Suffering speaks to us of our sin and our need to repent of it. Suffering tells us that God is patient, and that He is warning us and waking us and giving us time before it’s too late. Suffering tells us that we need a Saviour to rescue us from final judgement.

In part 2 of this series we saw that physical suffering is a part of God’s response to human sin, deliberately designed to demonstrate the tragedy that exists within each of our own hearts.
We might ask whether this is fair of God, or at least something of an overreaction. Did a bite from a fruit really warrant all of the pain and bloodshed in the world?
To answer that question, it’s helpful to consider what would have happened if Adam and Eve had got what they actually deserved. “But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die” (Gen 2:17). God would not have been unjust to respond to our first parent’s sin with instant, eternal punishment. That what sin deserves, because every sin—even the smallest bite from a fruit—is an offence against a Person of infinite worth and majesty.1 Thus, even the smallest sin is a crime of infinite offence.
But Adam and Eve did not get what they deserved. They kept breathing. They kept living. They awoke to fresh sunrises and the sound of a baby’s cry and the taste of good food and refreshment of rest after work and the love of one another. And all around them was this universe—still beautiful, still showing God’s glory—but constantly reminding them of their sin.
There is a word for this: grace. God could have dealt with sin immediately by giving them their just deserts. But instead He extended grace, giving them life while showing them their sin, and therefore offering every opportunity to return to Him. Being alive on a cursed earth is a lot better than any one of us deserves, and when we see it like this, we begin to grasp that pain and suffering are gifts that summon us to repent before it’s too late.
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Suffering is a universal experience. If you have a pulse, you either have or will experience suffering. My sad conviction is that far too few Christians today have an adequate Biblical understanding of suffering. And this leaves them in an extremely vulnerable place when the waves of suffering finally do reach the shores of their life.

This post is the first in a short series in which I hope to explore some of the Biblical connections between suffering and the gospel. The word and is important. I don’t mean suffering for the gospel (as important a theme as that is). What I mean is: what does human suffering have to do with the gospel? What do cancer and natural disasters and terrorist attacks and car accidents have to do with the cross of Christ? Are there Biblical connections?
I believe there are—and, in fact, I believe these connections are as wide as the Bible itself. Not only that, but grasping these connections is key to developing a full, robust, biblical understanding of suffering.
There’s a certain urgency in developing such an understanding. Suffering is a universal experience. If you have a pulse, you either have or will experience suffering. My sad conviction is that far too few Christians today have an adequate Biblical understanding of suffering. And this leaves them in an extremely vulnerable place when the waves of suffering finally do reach the shores of their life.
For some people, suffering leads them to abandon their professed faith. This is particularly prone to take place if they have false expectations regarding suffering. If they think that God is supposed to make their life comfortable, successful and pain-free, prolonged suffering can lead them to conclude that God has either failed them, doesn’t love them, or just plain doesn’t exist.
Perhaps just as common is another kind of spiritual shrivelling—when a suffering person does not abandon Christianity, but instead redefines it along the lines of their experience. Their anemic theology can’t process how a big, mighty, sovereign Creator could allow his people to suffer so horribly. So, in order to cope, they scale back their understanding of God and His place in the universe.
They no longer worship God as the One who fills heaven and earth and accomplishes His will in everything that happens. They no longer view Christianity as a comprehensive worldview, Scripture as a complete revelation of absolute truth that is binding upon all.
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When God’s good design for men and women is so under attack in our day, why would anyone who embraces that design deliberately add to the confusion by using such a loaded term for female ministry personnel? 

