Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our afflictions, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.

-2 Corinthians 1:1-4

Paul’s theology of suffering is so radically different than what I’ve grown up with, to what I’ve become accustomed. Paul links suffering–affliction–with comfort and mercy. That in itself isn’t so unbelievable. But Paul goes much further. For Paul, there is no comfort apart from affliction. The substance of comfort is only experienced in light of suffering.

How can the one who never suffers experience comfort? How does a man who has never felt cold appreciate the warmth of the sun? How does the child who has never wanted for food relish the taste of bread on his tongue? No; obviously, it’s the man freezing, frostbitten, pursued by death that celebrates warmth. It’s the emaciated child who longs for the smallest scrap from the master’s table. This is the heart of a desperate thankfulness and gratitude.

There is simply no comfort outside of affliction. Can God’s character of mercy be displayed outside of a fallen world? Outside a suffering sin-wracked trial?

Yes, there is a day when suffering ends–a day when there are no more tears, no more deaths, no more pains. But is not much of the joy of that to-be the absence of suffering? And absence implies knowledge–the realization that something (suffering) that could be is not. We rejoice and long for a suffering-less day in light of the suffering we now experience.

Our joy will be the end of suffering–the removal of what we now know, the permanent comfort, the everlasting mercy of God’s presence driving back eternally the darkness of our pain and affliction.

In light of these things, though, we do not wait to grasp joy; we find joy in suffering now. Why? Because, first, suffering reveals to us God’s character. We see he is merciful; we see he is the God of comfort. And we cannot see these things apart from suffering. Paul writes this: “…with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” Apart from affliction, there is no comfort by God. We rejoice because suffering causes us to encounter God.

Second, suffering sweetens the promise of Christ’s coming return. It creates a deep and stark contrast between the now and the what-is-coming. It sharpens the anguish and ache in us. It gives us something to sing toward–for which to long and ache. Suffering points to our brokenness, but more, to God’s coming consummation.

He is coming, and something that is very much now–this present suffering–will end.

There is hope, and Christ is that hope.

We know him now not in spite of suffering; or even through and in our suffering. We know him deeply because of our suffering.

Suffering is not enjoyable, but it is a means by which we may joy–knowing God in an intimacy only possible as we see his mercy and cling to his promises.

Come Lord Jesus.

The following is a portion of a series of reflections on the book Instruments in the Redeemer’s Hands by Paul David Tripp. You may also want to read the first, second, and third reflection in this series.

John Calvin famously declared the heart “an idol factory.” There is enormous truth in those words; further, there are implications that are subtle. If the heart is an idol factory, then any attack on idolatry must necessarily attack the heart. Moral conformity, outward behaviorism, even accountability structures and God-oriented systems must be driven and controlled by counseling, reproof, and reorientation of the heart. Tripp, in Instruments, refers to this as change needing to “travel through the pathway of [the] heart” (62).

But there is more to dealing with idolatry than simply treating the heart. A factory produces products; an idol factory produces idols. If the heart is an idol factory, then, it does much more than house or even foster idolatry. Instead, the heart is the source of the idols; it produces the idol that then consumes the man or woman in idolatry.

Biblical treatment of idolatry must look at the heart not just as complicit in sin but as the source of that sin. “Change that ignores the heart will seldom transform the life” (63). Put another way, “people and situations do not determine our behavior; they provide the occasion where our behavior reveals our hearts” (64). What sin has arisen from the heart, and why? That is the inward sin that must be attacked and eradicated to “clean the plate,” using Jesus’ metaphor from Matthew 23:25-26:

“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you clean the outside of the cup and the plate, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. You blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and the plate, that the outside also may be clean.”

The method of attacking this sin is important, and tools and accountability are a critical part of that treatment. However, sin must be recognized as stemming from the heart before any real life change can occur and be sustained.

There is a careful distinction that must be made when the heart is addressed, though. The heart is indeed representative of the inward man, but it is not synonymous with the spirit. While the heart and the soul are often interchangeable, the spirit is a different issue. Here, Tripp over-simplifies: “[the heart] encompasses all the other terms and functions used to describe the inner person (spirit, soul, mind, emotions, will, etc.) These other terms do not describe something different from the heart” (59). This over-simplification is dangerous in its implication.

Sinful natural man has a dead spirit. Ephesians 2:1 declares us dead in trespasses and sin, and is referring to the spirit (see Eph. 2:5; John 6:63; 1 Cor. 15:45). Still, the heart is very much alive, creating idols at will. That heart is called a heart of stone (Ex. 11:19; 36:26), but it is active, unlike the dead, inert, incapable spirit of a man apart from Jesus Christ. The saving work of God quickens that spirit–makes it alive–and weds it with the Spirit of God (again, Eph. 2:1-5 and 1 Cor. 15:45). This living Spirit then has the power to war with our fallen flesh, and even our heart. The Spirit never produces sinful idols, although the heart–even after salvation–does.

