The Discipline of Disillusionment

''But we trusted that it had been he'' (Luke 24:21)

   How deeply does disillusionment dash to pieces our equilibrium of spirit and our expectation of heart! We all have suffered its sting. Our high hopes, like gallant galleons have sailed afar, and returned not at all, or at best, battered and broken. Our dreams, like high-blown cumulus clouds reaching to the very heavens, have vanished into thin air. We had been confident beyond the slightest contradiction that the consummation of our heart's cry would be contentment; but contrariwise, there came crisis, chaos, and confusion of face. Like the disciples, we had built our life's expectations in the sunshine of Galilee, where crowds had applauded and multitudes had been fed; but there came Gethsemane's shadows, Golgotha's sorrow, and the Garden's silent tomb. Disillusionment, deep, dismal, disintegrating!

   What assurance had we that the results of our obedience and sacrifice would be happy? For that matter, what assurance had the disciples? They had left fishing net and counting table, father and

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mother, household and goods to follow One Who had called with ineffable tenderness, Who spoke as none other, with authority and yet with gentleness, Who fed the hungry and stilled the sea, Who announced a kingdom and its principles, Who provided for every need. Obviously they were sure that He was the Messiah, the Anointed of God, and had built all their life around Him. But now He was dead, dead, and buried, three days ago! Their Messaiah, dead; of course they were disillusioned.

   Is not that the case with us as far as others are concerned, and to all appearances also at times with the Saviour as well? He became our Saviour from the penalty and power of sin when we received Him as our own, and the Lord of our life. Our Galilee with Him was marked by miracles of grace and guidance, goodness and glory. Samaria saw its service to others, Cana its comradeship, Bethany its blessings, the Temple its teachings; but there came also the shade of olive trees in Gethsemane, the Tree of Calvary, and the Tomb. It seemed that He had failed us, forsaken us forever. Our hearts said mutely, ''We trusted it had been he.''

   The same situation is true as relating to others. Their love had filled our hearts with laughter, their devotion had been our delight, their thoughtfulness had thrilled us, their presence was protection to us, and their person peace. Then came the forgetting, the failure, the forsaking; all to our fear and fainting of heart. Because they were human they were subject to frailty, even with the best of intentions;

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and because we are human, we suffered because of their failure. Without them life had neither meaning nor motivation, love nor laughter. We were disillusioned.

   To face fully the fearful fact of utter loss is the first phase of the discipline of disillusionment. Nothing remains. The Emmaus road, with its disheartened and disillusioned disciples seems ever to have been the portion of God's children all down the ages; yet happy are they who learn its deep discipline.

   Abraham learned it on the slopes and summit of Moriah. Isaac, the son of promise, had come at long last into his home and had filled his heart with laughter. Babyhood and childhood had sped by; and Isaac had come to the strength and promise of youth when suddenly there came the heavy shadow of sorrow and loss. The lad was to die; and for Abraham there lay beyond Moriah's summit only the valley of weeping and of withered hopes.

   Ruth learned it in the land of Moab. Life had been lovely for her: the homeland, then a stranger from Bethlehem, the courtship, the dreams, the wedding, the new home, the bright vista of a long road together, the love that delights and deepens with the years. But death had rudely dissolved her dreams into dismay; and she stood alone, with aching heart, despairing, disillusioned.

   The disciples learned it at the Mount called Calvary. They had believed Jesus of Nazareth to be ''a prophet mighty in deed and word before God

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and all the people,'' but the chief priests and rulers had delivered Him to be condemned to death and had crucified Him (Luke 24:19, 20). Therefore, they added with inexpressible sorrow, ''But we trusted that it had been he which should have redeemed Israel: and beside all this, today is the third day since these things were done'' (vs. 21). ''Trusted,'' not ''trusting,'' for all hope was gone.

   How could they see beyond the Crucifixion to give credence to women's stories about angels and an empty tomb; how could Abraham see beyond Moriah, or Ruth beyond Moab; or we beyond our vale of emptiness and weeping? Disillusionment, deep and final, has become our common lot.

   To find that God's hard word is not His last word, that ''weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning'' (Ps. 30:5), is the second phase of the discipline of disillusionment. No careless pruner He, Who spoils the vine; no diffedent refiner of silver. For loss He would give us fruit, for dross, silver; far beyond our fondest fancy.

   For Abraham on Moriah there was not only the restoration of Isaac, but also the promise, ''By myself have I sworn, saith the Lord, for because thou hast done this thing, and hast not withheld thy son, thine only son: That in blessing I will bless thee . . .'' (Gen. 22:16).

   For Ruth there was not only Boaz, little Obed, and a home in Bethlehem, but also beyond them, David and the Bethlehem Babe, the Saviour Himself after His humanity. The lonely, sorrowing

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daughter of Moab became an ancestress of the Messiah!

   For the disciples there was not only the exposition of the Word on the way to Emmaus so that their hearts burned within them (Luke 24:27, 32), there was also the opening of their eyes to see in reality it was the Lord Himself that walked with them, broke bread in their home. Not only an open Bible, with fulfilled promises, but also a Risen Saviour, the Lord of Life, ever to be present with them, more real and wonderful than He had been even in Galilee!

   And for us, in our despair and disillusionment, what provision does He make? Restoration of lost hopes and loved ones like Isaac, with larger promises and deeper acquaintance with Jehovah-jireh, the Lord Who provides; perhaps new blessings, undreamed in our night of sorrow, like Boaz and Obed and the Babe of Bethlehem; perhaps the burning of heart because of His Word and the breaking of bread with us day by day in life's pilgrimage.

   Disillusionment, designed by the Most High for our good, leads to delight, indescribable and enduring. It is a searching discipline of the soul. It leads to sorrow, suffering, silence and solitude, to the apparently utter loss of the Cross; but beyond that Cross it leads to everlasting gain and good, in time and in eternity. Therefore, let us follow Him fearlessly, obediently, trustingly, until disillusionment is dissolved by delight.

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Your Place

Is your place a small place?

Tend it with care!—

He set you there.

Is your place a large place?

Guard it with care!—

He set you there.

What'er your place, it is

Not yours alone, but His

Who set you there.

                                          —John Oxenham

*From BEES IN AMBER by John Oxenham. Used by permission of the publishers, American Tract Society, New York.

Chapter Twenty-six  ||  Table of Contents