Divine Pity's Startling Character

Of all the interactions inherent in human nature, few are as generally unwelcome as pity.  Quite often, the one receiving the pity perceives (or at least presumes) some sort of falseness in the one giving the pity:  it is a forced compassion, and therefore unwelcome.  At other times, the pity is all too genuine, but is obstructed from its intent when it collides full-force with human pride:  "I am hardly one who requires pity, least of all from the likes of you.  I will get this matter sorted out on my own, or do you regard your own assistance as so indispensible?" 

Such is the lot of human pity, for better or worse, but what of God's pity?  Both the Old and New Testament provide pictures of divine pity for our consideration.  If we examine the typical objections to pity mentioned above, we see that the first objection is wholly without merit:  an omnipresent, omnipotent God is above mistake, and an unchangingly holy God never dissembles.  If He dispenses compassion, it is markedly deserved.

The second objection, however, is unabashedly true - it surely raises the hackles of human pride (although it is folly to voice this as an objection of any sort; amen?).  Interestingly, if I seek to dole out compassion where I feel it due, but am held apart by pride in the one whom I seek to pity, I may well endeavor to assuage the pride which now crouches in my path:  "Of course I know you do not need my help; I merely thought to encourage you.  It would, as you see, be doing me a favor, were you to allow me this opportunity to deal you some small kindness."  God, however, never works to leave pride undisturbed; He never seeks to mask His intents against it, and He does nothing to appease human dignity. 

It is as if the human says, "Do you suppose I need your help in this matter?", and so forth, and God replies, "Yes, you absolutely need My help in this matter, as in all matters.  You need it just as certainly as you do not deserve it."  You see that God will not suffer His compassion to work alongside unchecked human pride.  This much is clear from Jeremiah 13:14-15:  "'I will dash them against each other, both the fathers and the sons together,' declares the Lord. 'I will not show pity nor be sorry nor have compassion so as not to destroy them.'  Listen and give heed, do not be haughty, for the Lord has spoken."  Cling to your pride, then, and God will surely cling to His pity as well.  Cling to your pride and be prepared to trade it for devastation (cf. Judges 2:18).

Someone now says, "This is not the manner in which pity works.  One cannot place conditions upon pity!"  Of course we may.  We do so all the time.  I can offer any measure of pity, but if it is scorned, I withdraw it.  What good does any other course do?  And how much more will this be the case with a God who immovably and zealously abhors human pride in its many serpentine forms? 

Divine compassion is in divine keeping, to a degree that escapes a lot of humans.  Many people cannot help it; pity gushes forth from them at every apparent injustice.  They are like open barrels on the deck of a pitching vessel - they are easily moved about, and every movement will cause them to spill.  God, however, is quite judicious with his pity, and is never governed by it.  He says, "I will have compassion on whom I have compassion." (Rom. 9:15b)

Hold a moment, Josh.  Do you mean to say that He can simply switch His pity off and on at any moment?  Yes, indeed.  It can be no other way, if He is Master of Himself.  As all of us are, apart from God, subject to all the wondrous and terrifying force of His wrath, the marvel is not that He is able to stifle pity, for we deserve none.  The truly wonderful fact is that God has so perfect and infinite a measure of steadfast, selfless love that, in spite of our abominable misuse of God's gifts, He is able to summon pity as He sovereignly desires, a compassion so genuine, indeed so heartfelt, that it assures divine blessing to those who will but humble themselves before Him.  His sovereign pity does not, then, call His love into question, but rather proves it in glorious abundance!

The Ruthlessness of Prayer

On November 15, 1864, some 62,000 Federal troops departed the still-smoldering city of Atlanta under the brilliant and collected generalship of W.T. Sherman.  Year's end would see this force having won to Savannah, leaving in its wake a scene of immeasurable devastation some 300 miles long and 40 miles wide.  Their mission was complete - they had driven to the ocean, effectively taking or destroying anything which the South might employ in its rebellion against the North.  The railroads were smashed, the cattle harnessed, the field pieces taken, the cotton burned.  Many miles behind its tenacious soldiers and exceptional generals, the Confederate war effort lay in ruins.

