Scripture can be found here…
We’re coming in on the middle of a conversation this morning… a one-sided conversation, that is. Except for the letter to the Romans, every epistle we have from Paul was written to a community he founded, a church he planted. But he didn’t plant this one, and so Paul is introducing himself to the church in Rome. He’s doing this because he’s planning to visit them before too long. He sends them a letter—a long one, filled with his deepest thoughts on the gospel.
And just about at the halfway point, it comes up: the question of suffering. Paul has every reason to believe the church in Rome knows something about suffering at the hands of the Roman Empire. In the year 49, the Emperor Claudius tore their community in half when he expelled all the Jews from Rome, including the ones who were Jesus followers. Suddenly, the Roman church consisted only of Gentiles. About five years later, when the next Emperor reversed the order, Jews returned to Rome; but the reunion was an uncomfortable one, marked by division and power struggles.
A community torn apart isn’t easily mended.
So Paul writes to them of the sufferings of the present time… their present time. He knows about the upheaval the community has endured. He knows about ongoing persecution of those who call Jesus “Lord.” He knows there are grave challenges for Jesus people in the heart of a culture whose religion fetishizes their government, in which the Emperor’s titles include “son of god,” and “lord.”
But Paul also knows that suffering is a part of life, that the continuum of suffering is vast, and no one is exempt.
Those of us living nearly two thousand years later probably have a hard time conceiving of what suffering looked like to residents of the Rome in the year 54 CE. We’re more in touch with the suffering of our present day.
We are witnesses to the suffering of those whose lives are impacted by COVID-19, from medical personnel and essential workers to those who become ill themselves, members of our own community.
We are witnesses to the suffering of those whose lives do not seem to matter when they are killed because of the color of their skin, or the way they express their gender.
We are witnesses to the suffering of those who experience injury, or illness, or heartbreak.
We are witnesses to the suffering of those who are out of work, or out of money, or both, and who have no earthly idea how long that will last.
We are witnesses to the suffering of those who are separated from those they love.
We are witnesses to the suffering of those who grieve.
We are witnesses to suffering that sometimes goes unnoticed… Disconnection. Isolation. Loneliness.
And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
So what are we to make of Paul’s statement? “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us.”
What is Paul saying here? Is suffering meaningless? Is it evidence of an indifferent, or even absent God? Is it not worth considering at all?
Well no. Not when your God knows what it is to suffer. Which is, after all, exactly what Jesus came to show us: A God willing to suffer with us, and suffer for us.
Placed within the context of a suffering savior, suffering no longer looks like screaming into a void. It looks more like childbirth.
That Paul. He surprises us sometimes. People like to pull scare-quotes out of context, and tell us that Paul hates women. But Paul uses images from childbirth and mothering to talk about the love of God, the beautiful outrageousness of hope, and, yes, the salvation, not only of human souls, but of the whole world, the whole creation!
Suffering is only one piece of the story. It’s something we experience. It’s real. And it can be agonizing. But it isn’t who we are. We are children of God, an identity far more substantial than any suffering we endure.
We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now, Paul says. Because we’re a part of that creation, we’ve been groaning and laboring too. But we are children of God.
I used to puzzle about Paul’s use of the term “adoption,” until I paused long enough to think of my own story.
My parents told my brother and me that we were adopted from the time we were born—it was something we always knew. And it was something good. Supposedly, they day they brought me home from the hospital, they placed me in my brother’s arms, and he looked at me and said, “You sweet adopted thing.” Adoption meant they wanted us. Adoption meant they had to work hard to get us—they fought for us. Adoption meant a choice to love us, fiercely. Adoption meant a commitment to being family, forever.
That’s what Paul is trying to get across to his audience in the church at Rome. God’s love for us is the kind of love that means we are wanted; that means God will fight for us; that means God makes the choice to love us fiercely, to hold us close, forever.
By that understanding of who we are, our sufferings become our participation in something wondrous being born. Our groaning will give way to gasps of delight. Our pain will give way to glory as we are given a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, a mantle of praise instead of discouragement.
And so we are also witnesses to hope.
We are witnesses to acts of selflessness in those who care for the sick, who provide essential services, and who work to keep communities functioning in the midst of fear and danger.
We are witnesses to those who stake their lives on the truth that all people are equally God’s precious children, equally deserving of the right to live in peace.
We are witnesses to those who answer God’s call to love and serve and care for others.
We are witnesses to the creativity of those who have had to learn new skills, find new paths, and create new lives, for themselves, for their families, and for their communities.
We are witnesses to the deep commitment and love of those who teach.
We are witnesses to those committed to provide for the safety and well-being of all people, regardless of race, religion, sexual orientation, gender expression, nation of origin, or native language.
We are witnesses to small, simple acts of kindness.
We are witnesses to astonishing, audacious hope.
This is the heart of the gospel Paul is seeking to share with the church in Rome. We are God’s children. And God’s love for us can never be shaken.
Thanks be to God. Amen.