‘As a father pities his children, so the Lord pities them that fear Him’ (Psalm 103:13).
In the former part of this Psalm, the Psalmist sang of God's deeds of love, His gifts, His benefits and His acts of kindness. But here he goes deeper into the Divine motive and, therefore, he finds sweeter incentives to devout gratitude. There is a fullness of consolation in the fact that the heart of God is towards His people. He not only dispenses blessings — so does the sun, so do the clouds, so do the fruitful fields — but He takes a warm interest in our welfare and has a feeling towards us of kindly, gentle affection. And that of such intensity that one of the highest forms of earthly love is here used as a figure to set forth the tender mercy of our God towards us. I have always been taught as an axiom in theology that God has no griefs — that He is ‘without parts or passions’ — I think was the definition. But I have often inwardly objected to such statements. They seemed to me so inconsistent with the tone and tenor of Scripture, for He appears to take pleasure in His people and to be ‘grieved’ with their ill manners.
Surely, metaphors that are Inspired must have a meaning that is instructive! If the Father's ‘heart yearns’. If our Lord and Savior is ‘moved with compassion’. And if the Holy Spirit is ‘vexed’, there must be something analogous to what we call emotion, among ourselves, in the acknowledged attributes of the Most High! At least He appears to sympathize with us, so that ‘in all our afflictions He is afflicted’, and He pities us, ‘as a father pities his children.’ ‘That is speaking after the manner of men,’ somebody says. True. And it is exactly the way I do speak. In no other way do I know how to speak! And until I learn to speak after the manner of angels, you must pardon me and accept an apology — not only for my own ignorance of any other tongue than that in which I was born — but also for the incapacity of my hearers to understand any other than human language.
Neither do I know anything, so limited is my intelligence, except after the manner of men. It seems to me that if there is any other manner or means of communicating thoughts and emotions, it must belong to some other being than man. And if it is correct to speak after the manner of men, then be it understood I do speak after that manner, and I am perfectly satisfied that I am able so to speak the truth as shall give a faithful and adequate impression to your minds. There is a feeling which has a measure of pain in it, familiarly known to us as ‘pity’. It is a love which so sympathizes with its objects that, in a manner, it makes itself one with them — and if it should involve suffering, pity shares the pang. If there is any kind of grief in the one that is pitied, he that pities becomes a partaker of that grief.
I believe in a God who can feel. As to Baal and the gods of the heathen, they may be passionless and without emotion, or without anything that is akin to feeling. Not so do I find Jehovah to be described. How did His anger kindle when He gave His people over to the sword and was angry with His inheritance! And how transporting is His love to the daughter of Zion when He rejoices over her with joy! He has a pity, yes, and a sorrow, too, according to this Book. I dismiss, therefore, the theology of the schoolmen — I am quite satisfied with the Divinity that I find in these Scriptures! Believe it then, dear Friends, with all your hearts, that God has kindly feelings towards them that fear Him, such as a father has towards his children!
This is a Truth of God of which I feel jealous and I do not wish to see it toned down. There is a sentiment abroad that sounds plausible and is accepted by many Christian people, that God puts us to much sorrow, wisely and for our good, while His own heart is unaffected or callous to our suffering because He foresees, according to His own purpose, the good that will come out of it. Some kind of analogy might, in that case, be suggested between our gracious God and a skillful surgeon, who cuts and cuts deeply, when he would remove a cancer from the flesh. Or a physician who administers potent drafts of medicine, which, perhaps, cause excruciating pain. The surgeon would be too intent on the success of his operation, or the physician would watch with too much anxiety, the effect of his prescription on the patient to bestow much thought or sympathy on those present sufferings which he confidently anticipates will effect a permanent cure.
So he calmly looks on, intent upon the result in the future, as he ignores, to some extent, the anguish of the passing hour. But I pray you not to think that it is exactly so with God. Of course, in a higher scale, He has all the wisdom of the physician and He views our afflictions that we now endure in the light of that hereafter when He will heal all our diseases, give unto us beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning and the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. Still, He does not steel His heart to the immediate and the present trouble of His people, but, ‘As a father pities his children, so the Lord pities them that fear Him.’
I can understand the surgeon looking at the patient, while causing him acute pain under the operation, with the bravery of a man whose nerves cannot easily be shaken. But the father must leave the room! He cannot bear it. The mother cannot look on — they are carried away with the immediate grief. And so it is with God, albeit that the splendor of His wisdom and His foreknowledge enable Him to see the end as well as the beginning, yet, believe me, like as a father is pitying his children, so the Lord is pitying them that fear Him! For it is in the present tense and carries the idea of continuity — at this very moment He is pitying them that fear Him! Though He knows your trials will work for your good, yet He pities you! Though He knows that there is sin in you, which, perhaps, may require this rough discipline before you are sanctified, yet He pities you!
Though He can hear the music of Heaven — the songs and glees that will ultimately come of your present sighs and grief — yet He still pities those groans and wails of yours, for, ‘He does not afflict willingly nor grieve the children of men.’ In all our distresses and present grief, He takes His share. He pities us as a father pities his children. Let us look at the text, then, believing in its meaning and not frittering it away by saying, ‘That is after the manner of men.’ For again, I say, there is no other manner in which we can speak and no other manner in which God, Himself, can speak if He means us to understand Him.
There is, doubtless, some high and vast meaning which, like the covering cherub, stands high over all, but, for all that, I am but a child and cannot reach it. I am content with what I can reach; satisfied with what is obviously the meaning of this text, ‘As a father pities his children, so the Lord pities them that fear Him.’ Hear it, dear Friends, first, for your encouragement, and hear it, next, for your imitation. Hear it that you may be encouraged! God is not unfeelingly afflicting you, but He is pitying you! Hear it that you may be impelled to go into the world with a like pitying eye. If you ever have to say a rough word in fidelity, or are required to utter a stern rebuke, do it after the manner of your heavenly Father, pitying even if you have to blame, and gently delivering the expostulation which it grieves you to have to deliver at all!
(From a sermon preached in 1882)
