The Discipline of Disdain
''Is not this the carpenter?'' (Mark 6:3)
These quiet and inconspicuous words do not convey the caustic and causeless criticism contained therein. It was in no complimentary sense that our Lord's fellow countrymen spoke of their neighbor in Nazareth as the ''carpenter''; rather it was in consummate and contemptuous disdain that they thus depicted Him. They knew Him as a carpenter; ''From whence hath this man these things? and what wisdom is this which is given unto him, that even such mighty works are wrought by his hands?'' (6:2) was their query. A carpenter, indeed!
The discipline of disdain tries our mettle as do few searchings of the soul. We may be able to defy intrigue, to disregard innuendo, to deny insinuation; but we find it difficult to endure invective. We dislike to be despised. We cringe at contumely; we become quarrelsome when under contempt.
David and his greater Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, illustrate admirably the discipline of disdain. David met the test many times; and his reactions were not
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identical in each case. The differences may be accounted for by the occasion or the personalities involved, or possibly by the age at which he endured the discipline. Like him, we all face the cutting contempt that quickens the pulse and kindles the spirit, and by the same token creates the opportunity to show a quiet and Christlike calm.
David defied the disdain of the giant (I Sam. 17:41-46). He had come from the solitude of the sheephold, from the struggle with the lion and bear. He was an inconspicuous nobody, unknown and unheralded, with no reputation to maintain nor reward to gain. ''And when the Philistine looked about, and saw David, he disdained him: for he was but a youth, and ruddy, and of a fair countenance'' (vs. 42). A good-looking, red-headed farmer boy to fight a man of war! A shepherd boy with a staff and slingshot! Jesse's baby with a bag of five stones from the brook! A beardless, barefoot boy to battle with the biggest man in the land! Obviously Goliath could grunt, ''Am I a dog, that thou comest to me with staves?'' (vs. 43).
The reply to ridicule was a statement of reliance upon God, with no regard for self interest nor reaction to insult: ''Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield, but I come to thee in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied'' (vs. 45). No fear for the ferocity of the Philistine, no care for his cursing, no concern for his contempt. David knew intuitively the saying we learned as
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children, ''Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.'' Disregard for despising, disinclination to defend self, dependence upon divine aid, this is the discipline of disdain. The heart that can take it walks off with the head of the giant; the spirit that is sweet takes the sword of the swaggering; the trusting bring triumph to many others. Out of disdain comes distinction to him that endures its discipline.
David nearly succumbed to the cynical disdain of Nabal (I Sam. 25:2-13). The aristocrat could say with arrogance, ''Who is David? and who is the son of Jesse? there be many servants nowadays that break away every man from his master'' (vs. 10). Who is David, the benefactor, the protector, the anointed of the Lord, but a runaway slave, a renegade, a fugitive from justice as far as Nabal was concerned? That is justice for you, gratitude for David's thoughtfulness, appreciation for his solicitude. Just a runaway nobody!
For once David lost his temper. Nabal had been protected by his men, and had now come to sheep-shearing time (corresponding in our day to the clipping of coupons, with fleeced folks then as now); and he had berated his own benefactor. To David there was just one solution for such base gratitude: ''Gird ye on every man his sword'' (vs. 13). David, who had been unmoved by the unjustified jealousy of Saul or the contemptuous cursing of Goliath, could not suffer the sneer of a crusty old sheepherder
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Who is David? He carries a burnished sword and a burning heart.
But God, who is rich in mercy, met the embittered David in the person of Abigail (vs. 23-31). She had hastened to restrain his hand from impetuous vengeance. She strengthened his spirit that was sulking before sneering. She depicted the discipline of disdain: regard not this man (vs. 25), forgive any trespass (vs. 28), you are the Lord's own and are doing His service (vs. 28), you have proved yourself patient under other provocation (vs. 28, 29), there will come a day when God's plan is fulfilled in your life; and oh! that in that day ''This shall be no grief unto thee, nor offense of heart'' (vs. 31).
Would that we might remember in the fire of the injury and the fury of the insult that it is foolish to answer the fool according to his own folly. Therein we become ''like unto him'' (Prov. 26:4). The fool passes away, his foolishness fades, his sneers cease. By disregarding his disdain and doing our own duty we are masters of ourselves and mindful of tomorrow. David's son could say, ''He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city'' (Prov. 16:32). Yielding to disdain can destroy us; disdaining to yield can delight us.
