Now David was deeply troubled because his men talked of stoning him; but he strengthened himself in the Lord (1 Sam. 30:6).

Therefore, I will gladly boast all the more of my weaknesses (2 Cor. 12:9).

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Last time we met, the conclusion to our introduction was to ask if we are prepared for a surrender of our lives – and especially the places where we think ourselves, or want ourselves to be strong – to a trusting reliance on God’s strength. Now, as an introduction to our conclusion, let’s go back to contemplating how it is that David earned the moniker, “man after God’s own heart.” And, since David is one of those egregious sinners, just as we are, ask how we can appropriate his “secrets” for our own lives.

What stands out to me as of primary importance is that David’s faith – and thus his strength – are inseparably linked to his being an intimate worshipper of God. The more David trusts, the more he worships. The more David worships, the more he trusts. The quality of his relationship with the Lord is most evident in the 73 Psalms that he wrote. These are songs of praise, conviction, doubt, hope, faith, and love. They articulate a full range of emotion in the midst of every circumstance imaginable. They are, even when those emotions make us uncomfortable, acts of worship. How can David’s bare-hearted, full-voiced outcries pass muster at the throne of the King of kings?

The first thing to point out is David’s focus on God’s glory. At the beginning of his reign, David is keen to find a resting-place for the Ark of God. He was zealous to lead Israel into understanding and experiencing the Lord’s greatness in all of its manifestations. So many of David’s Psalms are declarations and remembrances of God’s attributes and actions. There is a sense of wonder at divine majesty and providence. In recalling the Lord’s character and works – especially the many times that God delivered him personally or Israel collectively – David became ever more aware of the power that is able to sustain, comfort, and establish him. Rehearsing the mighty deeds of the Lord connected David to the continuity of God’s glory and made him a man of hope, which is one of the greatest sources of strength that a disciple can draw from.

Just as importantly, David knew that revealing and promoting the glory of God was impossible without fearing the Lord and growing in the consequent obedience to his word. Everyone – even those who do not claim a biblical faith – loves the idea of a good and gracious God. But only thinking of the Lord in this way (whether we believe in him or not) can conveniently blind us to his sovereignty, judgment, and moral perfection. In doing so, we end up with a lot of sentimentality, and a concentration on fear, shame, or anxiety – rather than sin – as our worst enemies.

I have recently reflected on how much reverence is missing from our lives. This is partly a healthy recalibration of our consciences: We have cast off various caricatures of God – demanding, quick to retaliate against the smallest wrong, slow to forgive, abounding in wrath. And yet, without fear and trembling, we actually denigrate grace and condemn ourselves to figuring out righteousness for ourselves. How many times do we declare the Father as merciful and, at the same time, rather doubt that he really is so? I think David found that fear/love balance that builds intimacy with the unrivaled Sovereign who is also Father. David’s life, and his life’s best work, demonstrate a simple truth: Worship is what arises from realizing that the Holy One who could – and has the right to – terminate us for cause has instead become our closest friend and highest joy,

Because David recognizes the Lord as both all-powerful and all-good, he is not afraid of expressing his dependence. Perhaps the greatest number of Psalms are those that seek God for his intervention. Freedom from sin, from his enemies, from sickness – all are needs that David expects the Lord to care for. The best of these cries for help occur when David has entered serious offenses mode. Whether it’s after his adultery/murder/cover up triad or in response to God’s chastisement over the ill-advised census-taking fiasco (2 Sam. 24), David adopts an entirely un-defensive, no excuses approach to his guilt.

The litany of repentance and forgiveness par excellence is, of course, Psalms 51. The opening words are all we (and God) need to hear in order to know that this is a plea that will end well. “Have mercy on me, O Lord, according to your steadfast love.” David’s demeanor is one of submission, and of a true accounting of who he is and what he has done. God alone can cure his congenital sickness, his inherited weakness. David’s confession draws the attention of divine grace and healing. It also is an open door into the Lord’s gifts of strength and calling. It is a beautiful asymmetry: David brought his utter poverty before God’s throne; God equipped and released him to be a teacher, a worshipper, and an intercessor. In short, David’s humility and contrition make him the king that God intended him to be.

David goes further and adds meekness to humility. Over and over again, he allows the Lord to determine his purpose and destiny. The two examples of this that immediately come to mind are his double opportunities to do away with Saul and his response to his son Absalom’s evicting him from Jerusalem. As an absolute monarch, David would certainly have felt justified in taking advantage of his power to dispatch his enemies and detractors. Why let Saul or Shimei, Abner or Mepheiboseth live when they have so transgressed every legal, social, and political boundary in place? But David forebears (not always perfectly, but we can’t hold that against him). His attitudes and actions of trusting God’s wisdom dealt heavy blows against the bitterness and resentment that tempt us when people and events conspire to thwart our wills.

It is readily apparent that meekness, humility, and worship are more than tangentially related. They make up a kind of trinity of postures toward the God who is both absolutely sovereign and consummately good. These characteristics help compose a portrait of David as a free man: free to abandon himself to worship; to own his sin and unrestrainedly receive and offer forgiveness; to trust in the Lord without wavering. A free man, and a man of real strength. A man who lives the reality of Paul’s very unattractive, counter-intuitive statement that in times of great trial, he would “all the more happily boast of his weaknesses.” A life that foreshadows that of Jesus, the Lamb led to an unjust death in the most stark, complete display of helplessness in history.

What does David’s example mean for us? I know that I like the idea of being strong, but not so much “in the Lord.” I just spent a good deal of time this summer working around our new home. The digging, hauling, planting, grunting, and straining induce lots of endorphin production. I’m not such a big fan of the twinges and discomforts, of course. My pride disdains the I-am-weak, God-is-strong exchange. I see that there are sometimes severe challenges associated with a quick, humble acquiescence in the reality of my sin. I want strength, but not on Kingdom terms.

The end result is that God can’t be God for me, and – unlike the Apostle – when I am weak, then I am … weak. It’s not that I don’t believe that the Lord is willing or able to be strong. For me, it’s almost entirely a matter of self-reliance: I prefer my own “strength” to his. That isn’t always the case, since some of us are not convinced of God’s desire to be strong for us, or even of his attributes of greatness and power. But what does it matter where and how we struggle? In the end, it’s always a trust deficit that waylays us and keeps our weakness from being overcome by the Lord’s strength.

Where do we go from here? We begin by acknowledging what we – and everyone around us – knows: we are weak. In this, we are quite normal. The evidence is readily available in our encounters with temptation, in our relationships, in our service and ministry. From there, it is a matter of recognizing that we need faith to bring about trust. I know I’m weak; do I believe that the Lord is not only strong, but willing to be strong in and for me? From faith comes the grace to surrender. We offer the broken vessel and invite the potter to mend it as he sees fit.

The Lord will, without question, receive our offering. And, as he did with David, will build in us a house for his own glory.