SORROW - Glenn Conjurske
SORROW
by Glenn Conjurske
Sorrow is like fire, very useful and beneficial in the proper place and amount, but a great destroyer otherwise. Sorrow may cure a man, and it may kill him. “The sorrow of the world worketh death.” (II Cor. 7:10). “Worketh death”—-that is, produces it, brings it about. Jacob speaks of his gray hairs being “brought down with sorrow to the grave” (Gen. 42:38), and Paul speaks of a man being “swallowed up with overmuch sorrow” (II Cor. 2:7). Too much sorrow is dangerous, and may be deadly.
On the other side, “Godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation, not to be repented of.” (II Cor. 7:10). “Sorrow is better than laughter, for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better.” (Eccl. 7:3). In its proper place and measure, sorrow is a very valuable thing. It is one of the primary tools which God uses to correct people, to soften the heart and make it better.
And not only does God himself inflict sorrow upon people in order to secure their good, but he has also given the same power into the hands of men. Indeed, all men possess this power by nature. Men often abuse this power, using it unkindly or maliciously, injuring for the sake of injuring, and adding insult to that. And even where no unkindness is intended, how carelessly and thoughtlessly men inflict sorrow upon one another. How lightly they dole out large dosages of it, for good purpose, or ill purpose, or no purpose, without ever giving a thought to doing unto others as they would have others do unto themselves.
The power to cause sorrow, which all of us hold in our hands, may be used for either good or ill. It is like the knife of the surgeon. If used with care, and with skill, it may save a man from death or disability, where nothing else could save him. But if used carelessly, or by an incompetent hand, it may hasten the very death it seeks to prevent. And there is always a risk of death or damage, whenever the surgeon’s knife is used, even though it be with care and skill.
So it is with sorrow. Paul knew the necessity of inflicting sorrow to correct the erring, but he also knew the danger of it. He used it therefore reluctantly, even where serious correction was called for. There were serious difficulties between Paul and the Corinthians. He had previously determined to visit them in his way to Macedonia, but changed his mind. Upon this he was accused of using lightness, and of speaking yea and acting nay—-for faults are thick where love is thin. But Paul’s reason for not going to Corinth was that he was unwilling to inflict upon them the sorrow which their state called for. He writes therefore to them, “Moreover, I call God for a record upon my soul, that to spare you I came not as yet unto Corinth.” (II Cor. 1:23). But alas, instead of correcting their fault, they made a fault of his forbearance, and were the more puffed up.
Paul therefore wrote to them, knowing that his letter would inflict sorrow. Yet after the letter was sent, he repented of sending it, saying, “For though I made you sorry with a letter, I do not repent, though I did repent: for I perceive that the same epistle hath made you sorry, though it were but for a season. Now I rejoice, not that ye were made sorry, but that ye sorrowed to repentance. For ye were made sorry after a godly manner, that ye might receive damage by us in nothing.” (II Cor. 7:8-9). Paul feared that the sorrow he had inflicted upon them would do damage, instead of the good which he had intended. He knew well that it was necessary to “make them sorry,” but he was also aware of the danger involved in doing so. Ah! how many souls are discouraged, swallowed up, driven back, by well-meaning but incompetent reprovers.
Now in the light of all of these things, it is evident that great care ought to be used in the infliction of sorrow. And there are two things which will secure that care. The first of them is wisdom. Therefore we read, “If a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual restore such an one.” (Gal. 6:l). God does not entrust this business to babes and novices. They will very likely, with intemperate zeal for what they think is righteousness, treat a minor offense as a great crime, deal with the offender accordingly, and swallow him up with overmuch sorrow. “He that is spiritual,” on the other hand, “discerns all things.” (I Cor. 2:15). He is not likely to treat a minor offense as a great crime, nor burn the house to kill the rats.
The second thing necessary to secure the needed care in inflicting pain is love, and a little bit of love may be worth more than a great deal even of wisdom. In the first place, love will be tenderly solicitous to inflict no more pain than the case requires. As the hymn says of the Father’s chastening of his children:
“Should we think it pleased such a loving heart
For to cause us a moment’s pain?
‘Tis not so, but that through the present cross
He should see an eternal gain.
So He waited there with a watchful eye,
And a love that is strong and sure;
And His gold did not suffer a bit more heat
Than was needed to make it pure.”1
Love inflicts no more pain than it must, and beyond this, the tenderness with which a loving heart administers the pain, and the known love from which it proceeds, will cause a little of such sorrow to soften the heart more than a great deal of it would do otherwise. The absence of love, of course, will work the contrary effect. A little of bitterness in the spirit of the corrector, a little of irritation against the offender, a little of unfairness in the reproof, a little of a condemning spirit—-these will inflict sorrow enough, but such sorrow as will be more likely to harden the heart than to soften it.
Glenn Conjurske