David met the disdain of Michal (II Sam. 6:20-23). It had been for him a day of gladness: the songs, the sacrifices, the shouting, the sound of the trumpet, the portions to all his people, and above
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all, the ark of God! ''Then David returned to bless his household'' (vs. 20). With what radiance and rejoicing he returned. He wanted them to share the blessings of the day. Perhaps he was overly exuberant, unduly excited. Perhaps he needed some restraint in his rejoicing. A smile of approval would have pleased him, a word of kindness would have cautioned him, a note of gratitude to God would have gladdened his heart; instead, there was the measured and miserable meanness of Michal's mimicry, ''How glorious was the king of Israel today!'' (vs. 20).
It was the same old disdain all over again; Goliath's ''Am I a dog?'' or Nabal's ''Who is David?'' But this time it went deeper into the heart of David. Nothing harms like the hurt by one's household, the barb of one's brother, the sarcasm of one's sister, the withering blast by one's wife. From her of all persons David needed sympathy, shelter, assurance, love expressed in ''a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price'' (I Pet. 3:4). Instead, he was greeted with studied cynicism and stinging sarcasm. What did it avail to David that for that very day he had composed, by the inspiration of God's Spirit, a portion of Psalm 105 (I Chron. 16:7), in which he had sung God's mighty deeds, His holy name, His covenant with Abraham, His guidance for Israel, the beauty of holiness? What could it mean to David to sing ''O give thanks unto the Lord; for he is good; for his mercy endureth forever'' (I Chron. 16:34) when all the while
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Michal at home ''despised him in her heart'' (15:29)?
The studied scorn of despising, the stinging thorn of disdaining, what a discipline! To sink before its scorching heat is to be in despair; to go onward, even with blistered and bleeding heart is to be disciplined in graciousness and gentleness. One has to imagine the tone of voice in which David made reply to his tormentor, saying, ''It was before the Lord'' (II Sam. 6:21). Maybe there was anger in the word; rather, I think, it manifested a wounded spirit that committed all to God.
David's greater Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, knew above all others the deep discipline of disdain. Was there ever a heart as tender as His, or a hand as helpful? He went everywhere doing good unto all, and in that ministry of mercy He came to His native village of Nazareth (Mark 6:1-6). There also He offered to be helpful with words of wisdom and healing touch. His efforts were ineffectual, for his hearers would none of Him; rather, ''they were offended at him'' (vs. 3). They summed up their scorn in their caustic query, ''Is not this the carpenter?' (vs. 3). To them He was a carpenter, not the Christ; the son of Joseph, not Jesus the Lord. And who can measure the depth of wound caused by the contempt of countrymen and kinsfolk, the known and loved whom He would fain help?
It is the same age-old attitude:
''Am I a dog?''
''Who is David?''
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''Is not this the carpenter?''
Disdain that damages or destroys—unless we determine to dominate our spirit, and to follow in the footsteps of the Saviour. He could reply with gentleness of spirit, ''A prophet is not without honor, but in his own country, and among his own kin, and in his own house'' (vs. 4). No censure nor sarcasm in return—only civility and sweetness. He did what good He was allowed by their antagonism, but no mighty deed (vs. 5). Their unbelief filled Him with astonishment; but He went onward (vs. 6). There were others to help, the hungry, the helpless, the heartsick in other villages.
That is enduring the discipline of disdain: no harsh reply, no self-justification, no rendering evil for evil. Rather it is by gentleness, goodness, graciousness under provocation, that we prove ourselves true apprentices of the Master Carpenter.
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In The Hospital
I lay me down to sleep with little thought or care
Whether my waking find me here—or there?
A bowing, burdened head, only too glad to rest,
Unquestioning upon a loving breast.
My good right hand forgets her cunning now;
To march the weary march I know not how.
I am not eager, bold, nor strong—all that is past!
I am willing not to do, at last, at last!
My half-day's work is done, and this all my part:
I give a patient God, my patient heart;
And grasp His banner still, though all the blue be
dim;
The stripes, no less than stars lead after Him.
—Mary Woolsey Howland.
Chapter Twenty-four || Table of Contents