| The Discipline of Trust | | Print | |
 In the Kwong language of Chad, Africa, we render the Biblical notion of trust with a little phrase, since no single word exists for the purpose. The phrase, loosely rendered is “giving one’s self for safekeeping in God’s hands.” As in English, this little Kwong phrase is loaded with all kinds of assumptions: that someone or some situation threatens one’s wellbeing; that one’s own strength, wisdom, or resources are not adequate to the threat at hand; and finally, that while God is presumably both able and favorably disposed to handle the situation for our good, it is not at all obvious how or when or even if such divine aid might be forthcoming. That is when the discipline of trust steps in and turns every natural reflex on it head. The whole notion of trust was developed in the Old Testament in a grand way. Israel, like the Kwong, was subject to the vicissitudes of the weather and was in constant contact with hostile tribes all around. A significant part of her allegiance to Yahweh boiled down to a question: could he and would he provide rain for their crops and protection from her enemies. It was a question they had to answer every day of every year. Insofar as they answered the question in the affirmative, they practiced trust. Insofar as they were swept away in a tsunami of worry and care, they failed miserably at it. They had to, as Martin Lloyd-Jones was fond of saying, “preach to themselves” each morning that notwithstanding all appearances to the contrary God was good, wise, and all-powerful. And the habit of answering such a persistent, unrelenting question in the affirmative becomes by its very nature a discipline. Such is the nature of trust. Well do I remember a time some 15 years ago when as a single guy, alone at my home deep in the African bush, it seemed as though all hell was assaulting my mind with every intention of destroying me. Trust, in any normal sense of the word (let alone preaching to myself) was impossible. All that was possible was a miniscule, feeble, but ever so sincere gasp that the Lord God of heaven and earth was still “for” me, however black things might be. Never before, nor since, has such pure, unalloyed trust escaped from the depths of my being. Now I am married, and my wife Diane is endowed with the musical gene I sadly lack. Among her considerable contributions to the development of the Kwong church is a short song she wrote using the native tonal system. It is based on Psalm 53:3-4, and has become a favorite for a people stalked daily by danger, hunger, disease, and death. It might just as well have been Israel’s song, or my song in those dark days. It expresses perfectly the calm that comes from the discipline of trust: When I am afraid, I will trust in you.(M. Vanderkooi)
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