Our church is complementarian, which means that we value and embrace the God-given differences between men and women, including the various roles He’s given to each. Christ-like husbands are to lead their homes (Eph 5:22), Christ-like men are to oversee churches (1 Tim 2:12-3:7), and none of this is a bad thing.
Among complementarians—who all agree that the office of overseer/elder is restricted to men—there are some who argue that we should be free to use the title “pastor” for women. They argue that “pastor” is a spiritual gift, distinct from the office of elder/overseer, and nothing in Scripture restricts this gift to men. If a woman is involved in a biblically-legitimate ministry that involves shepherding care, then we can, or perhaps even should, call her a pastor.
I respectfully disagree. I submit that using the title “pastor” to refer to a woman is a significant mistake for four overlapping reasons.
1. It Works Against the New Testament Pattern
The word “pastor” just means “shepherd.” As a noun and a verb, the word is used in the New Testament in three contexts, referring to 1) literal shepherds, 2) the Lord Jesus, and 3) church leaders.
In this final and third context, “shepherd” (or “pastor”) is used as a noun only once, where Ephesians 4:11 speaks of “shepherds” being given to the church by the Lord. As a verb (“to shepherd”), it’s used once as a command addressed to Peter (John 21:16), once to speak of the self-serving “pastoring” of false teachers (Jude 12, translated “feed”), and twice in addresses to church elders/overseers.
In Acts 20:28, the first of these final two uses, the elders of the Ephesian church were summoned by Paul and charged to “pay careful attention to yourselves and to all the flock, in which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers, to care for (lit. shepherd) the church of God.” The second use is in 1 Peter 5:2, where the elders were instructed to “shepherd the flock of God that is among you, exercising oversight.”
Notice that, other than Peter the apostle, there is only one group of people in the New Testament who are told to “shepherd” (or “pastor”) others: the elders/overseers of a church. Put another way, if we were to ask the question, “according to the Scriptures, who is responsible for shepherding God’s people?”, the only answer we would come up with is “the elders/overseers.” Those attempting to apply the word “pastor” beyond elders and overseers do so without Biblical warrant.
2. It Misunderstands Ephesians 4:11
Sam Storms is a complementarian who believes women can be called “pastor.” One of the grounds for his argument is that Ephesians 4:11 describes pastoring as a spiritual gift, not an office. On the basis of that one verse, he argues that “‘pastoring’ is a spiritual gift that may be found in numerous individuals of both genders who do not yet (or never will), for a variety of reason, qualify as Elders,” and that “pastoring is a gifting that is to be exercised by those who hold the office of Elder. But nowhere does the NT assert that Elders/Bishops/Overseers are the only ones who can function as pastors.”1
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Please hear: I’m not trying to downplay the real difficulty and suffering experienced by those married to an unbeliever. But is it possible to see God’s grace even in the pain? Is it possible to see in your situation a reminder that marriage is not our ultimate purpose in life, and was never meant to be our source of happiness? Is it possible that the sorrow you carry around is but one reminder that you’re not home yet, and the person you’re really longing for is still coming for you? 

The past two Sundays we’ve spent time in 1 Peter 3:1-7, a passage which is largely addressed to Christian women with unbelieving husbands. Peter instructs them to seek to win their husbands through their God-fearing conduct and inner beauty.
It’s interesting to notice how Peter speaks to this situation in such a matter-of-fact manner. Doesn’t he understand how profoundly lonely it is to be married to someone who rejects the most important part of your identity? Has he no sympathy for the aching pain of knowing that, unless they turn from their unbelief, the person with whom you share your earthly life will not share eternal life with you?
I don’t know what was going on in Peter’s mind as he wrote these verses, but I can’t help but consider some of the ways in which his letter has already prepared a wife (or a husband) to face this situation with the necessary perspective:

we are exiles and sojourners who don’t belong here (1 Pet 1:1, 2:11)
our present life is full of grief as our faith is tested by various trials (1 Pet 1:6-7)
our joy is to be found not in our present experiences but in the expectation of our inheritance (1 Pet 1:4-6)
we must set our hope fully on the grace that will be brought to us when Christ returns (1 Pet 1:13)

That last point is especially relevant to the matter of marriage. So many Christian young people set their hope on marriage as their happily-ever-after. And the truth is that even a good Christian marriage can’t support the weight of those expectations. The best marriage will disappoint you. The best marriages are just temporary shadows of the real thing, which we’ll experience fully when Christ has returned (Matt 22:30, Eph 5:25-27, Rev 19:6-8).
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The prayer is Psalm 72 was unanswered for centuries, until the birth of “Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham” (Matthew 1:1). Jesus fulfills Adam’s mission, is right now blessing the nations through His death and resurrection, has applied the law to our hearts through His new covenant, and has already begun a heavenly reign which will one day meet no opposition and no end.

The Bible is one story, a single plot that unfolds through a series of covenants God made with Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, and David—all of which point towards, and are fulfilled in, the New Covenant in Christ.
There are many passages of Scripture that we could draw on in order to demonstrate this key idea, but recently I’ve been struck at how Psalm 72 pulls everything together so well.
The Psalm’s title is “Of Solomon,” and the opening request is “Give the king your justice, O God, and your righteousness to the royal son!” (Psalm 72:1). These words recall God’s promise to David that “I will raise up your offspring after you… and I will establish his kingdom” (2 Samuel 7:12). In fact, much of the Psalm could be described as a prayer from David’s heir that God would keep the promises of the Davidic covenant (found in 2 Samuel 7).
But that’s not all. The Psalm also envisions Israel’s king as an inheriting the charge given to Adam and Eve to “have dominion” over the earth. “And God blessed them. And God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth.’” (Genesis 1:28).
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It’s probably still the best plan of action to at least try to follow the Matthew 18 pattern as close as you can for as far as you can. We shouldn’t be in a rush to write someone off (1 Cor 13:7). We don’t want to assume the worst. We should long for restored relationship more than personal vindication.

