As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust. Psalm 103:13-14 

Paul Frase is one of the biggest people I’ve ever met. His 6’5, 270lb juggernaut frame made him an ideal defensive tackle for the Jacksonville Jaguars. But his son Josh suffered from myotubular-myopathy, a rare disorder that attacks a person’s musculature. Josh was so weak he couldn’t walk or stand but had to remain perpetually prone in a special bed. He couldn’t breathe without a respirator. He even lacked the jaw strength to close his mouth.

I had the privilege of getting to know the Frase family as Josh was a student at the high school where I taught between college and seminary. Paul would often wheel Josh from class to class. When one of his friends would say “hi,” or offer a word of encouragement, Josh would weakly lift a thumbs up. It was impossible not to admire this family. One day as I sat in a parked car in the Publix parking lot, I saw Josh & his father make their way back to their car. I remember how carefully Paul lifted the frail, broken body of his son from his special bed. I remember how he held his son close to his chest and crawled him on all fours into the back of their van before gently securing him.

The image struck me and has stuck with me: a mighty father cradling his helpless child in his great big arms—a father who was not at all ashamed of his son’s frailty but loved and pitied him. Within months, Josh, who was by grace a follower of Jesus Christ, was carried home into the everlasting arms of his Heavenly Father, of whom Paul was just a shadow.

In the gospel, God promises to forgive and free us from our sins by the blood of Christ shed on the cross. And if the good news stopped right there, it would be grace more thrilling than any could understand. But God gives more grace! Christ’s precious blood not only sealed our pardoned but also purchased our adoption as children of God. God doesn’t just make us righteous; he makes us family, coheirs with Christ! That’s why Jesus taught his disciples to call God “Our Father…” (Matt. 6:9). That’s why the indwelling Spirit of God cries on our behalf, “Abba! Father!” (Gal. 4:6).

For years, I’ve searched for a real-life example of a judge who, after pardoning a criminal, legally adopted them into his family. Thus far, I have found nothing. Sometimes the love of God fits no analogy. Nevertheless, the Bible says that if Jesus is your savior by grace through faith, then God is your Father. In one of the most sublime portions of the Westminster Confession of Faith, the Divines enumerated the heavenly privileges of our adoption. Chief among the privileges they included was the Father’s pity (WCF 12).

God’s pity is not some condescending sympathy or the shallow, “bless-your-heart” of a merciless world. God’s pity is His tender compassion towards the children he cherishes. God’s pity is His gracious acknowledgement of our natural disposition, our scars and traumas, our infirmities, limitations, fears, and the directions we are prone to wander.

Isn’t it a wonderful thought, Christian? Though your Father is mighty and awesome, though he holds the swirling cosmos in his hands, he is mindful of you and cares for you with the tender pity of a father (Ps. 8:4). Isn’t it a wonderful thought? As you limp and crawl through “trials of various kinds,” (James 1:2) your heavenly Father looks down on you, His heart swelling with pity. Isn’t it a wonderful thought? That as you cry out to him confessing your weariness, your fear, and your sin, while he may be grieved, he’s not surprised or put to flight. But instead, without dimming the splendor of his holiness, he speaks soothingly to our hearts from Psalm 103:13-14, “I know, my child. I know your frame. I know how frail you are. I am strong enough for both of us. Won’t you let me carry and cleanse you? ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’” 

We have the privilege of God’s pity because none was shown to Jesus. When he cried out, “Let this cup pass from me,” (Matt. 26:39) no way of escape opened to him. As Jesus suffered the merciless wrath of His Father for our sins on the cross he begged, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34). But the Golgotha skies overhead remained as silent as they were dark. Jesus bled and died to purchase this privilege of pity for us as the adopted children of God—a privilege “none but Zion’s children know.”