, and leaves us apprehensive, even anxious about the tomorrows,
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if there be any. Thus are the days of the desolate heart: drab, dreary, darkening, despairing, like a shadow that declineth!
The desolation of the heart: its silence like the drifting smoke, its bitterness like a burnt hearth, its woeful position like that of a pelican in the wilderness, its doleful outcry like that of a desert owl, its hopeless solitude like that of a sparrow on the housetop, its dreaded sorrow like a shadow that declines; all is summarized in the repeated description of despair, ''I am withered as grass'' (vs. 11) Burned by pitiless sun, blasted by persistent drought, withered into a weary wasteland of utter futility and frustration, without future of usefulness to God or man. Thus is the heart, withered like grass!
''But thou, O Lord, shalt endure forever!'' What a difference is brought into life by the little conjunction ''but''. The whole course of life can be altered by it. The awakened sinner sees his own autobiography in Paul's description of the natural heart of man, and recognizes that all are ''by nature the children of wrath, even as others''; and then he reads on, ''but God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us'' (Eph. 2:3, 4). We the children of wrath, but God rich in mercy who provides salvation from the penalty of sin! Of the Lord Jesus Christ Paul declared at Antioch, ''They took him down from the tree, and laid him in a sepulchre. But God raised him from the dead'' (Acts 13:29, 30). About David it was written,
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''And Saul sought him every day, but God delivered him into his hand'' (I Sam. 23:14). Saul in his strength and anger, but God!
Thus it is with the desolate heart: utterly withered, but God; and thereby life, with its emptiness and futility becomes filled with eternal realities. Companions and comforts may be consumed like smoke, but the Saviour remains, the Compassionate Christ; and in Him we have more than enough, for time and for eternity. Heart may be like a hearth, with gray ashes and dead embers, but He gives ''beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness'' (Isa. 61:3). Heart may be withered as grass, but because of Him, ''the wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad . . . and the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose'' (Isa. 35:1). ''He turneth the wilderness into a standing water, and dry ground into water-springs. And there he maketh the hungry to dwell'' (Ps. 107:35, 36). Withered like grass; but God!
God will arise, and have mercy upon us (Ps. 102:13). There comes the moment of His help (vs. 13). ''He will regard the prayer of the destitute, and not despise their prayer'' (vs. 17). He looks from heaven to see our need (vss. 19-21). Although all else perishes, He endures; for He is the same, Whose years have no end (vss. 25-27). All may fail, but God, never!
But God! But God! What strength there is for those whose days are as smoke; what blessing to those whose bones are burned as an hearth; what
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wisdom to those whose heart is withered like grass; what perseverance to those who are as pelicans in the wilderness; what delight to those who otherwise are dismal as desert owls; what shelter to those who sit as sparrows alone in the housetop; what assurance to those whose days decline as a shadow; all because He, the Strong One, remains.
This is the discipline of desolation: to see one's days as declining shadows, one's strength as smoke, one's hopes as a burned hearth, one's prospects as a pelican in the pitiless wilderness, one's social needs as a sparrow alone; and to believe, ''But thou, O Lord, shalt endure forever!'' To fail in this discipline is to be utterly disconsolate and destitute; to find its truth is to have our daily delight and defense in Him Who suffers not His faithfulness to fail.
They took them all away—my toys—
Not one was left;
They set me here, shorn, stripped of
humblest joys,
Anguished, bereft.
I wondered why. The years have flown.
Unto my hand
Cling weaker, sadder ones who walk alone—
I understand.
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In Temptation
Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly,
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high!
Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,
Till the storm of life is past,
Safe into the haven guide,
O receive my soul at last!
Other refuge have I none;
Hangs my helpless soul on Thee;
Leave ah! leave me not alone,
Still support and comfort me!
All my trust on Thee is stay'd,
All my help from Thee I bring:
Cover my defenseless head
With the shadow of Thy wing!
Wilt Thou not regard my call?
Wilt Thou not accept my prayer?
Lo! I sink, I faint, I fall!
Lo! on Thee I cast my care!
Reach me out Thy gracious hand!
While I of Thy strength receive,
Hoping against hope I stand,
Dying, and behold I live!
—Charles Wesley.
Chapter Fifteen || Table of Contents