In a way, we are all of us Sherman in Atlanta - everyone who has been saved by the precious blood of Christ is engrossed in a brutal conflict, albeit one that is won or lost in the human heart.  We are consumed in a constant clash between the godliness which our Lord is actively creating within us, and the sinful impulses that foray sharply from the quiet corners of our hearts (Rom. 7:22-23).  This is a battle that must be accorded our fullest measure of sobriety and perseverance, for though a hundred grim specters of temptation may fall upon the Sword of the Spirit, yet there are untold thousands behind them.  The press of battle is always upon us in this world.

It is an irony that the most seasoned and mature Christians you will meet are at once accustomed both to the most gracious gentleness and patience with the rest of humanity, and yet to the quickest and strongest violence against the incursions of temptation and pride within themselves.  In this respect, the gift of prayer becomes either a formidable ally or an exercise in wanton futility. 

Prayer is formidable only if pride is stamped out while the prayer is being made; otherwise, it is pure futility.  Elihu wisely instructed Job, "[God] does not answer [prayers] because of the pride of evil men." (Job 35:12b) The psalmist explains that this is so because the prideful are not actually interested in God at all:  "The wicked, in the haughtiness of his countenance, does not seek Him.  All his thoughts are, 'There is no God.'" (Psalm 10:4)

In other words, pride serves to remove any true regard we have for the Lord in a given moment.  Prayer, then, must be effected in such a way that our pride is devastated to the utmost.  Any tool that pride might grasp in a bid to dominate our hearts must be broken, or else wrested away for the worship that is owed only to the Lord.  We must sift through our hearts as Sherman sifted through the South, not hesitating to smash what merits destruction, and to take back whatever we in our pride have stolen.

Consider the elements of prayer for a moment.  We are called, for instance, to reverent praise of our sovereign Maker, Sustainer, and Savior.  The barest tinge of pride blights our praise by introducing falseness and sin.  This is especially sad, given that prayerful praise is calculated to draw our adoration to its rightful divine recipient - recalling the excellencies of the One to whom we pray should serve to shape the course the entire prayer.  Remember, His character is our lifeline, but we must achieve a purity of heart in our pursuit of His glory!

Another crucial feature of prayer is repentance.  Of course, pride is the bane of true repentance, but we must take care, lest we suppose that the simple desire for repentance indicates an absence of pride.  We can always muddle through repentance simply because we know we should, or we can congratulate ourselves that we so humbly desire repentance that, ironically, the repentance itself is spoiled with pride.  It is also sometimes the case that we freely confess some sins, but not others - pride restrains us from acknowledging certain sins. 

Finally, there is the matter of supplication in prayer.  Pride can certainly spoil this activity, and if such is the case, we must not expect the Lord to respond with pleasure.  If we can unshackle ourselves from pride (say, through humble confession of sin and genuine worship of our Lord), then our requests will be made for His sake, and not ours, and so will work toward His enduring kingdom and glory.  Think a moment, and I am certain that you, like me, will be able to recall certain requests you once made of the Lord that now only induce cringing for their selfishness.  What waste, no? 

It is not unwise to patently assume the presence of pride in our lives - we will usually be correct - and prayer life can serve as good gage of pride.  Do you hesitate to repent to your God?  Do your prayers themselves die in your throat?  Are your praises brief and skin deep?  Then you have but one recourse:  you must go before your worthy God and admit of your prideful indifference, and beg His help once more as you move through your heart with an attitude of ruthless impatience, seeking to stamp out every instance of pride - identify it, confess it, and set yourself against it!  Do this again and yet again until every spark of pride is devastated and the Lord crowds your heart!  This absolute ruthlessness against ourselves must be an indispensible feature of our prayers.