Romans 8:18-24
I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.
We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has?
Luke 21:25-28
“There will be signs in the sun, moon and stars. On the earth, nations will be in anguish and perplexity at the roaring and tossing of the sea. Men will faint from terror, apprehensive of what is coming on the world, for the heavenly bodies will be shaken. At that time they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory. When these things begin to take place, stand up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”
Many of you will already know this, but in Shakespeare’s The Tempest, Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan, has mastered the liberal arts and the command of spirits. Having been betrayed by his brother Antonio, he lives in exile on an island with his daughter Miranda. And then, when his enemies sail near, he conjures the tempest — a storm which shepherds them and scatters them across the island.
And of course, from the perspective of those who are shipwrecked, this is utter chaos and disaster. But from Prospero’s perspective, it’s a carefully designed trial. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and every apparent accident, every meeting, every illusion, every ordeal, is serving a single purpose: repentance, reconciliation, and restoration.
Each of the principal victims of the storm faces a moral trial that they don’t, at the time, understand. Prospero, however, is bringing about a good end through their trials. And this is very much like what the Apostle Paul tells us about the history of the whole universe from our Romans reading.
He begins like this: “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” It is as if Paul is playing the role of an extra character in The Tempest, who is a companion of Prospero and knows his reasoning, and who’s sent to encourage the other characters to endure in the midst of their perplexity.
Let’s face it, we see all around us an almost immeasurable pile of suffering. Perhaps we are going through it now ourselves, or have gone through it recently. Perhaps we’re seeing it in loved ones. Perhaps we’re burdened by the amount of suffering we hear about in the news. And the instinct of so many over the years has been: no future recompense can be worth this level of suffering.
In 2015, Stephen Fry had an interview with a chap called Byrne on the Irish programme The Meaning of Life. Byrne asked him what he would say if he came face to face with God after death, and Stephen Fry’s reply was:
“I’d say, bone cancer in children? What’s that about? How dare you? How dare you create a world in which there is such misery that’s not our fault? It’s not right; it’s utterly, utterly evil. Why should I respect a capricious, mean-minded, stupid God who creates a world that’s so full of injustice and pain? That’s what I’d say.”
Now, St Paul is not denying this level of suffering. But he is saying this: I have met the risen and glorious Lord Jesus, who himself underwent untold suffering. What’s more, says Paul, the Holy Spirit has witnessed to me that heaven entails unimaginable glory — not just more joy than this life, but a different kind of joy altogether, in which the suffering of this life is the lead that is transformed into the gold of heavenly glory.
Paul describes the whole universe — the stars and planets, the plants and animals — as desperately waiting for that moment, the moment that we heard about in our Gospel reading when Jesus’ eternal kingdom is inaugurated. In that moment, the whole universe will be liberated from what Paul calls “frustration” in verse 20.
It’s sometimes translated “vanity”, as in emptiness, and it means something transitory and unsatisfactory. This, says Paul, is the state of the universe right now: transitory, unsatisfactory.
Now, often we’re tempted to think that the death and decay and evil in the universe are an accident, outside God’s control. It’s as if God set the universe going, but then an unexpected fault appeared. It’s as if he was driving happily along, and then suddenly one of those lights comes on on the dashboard, and God thinks, “Uh-oh, something’s going wrong with the universe.”
But Paul disagrees. He says that, like Prospero, this frustration is all part of God’s plan. Like Prospero, God has a wonderful plan for how this temporary bondage to decay will result in a greater good involving reconciliation and restoration.
Now, many, I think, would rather a God for whom frustration and decay are an undesired accident than a God for whom frustration and decay are something he’s actually planned. But here’s the rub. The great 12th-century Archbishop of Canterbury, St Anselm, described God, quite rightly, as the greatest imaginable being.
So, let’s say someone presents me with God version A. God version A is a God who is powerless to prevent evil, and maybe might just turn some of it to good, if we’re lucky. But then, having heard that, I think of Prospero, who has power over the seeming disasters of the tempest and will turn all of them to good. But then the problem is that if that version A of God really is the real God, then Shakespeare has come up with a greater being — namely, Prospero.
The Tempest is a powerful picture of the true nature of God — one who has power over the seeming disasters of the world and will turn all of them to good. God is the greatest imaginable being, and part of that greatness is that he has control over all things, even the suffering that is around us.
And so Paul goes on to say:
“We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we are saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have?”
