A preacher I sat under as a child used to say that perhaps the greatest cross in our lives is when we are misunderstood. That preacher also said that we don't have the Holy Ghost's perspective on something until we can laugh about it.
I was misunderstood once. "Faithful are the wounds of a friend. [Pro. 27.6]" I repeated this to myself over and over, all the while wondering resentfully where exactly the faithfulness came in. "Let the righteous smite me; it shall be a kindness: and let him reprove me; it shall be an excellent oil, which shall not break my head... [Ps. 141.5]" So I told myself, while clutching what felt like a broken head and wondering with what right this person should be considered among the righteous, after such a nasty mess.
It took months, years... a long time of slowly working through it to get to the real crux of the matter.
"There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother. [Pro. 18.24]" A friend, not many friends. While Damian and I fondly quote that to each other to describe our own relationship, we are both aware that there is only one Friend who will never fall short. This is the Friend who wounded me. Another friend, with what he thinks are the best of intentions, can wound out of the corruption of his own heart; but the wounds of this Friend are always, faithfully, for our good.
Only when this Friend smites me, is it a kindness. Only when He reproves, is it an anointing oil. I have been rebuked by those who not only had no authority over me, but were entirely wrong in their assessment of the situation; and I have been rebuked by those who were truly speaking the Holy Spirit's wisdom to me. But in every case, it is the Lord Himself who allows the rebuff, and it is He, not man, who is the teacher -- and He is not always teaching the same lesson the human agent thought I needed to learn.
Moffat translates the latter half of Ps. 141.5 as, "I would pray ever to have their [the righteous'] goodwill." Why do I need to desire the goodwill of believers? So I asked myself as I pondered that verse in my pain of rejection and betrayal. That, however, is the wrong question. What I should be desiring is the goodwill of the only One Who is righteous, for without His goodwill, I cannot stand in His presence. It is this righteous Friend who smites me. "There is none righteous, no, not one [Rom. 3.10]" except the King of Glory Himself, and no blow can fall that is not sanctioned by His will. The NKJV translates, "...let my head not refuse it." Indeed, let me not refuse that anointing oil of rebuke from the King Himself, for it is His good opinion I desire, and no one else's. And His judgment is always redemptive. He does not expose except to correct the source of the problem.
Damian once told me that Cain's ultimate downfall was not that he brought fruit to the altar. It was not that he killed his brother. It was not even that he lied about it to God when He brought it up. By refusing to respect Cain's sacrifice, God was placing His finger on something in Cain that needed to be dealt with. The problem was that, instead of welcoming the redemptive judgment of the Lord -- for He never exposes sin without offering the antidote for it, therefore His judgment is always redemptive -- Cain became angry and his "countenance fell" (Gen. 4.5).
That is so often what we do when we feel the finger of the Lord touching something in us. Instead of saying, "Lord, what is it that you are showing me?" we try to bite the finger. We get angry. When I was so terribly misunderstood, that is exactly what I did. I got angry. My rights had been violated, and I was incredibly hurt. It was a long time before I understood that it was the Lord I was angry with. He had allowed this undeserved wrong, and in so doing He was putting His finger on something in me that I did not want shown up. It is funny how what comes to light often has little to do with the obvious circumstances. But we don't even have to know what it is in us that requires the purifying heat from the finger of God. What matters is how we respond to the finger.
The only appropriate response is to open ourselves up to His searching, that He may make us acceptable in His sight. If Cain had done that, there would have been no murder. Even if He had done it belatedly -- if, instead of saying, "My punishment is greater than I can bear, [Gen. 4.13]" he had said, "I know that this whole thing started because I did not want to hear what you had to say about my heart..." -- I believe that the end of the story would have been very different.
But opening ourselves up to that faithful Friend requires humility. Cora Harris MacIlravy, in the third chapter of her wonderful, out-of-print exposition of the Song of Solomon, Christ and His Bride (which I was amazed to find transcribed on the web), speaks of some of the chambers into which the King brings us. In order to go on at all with the Lord, we must enter the chamber of Humility. The door of this chamber is very small and low, and to enter it we must stoop and crawl. No one wants to do that. We will try to find any other way before we will lie down and creep on our bellies into that place of humility. There are times when I have asked the Lord to humble me, and in response He, in His mercy, has knocked me to my hands and knees in front of this door. But it's a peculiar thing that it is not enough to grovel in the dust outside the door. We actually have to crawl through it.
This is what seemed so impossible to Cain. It is what I wanted to refuse to do so long ago when my Friend afflicted me through the hand of someone else I thought was a friend. Like Cain, when God warned him that to open the door to sin would mean that "unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him [Gen. 4.7]," I want to hoard my sin away, to protect it from the exposing Light of the Word. Only recently I found myself on my knees once again in front of that ubiquitous door, angry with the Friend who had afflicted me and crouching protectively over the secret places of my domain. I knew that I was going nowhere until I released my right to rule over myself and, clinging to the feet of my true King, began to crawl on my belly through that doorway.
This is the cross. The servant is not above his lord. [Ma. 10.24] Our Lord was misunderstood. He was wounded by those who called themselves His friends. He was rebuked and reviled by those who had not the smallest claim over Him. Why are we always so astonished when we are asked to stoop down in the dust and follow our Forerunner as He takes His cross upon His bleeding back and stoops down to enter through a door impossibly low? Why are we so indignant when someone misunderstands us, when not one person on this earth grasped what our Lord was really about? "It is good for me that I have been afflicted; that I might learn thy statutes. [Ps. 119.71]"
When, through the enabling power of the blood of the Lamb, we finally stoop to enter, we discover that the place of Humility is one of the loveliest of all the chambers in the King's house. There we find the Holy Ghost's perspective. There we find laughter. There we find the Cross.
Your hands made me and formed me;
give me understanding to learn your commands.
May those who fear you rejoice
when they see me,
for I have put my hope in your word.
I know, O LORD, that your laws are righteous,
and in faithfulness You have afflicted me.
May your unfailing love be my comfort,
according to your promise
to your servant.
Let your compassion come to me
that I may live,
for your law is my delight.
May the arrogant be put to shame
for wronging me without cause;
but I will meditate on your precepts...
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