Matthew 18:15-20 presumes a fair bit of openness between the people of God in a local church. “If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault, between you and him alone” (Matt 18:15). These instructions are counter-cultural to many church environments I’ve been a part of, where it seemed common for an offended person to talk to almost everybody else rather than the actual person who had wronged them.
This is particularly true when the dispute includes the church leadership. Despite Paul’s command not to “admit a charge against an elder except on the evidence of two or three witnesses” (1 Tim 5:19, cf. Matt 18:16), many church-goers apparently feel very free to broadcast their leaders’ supposed shortcomings far and wide, with little impulse to actually talk to those leaders themselves first.
How do people find their way around such clear biblical mandates? The most common excuse I’ve heard for not having a Matthew 18:15 conversation is that the offended person didn’t think the offender will listen to them. This excuse can take many forms:

“I really didn’t think that I’d be heard.”
“That person just doesn’t listen to people.”
“Last time I tried to talk to them, I didn’t feel heard.”
“I didn’t think the conversation would go anywhere.”

Sound familiar at all? If so, how should we respond to this? Here’s four reflections on this apparent Matthew 18 loop-hole:
1. Being understood is not a prerequisite for obedience
Matthew 18:15 doesn’t say, “Go and tell him his fault, between you and him alone, but only if you think he’ll listen to you.” Whether we think the other person will listen should have nothing to do with whether we’ll obey Jesus or not. Why would we think that, just because the first conversation will be unsuccessful, we’re allowed to skip the process entirely?
Ironically, verse 16 and following contain a number of follow-up steps which describe what actions to take in the event that the offender doesn’t listen—and none of them involve not having that first conversation. Jesus expects us to obey Him, regardless of what we think the outcome might be.
2. “Feeling heard” may not be the same as being heard
Apparently, “heard” is a feeling—at least given how some people talk. Phrases like “I really felt heard,” or, “I didn’t feel heard” give the impression that our emotions are a reliable guide to the effectiveness of a conversation.
Sadly, some take it even further. In my experience, some people only “feel heard” if the other person agrees with them. When they have a problem with someone else in their church, or particularly their church leadership, they don’t come with a humble attitude that seeks understanding and clarification. It doesn’t occur to them that perhaps they have misunderstood, or even that they could be in the wrong. They come to deliver a verdict, and any attempt to help them see things from a different perspective will be interpreted as “not feeling heard.”
Once again, Matthew 18 puts us back on track with its careful checks and balances. The involvement of the body of Christ, first as one or two witnesses (v. 16), and then as the entire church (v. 17), prevents one person from acting as judge, jury, and executioner. Submitting to the Matthew 18 process requires each party to accept that they might not know, see, or understand everything perfectly.
“Love…does not insist on its own way” (1 Cor 13:4-5). And once we get that, we should have no problem with the fact that some people will hear us just perfectly—and still disagree with us.
I’m pretty sure Moses didn’t “feel heard” (at least in the modern sense) when he was dialoguing with God in Exodus 3-4.
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Amid the New Year’s hubbub about self-focused resolutions and self-improvement and self-care and self-whatever, don’t forget that 2023 is not about you. It’s about Jesus. It’s good to ask how this year could be different than the one before—but for Jesus’ sake, not just ours. Whatever our plans, intentions, hopes, or fears are as we think about the future, let’s enter this new year intent on making much of Christ, not ourselves.

I’ve been reading through 1 Kings with my kids, and we recently got to the section about Elijah. Introduced abruptly in chapter 17, the early record of his ministry is a near barrage of miracles. After being fed by ravens, and then a never-ending supply of flour and oil, he raises a widow’s son to life before confronting Ahab and the false prophets on Mt. Carmel. In response to Elijah’s prayers, first fire falls from heaven, and then rain, ending a three-year drought. Chapter 18 ends with him supernaturally outrunning a chariot to beat the king to his palace.
And then Elijah falls apart. A death threat from Queen Jezebel shows him that the war with Baal worship is far from over, and he crumbles. He starts running for his life and doesn’t stop until almost six weeks later when he finally arrives at Horeb.
When God asks him why he’s there, Elijah’s answer is revealing: “I have been very jealous for the Lord, the God of hosts. For the people of Israel have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword, and I, even I only, am left, and they seek my life, to take it away” (1 Kings 19:10, 14).
Even though he should know better (18:13), Elijah has come to believe he’s the last prophet standing. And now that his initial bout of despair (19:4) has passed, self-preservation has become his main goal. If he dies, he thinks, so does all true religion in Israel. It all comes down to him. As I explained it to my kids the other night, Elijah seems to think he’s the main character in this story.
God’s response gently cuts him down to size. Elijah still has a job to do, a part of which includes appointing his own replacement (v. 16). Almost as a by-the-way, Elijah is informed that a full 7,000 Israelites will remain faithful to the Lord. Clearly, not everything rises or falls with Elijah. This story is a lot bigger than him.
The continuing narrative of 1 Kings itself reinforces this point. After the calling of Elisha, chapter 20 recounts a series of events involving Ahab’s wars with Syria. At least four unnamed prophets have a role in this account—but not Elijah. After briefly reappearing in chapter 21, Elijah once again fades into the background as yet another prophet speaks to Ahab in chapter 22. And then, after a final confrontation with a wicked king in 2 Kings 1, Elijah is taken off the scene.
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