And we must remember that in the Bible, that great Christian virtue of hope doesn’t mean “cross your fingers and if you’re lucky it might happen.” It means: God has told us it’s going to happen.
What Paul is describing is this: that before God inaugurates his eternal kingdom, we are in a state where there is no pain, no gain. You may have heard that phrase before — “no pain, no gain” — and I think it sums up well what Paul is saying here and elsewhere in his letters.
And childbirth is a great metaphor for this, especially in Paul’s time. The gain of new life came after the pain of labour. Likewise, in this period before the gain of eternal life, we groan inwardly with the pain of the decay of this world.
This point came home to me vividly yesterday as I took a break from writing this sermon to go for a run. It’s a new thing I’m trying to do. As soon as I left our drive, the heavens opened — of course — the rain came lashing down. Within a few paces, my legs were screaming in rebellion: “What on earth are you doing, Oliver?” And the temptation was to stop and immediately go back.
But I tried to visualise the gain — the payoff, if you like. In the short term, it was going to be that wonderful hot shower when I got back, and also that nice endorphin rush you get from doing exercise. I also tried to bear in mind the longer-term benefits: the pain of running now would be increased fitness and energy in the future.
And my thought process was like Paul’s thought process in verse 24. I was thinking, I don’t already possess the fitness I expect to gain from regular running, but I know that if I keep at the pain, I can expect the gain.
So many things in life, when you think about it, operate on this principle. You won’t gain the promotion without the pain of hard work. You won’t gain being an expert at playing an instrument without the pain of constant practice. You won’t gain a peaceful world without the pain of sometimes having to go to war against evil.
And the Cross is the ultimate instance of this principle. As the old Collect during Lent wonderfully says:
“Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain,
and entered not into glory before he was crucified:
mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the Cross,
may find it none other than the way of life and peace.”
The resurrection of Jesus, which Paul and the other apostles personally witnessed, is the guarantee that the pain of suffering will be transferred into the gain of eternal glory.
Because in all of our lives there will be situations to which we apply the benefit of hindsight. I’m sure you can think of some time in your life in which you took the way of ease and missed out on the gain.
I know I wish I could go back and tell my old self, “Don’t just pick the smoother path.” For me, it’s learning an instrument. It’s always bugged me that I can’t play the organ or the piano that I started to learn when I was a teenager and then thought, “No, I can’t be bothered.” I wish I could go back to my teenage self and say, “Stick at it.”
And there’ll be some instances in which we did take the way of pain, and we were rewarded with the gain. We wish we could go back and tell our old selves, “Stick at it — it will be worth it.” This is what Alonso and Ferdinand, at the end of The Tempest, would say to their selves at the start of The Tempest.
And through the book of Romans this morning, the Holy Spirit says this exact thing to each of us: “Stick at it. It will be worth it.” Soon is the moment your groans will become glorious shouts of joy which will never end. This wondrous moment is guaranteed by the all-powerful God, proven by the resurrection.
So this morning, as we respond to Paul’s words of encouragement and hope, let each of us first examine ourselves to make sure we do have the Spirit dwelling in us. Let’s make sure we’re putting our whole trust in Jesus for the forgiveness of our sins.
Jesus may return this very day; he may not return for another thousand years. But each of us will stand before him — it may be sooner, it may be later. Now is the time to put your trust in him. It’s too late when you appear before him.
So we need to put our trust in his death for us. And then let each of us ask the Spirit to help us in our weakness. We’re going to go on to think about this in the next couple of weeks.
Each of us is on that run in our lives. The rain’s beating down on us. Our bodies are groaning. But the Spirit will enable us to keep our eyes on the prize if we ask it. That’s why it’s important that we gather together in our prayer meetings to pray that the Spirit would help us.
So right now, think of some part of your own life in which you can see pain. Perhaps it’s someone you love. Perhaps it’s the pain across the world. And hear the Spirit say directly to you about what you’re thinking:
That pain is real. I groan with you. But it is not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in you.
Paul, Peter, the other apostles, personally witnessed that glory revealed in the risen Jesus. They did not have the words to describe it — glorious beyond compare. And they speak to us two thousand years later with the same urgency:
Take heart. That same glory will be yours.
Jesus our Lord went not up to joy but first he suffered pain. He entered not into glory before he was crucified. He asks us to walk that same path. But his resurrection shows us that weeping may last the night, but joy comes in the morning.