“Whoever loves discipline loves knowledge,
but he who hates reproof is stupid.” (Proverbs 12:1, English Standard Version)
“For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.” (Hebrews 12:11, English Standard Version)
We usually think of “loving discipline” as discipline that is motivated by love and done in love. Our take on this phrase emphasizes the source and intentions of the one doing the disciplining. However, Proverbs 12:1 flips the script, and emphasizes that the one who is receiving the discipline needs to love it if that person wants to expand his/her knowledge.
However, I do not love discipline. I think that this is because I often take discipline as criticism and correction as a summary statement about my character. That is not the best way to use such gifts.
Derek Kidner, in his usual terse way, comments, “If you think yourself above criticism, you are not worth it. Cf. verse 15.” I want to be worthy of criticism and discipline, even if they are not exactly the same thing.
I am trying to learn to love discipline. At least, I am trying to learn to love its results. The author of Hebrews, in the second quote that leads off this post, acknowledges that God’s discipline is a pain. Sometimes, it even feels as if God is a pain. However, God’s discipline leads to good results. I try to remember that. God’s discipline is done because God loves us, not to torture us.
When my oldest son was in the second grade, it seemed as if he got in trouble at school or on the school bus every day. The principal and I were on a first-name basis. At the end of the year, my son’s report card came in the mail. It was really good . . . except for behavior.
So, my son and I had a little chat. I was determined to start off positively, so I noted how good almost all of his grades were. “But then, there is behavior,” I said. “What do you think we should do to improve that?” I asked.
When he saw that I was really interested in a response from him, he said, “Well, maybe we could try some loving discipline.”
“Well, that might work I replied.” After all, what we were presently doing was not working. But I wanted to know what “loving discipline” might look like to my son.
His reply was as follows: “We could talk about it, and if there is really something to it, you could say, ‘Don’t do that again.’”
“Do you think that would work?” I responded.
“Well, maybe,” said my son. And then he added, “And we can always go back to torture.”
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