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At a busy stoplight I watched a plump, round lady pull a shopping cart across the street, moving way too slowly for impatient motorists who began honking as soon as the light turned green.  Her mismatched clothes, worn out shoes, and a cart piled high with personal items identified her as poor if not homeless.  She walked with an odd gait that rocked her round body back and forth. As she moved past my car I could see her lame leg and her face, as she glanced nervously at her waiting audience.

One by one cars pulled out as she passed. I got stuck through another round of red lights so watched her progress as she finally reached the other side, and never looked back.  I could see her rocking gait struggle up a short hill, then disappear over the crest—into oblivion, as far I knew.  Poor lame thing, I muttered and felt pity.  I vowed to say a prayer for her – and then, in a flash of revelation, I saw myself.

I’m a lame person.  I walk with a limp in areas of my life that are weak and make me falter when I want to run, and fail when I wish I could succeed—and sin, when I want to be holy.  We all walk with a limp, and most of the time, we just don’t know what to do about it, so we pretend it’s not true, or hide it, or numb the pain.

David, the shepherd boy turned King of Israel, is described in the Bible as “a man after God’s own heart.”  He was tormented in life by Saul, the king who preceded him and felt threatened by David’s popularity and anointing.  But David was also loved like a brother by Jonathan, his best friend and Saul’s son.  Saul and Jonathan were both killed in battle—leaving David a clear path to the throne.

When I read this story and what follows, I understand why God loved David’s heart so much.  David was a real person, who wasn’t afraid to take on pain and suffering when it was handed to him —his own and others’.

David mourned the deaths of these two men who played such significant roles in his life.  “Oh how the mighty have fallen,” he lamented.  He wrote a song to express his sorrow  (2 Samuel 1:17-27), and led the nation in grieving.  While many other politicians or kings would have relished the doing away of their political rivals, David recognized the loss in his life.  Saul had been used to shape and mold him into a man who learned to walk in faith, and to trust God when there was no one else to turn to.  Jonathan taught him human, unconditional, brotherly love.

David did not run from the pain.  He embraced it.  He allowed himself to grieve, to cry, privately and publicly—something our culture is not good at.  We are a culture that is good at avoiding pain, and trying to get over it and move on.  David did not run from the pain.  He acknowledged his loss and allowed the darkness, the heartache, and the sorrow to embrace his soul.  David wrote about his grief, lived with it, and through his psalms teaches us to do the same.  We are made in the image and likeness of God, and God grieves.  Jesus was a man acquainted with deep grief and sorrow.

If we live our whole lives trying to avoid pain, neglect pain, hide pain, medicate away pain, numb pain—then we’ve lost the purpose for which we are here during this tiny dash between the dates of our births and deaths.  Pain gives us the unique opportunity for the heart of God to be impressed into our hearts.  Pain tenderizes our hearts toward others who are broken and lame—and helps us recognize our own lameness and need.  As C.S. Lewis said, "[Pain] removes the veil; it plants the flag of truth within the fortress of a rebel soul" (The Problem of Pain, pg. 94).

David also acted on his grief.  Typically, most ancient kings destroyed their rivals, killing all potential heirs to the throne, and annihilating political enemies.  It was expected and few would have blamed David if he had done so.  But David was different.  God’s heart was impressed upon his.

He began asking around.  “Is there anyone left of the house of Saul?”  Jonathan’s son, Mephisbosheth, a young man lame since childhood, still lived, hiding away somewhere, no doubt fearful of David should he ever be found.  David commanded a servant to find Jonathan’s son, and when the two finally met, Mephisbosheth fell on his face, and prostrated himself.

“Do not fear,” David said to the young man, “for I will surely show you kindness for Jonathan your father’s sake, and will restore to you all the land of Saul your grandfather, and you shall eat bread at my table continually” (2 Samuel 9:7).

Mephisbosheth and his servants must have been astounded.  David was now recognized as the king—he literally had a right to everything that belonged to Saul and Jonathan, and could do with it as he pleased.  What he said to Mephisbosheth is not just a nice gesture but extremely significant.  He not only showed mercy to Mephisbosheth but also restored to him all of his father’s land.  By inviting him to “eat at my table continually” he virtually adopted Jonathan’s son, who “was lame in both his feet.”

Mephisbosheth’s response reflects his surprise:  “What is your servant, that you should look upon such a dead dog as I?” In the politics of the time, Mephisbosheth figured his chances of surviving David were about as good as a dead dog’s!

I can almost picture David picking up Mephisbosheth, the son of his beloved friend, and carrying him to his table, promising him a place to dwell and to be cared for, for the rest of his life.  David had loved Jonathan, and wanted to honor him by honoring his surviving son.

Isn’t that how the Lord is with us?  He is the king – He can do whatever He wants with us, and with this world in which we live.  But He loves us, and when we belong to His Son Jesus, He honors us, for the sake of His Son.  He takes our lame lives, and carries us to His banqueting table, where His banner over us is love, and His mercies endure forever, and we are adopted into His family to be cared for and loved forever.

We are all lame and walk with a limp.

I think back on that round, lame gaited woman struggling to cross a busy street and in my memory, I see her differently now.  Not someone I can look at with pity —and thank God it’s not me or my life.  I remember seeing groceries, some toys and other clothes in her basket and realize now she probably has children to provide for.  I see her now as valiant – someone superior to me. I live in relative comfort yet in my own way, am just as poor and lame.  And I pray for God to bless her, to give her some comfort, some peace, and something that will let her know she is loved.

Sincerely,
 Pastor Ray
To comment on this article, please contact us at:  media@maranathachapel.org

You can hear the message Pastor Ray taught on this subject on October 1, HERE