We must examine our hearts, then, and always appeal to the Spirit of God that dwells within us. We must appeal to God the Father through Jesus, via the Holy Spirit, and attack the idols our heart produces. We must make war with the inward man, not the outward man.

For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.
…
For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. — Romans 8:20-21, 24-25

Hope in the Biblical sense is a word and concept that has only a passing resemblance to the word “hope” as it’s used in 2010. We hope a check comes in the mail; or that a bill doesn’t. We hope the Saints win the Super Bowl; or that our children stay healthy. Hope for us is a desire in the face of uncertainty.

Biblically, though, hope is different. In Romans 8:20, the creation “was subjected to futility.” In other words, someone subjected–and that word, “subjected,” is connotating authority and intent–creation to futility. There is a purpose and power in view in this subjection. Who is the “him,” then? It takes little exegesis: “he” is the only One outside of creation; the only One with power over creation; the “him” who is God. (Specifically, this is God the Father acting through Jesus the Son, who upholds creation through his existence.)

What does “hope” mean here, then, when God does something–subjects creation to humility–in hope? Is it possible that God hopes for his purposes in the same way we hope for that check or for our team’s success? The question is silly. There is more than just logical supposition to confirm that Biblical hope is different, too. In Romans 8:24 and 25, we are saved in this hope; we wait for this hope; and we do that waiting with patience. If our salvation is real, then hope is real. If our waiting is not in vain, then hope is not merely potential. If we are to be patient, then this hope must be sure.

Scripturally, hope is: the purpose of God not yet consummated; the construct in which our salvation rests; something we wait for with patience because we are confident in its arrival. This last has implications: for God to tell us to wait for something is, by the very nature of God’s truthfulness, to assure that something is coming; or else, God is nothing more than a cosmic tease.

What difference would this understanding of hope make to your personal theology? What difference would it make to mine? What difference would a patient, assured waiting create, in opposition to our timid, unsure, bated-breath clinging to a weak god who cannot bring his purposes to pass?

And now, O Lord, for what do I wait?
My hope is in you. — Psalm 39:7

Why are you cast down, O my soul?
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation and my God. — Psalm 42:5

My soul longs for your salvation;
I hope in your word. — Psalm 119:81

Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. — Romans 12:12

He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again. — 2 Corinthians 1:10

For through the Spirit, by faith, we ourselves eagerly wait for the hope of righteousness. — Galatians 5:5

…but Christ is faithful over God’s house as a son. And we are his house if indeed we hold fast our confidence and our boasting in our hope. — Hebrews 3:6

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading… — 1 Peter 1:3, 4

Then [Jesus] left the crowds and went into the house. And his disciples came to him, saying, “Explain to us the parable of the weeds of the field.” –Mat. 13:36

Jesus is rolling his kingdom parables in Matthew 13. These are some of his first teachings that are are especially confusing. (I think much of the confusion around the sermon on the mount has surfaced looking back toward those words, rather than in the minds of contemporary listeners.) I love that in the face of these new and complex teachings, the disciples say, “Explain to us…” It’s such a simple and profound request, more so in light of 21st century Bible study.

Jesus has already told the disciples it has been given to those disciples to “know the secrets of the kingdom of heaven” (Mat. 13:11). But here, the disciples are walking in that: “Okay, so tell us the secret here!”

I’m struck by this because as Bible students, we have a million resource to which we may make appeals: commentaries, marginal notes in our Bibles, theology email aliases, Logos and Accordance Bible software, professors, etc., etc. It has become impressively easy to dig into an exegesis of Scripture without every saying or praying, “Lord, Explain to me…”

I certainly think there’s a sort of saturation of the Word that has a Christ-facing implication and even foundation. Some might argue that explicitly asking Christ and the Holy Spirit to explain a passage, before studying every text and commentary, is redundant; the choice of the text as being primary and good, God-honoring tools and resources has in a sense been a plea for explanation. Then again, even typing out that argument feels utterly ridiculous; it requires arguing against asking Jesus and the Holy Spirit for help in prayer before coming to the Word that is Jesus (John 1) and is inspired by the Spirit (2 Tim. 3:16).

To be fair, there seems to be another possible extreme: one that so ignores Biblical, Christ-exalting resources that study becomes nothing but a plea to Christ for understanding. However, that approach presumes Christ never provides explanation through the men of his church who have made the same request before, and done the hard work of recording their study from which we might benefit.

It seems clear, then: to study without crying out, “Lord, Spirit, explain to me…” is insisting self-sufficiency. To cry out without a humble willingness to be buttressed by the work of other godly men is foolishness. Happily, there is a Christ-dependent middle ground: study and work based upon a trust in Christ answering an explicit and initial request: “Lord, explain to me [your word].”