We ought to walk through suffering so that a watching world recognizes that there is no good reason why we should have the hope we have. The peace we have. The continued joy we have. Not in a fire like that. And though they might not yet be able to identify with clarity the reason why, though the One who is with us might seem to be hazy and different, they will nevertheless recognize the presence of the “fourth” – someone that is making all the difference in the fire.

Trouble? Anxiety? Pain? Disappointment? Suffering?
These are all part of the human experience, and Christians are not immune to them. Though we are sometimes surprised when our lives take turns into the difficult, we really shouldn’t be – after all, Jesus told us it would be like this:
“In this world you will have trouble….” he said (John 16:33), and he was telling the truth. In some ways, this is really what life is about – it’s moving from difficulty to difficulty; in fact, these events are things that mark our lives into segments. They are the dividing points – there was life before the cancer, and after it; life before the job loss, and after it; life before the argument, and after it. And all of these things are painful to varying degrees.
Painful, yes – but also redemptive. Though it’s hard to see and accept in the moment, there is indeed redemptive purpose in the pain. Sometimes the redemptive purpose is in us, as God uses these things to sharpen our hope and refocus our gaze on the things that matter and are eternal. Sometimes the redemptive purpose is through us because these difficulties, when we are faithful in and through them, become powerful evidence of our faith to the world around us.
So what is it that we want the world to see when it sees a Christian suffer?
Many things, but perhaps an illustration might help. Think back to one of the most familiar stories from the Old Testament. It’s a story about faith. About standing against idolatry. It’s about courage. It’s about God’s faithfulness. And it’s also about what we want the world to see when we suffer as Christians.
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego stood before the gigantic golden statue the king of the foreign land had erected in his own honor.
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There is a definite chain of events that happen when it comes to love. The last link in the chain is that we love others. Back up on, and you get that we love God. And then back up to the beginning and you find that God loves us. Put it in reverse order and you find that God loves us. We love God. And we love others. Though they fit in concert with one another, the order matters, and it matters greatly.

In 1954, the American psychologist Abraham Maslow proposed that human beings possess two sets of fundamental needs. He organized those needs into a pyramid, with the most base needs at the bottom. He then divided the pyramid into deficiency needs (the first four levels), and growth needs (the highest level).
At the bottom, the absolute base, are physiological needs—things like air, water, food, shelter, and the like. After that come safety needs. These are things like resources, employment, and personal security. The very next level are the needs of love and belonging. In other words, and according to Maslow’s hierarchy, as soon as a person has the basic necessities the very next thing they need is love. They need friendship. A sense of belonging. Family.
We know that is true, even if we have never studied the hierarchy. We know it’s true not only because of our own experience; we know it because of the place Jesus gave love in terms of the greatest commandments:
One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”
Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments” (Matt. 22:35-40).
Of all the commandments within His reach, Jesus grabbed two that centered on love. Love of God, and love of people. And so Maslow, was in a sense, also affirming what Jesus has known from the beginning—the vital importance of loving and being loved to a person’s well-being.
If you were to say, then, that the most important thing in the church is loving other people, you would probably get a lot of head nods in agreement. And though it is vitally important, it is not in fact the most important thing.
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We fight sin. We battle it. We kill it. But anyone who has waged this kind of war will tell you that the removal of any sinful habit, especially one we hold closely to our hearts, leaves an incredible void in its absence. We wonder if we can even go on, for we’ve come to look forward to that sin. We crave it. We think about it and nurture it. What can fill the void left by mortification? Vivification.

A couple of definitions today might be helpful right off the bat since you probably haven’t used either of these words in casual conversation today. I know I have not.
Mortification is about death. Killing sin as violently and as often as necessary. It’s waging all out war against what is contrary to life in Christ. Now anyone who has been a Christian for more than five minutes knows the reality of mortification. It was the great Puritan John Owen who famously said, “Be killing sin, or sin will be killing you.”
To put it in specifically biblical terms, we see a passage like this:
Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.
Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry” (Col. 3:1-5).
In those verses we see first the reality – that we died when we came into Christ. And yet the remnants of that former self still cling doggedly to us, and that’s why we must also “put to death.” In other words, because we have died, we must daily die. That’s mortification, and it involves the daily battle against the self.
Vivification is more positive.
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We are, as Christians, to pursue humility. We do that in any number of ways – by serving in such a way that we know we won’t be recognized, by reminding ourselves of our own sin and condemnation apart from Jesus, and simply by praying for it. We are, in other words, to take a very active stance when it comes to humility, and to go hard after it.

One might argue that humility is the first step toward becoming a Christian. I’m not trying to disagree that we come to Christ by grace through faith; not at all. But one might say that even before you get to “by grace through faith” you might come to your knees in humility. That’s because coming to Christ means recognizing not only something about Him, but also recognizing something about yourself.
When you come to Christ in faith, you are recognizing that He loves you. That He died in your place. And that He has grace enough to forgive you of your sins and put you in right relationship with God.
At the same time, though, you are recognizing that you cannot do any of those things for yourself. You can’t make yourself right with God. Even your best works are tainted with sin. You have no means or power by which you can stand before God, and it’s only in Christ that you can be saved. This is the essence of humility.
But despite the fact that we must exercise humility in coming to Christ, it is nevertheless a characteristic we seem to be confused about. Here are three of those misunderstandings:
1. Humility means thinking less of yourself.
Humility is not self-loathing. To be humble does not mean to hate oneself. It certainly does not mean to punish oneself or to think oneself worthless. In fact, this kind of self-hatred is not only not humility; it’s also dishonoring to our Creator who made us in His own image:
For you created my inmost being;    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.   (Psalm 139:13-14).
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God still loves His children and knows what is best for them. In His love, He has given us limitations. Limitations like our need for sleep. Or like the fact that the sun comes up and goes down in a regular cycle signaling the time for rest. Or that He explicitly set aside one day a week when no work was to be done, and even went so far as taking a day off Himself even though He was not tired so that we would do as He did. But in our rebellion, we refuse to honor those limits and justify our unwillingness to do so.

Most everyone knows the story, even if they don’t believe the story. In the beginning, there was only God. Nothing else. And then God spoke, and “nothing” became “everything”, including human beings.
Everything was good. Very good, in fact. All creation existed in perfect harmony, and at the center piece of everything was the crown jewel of creation. The man and the woman lived in perfect fellowship with God, walking without guilt, shame, or any other hindrance with Him. God gave His creation the twin gifts of freedom and constraint, all summarized in this simple statement:
You are free to eat from any tree in the garden; but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat from it you will certainly die (Gen. 2:16-17).
The first people did not trust the Lord and His Word and chose their own way, and with that choice everything that was good and right and harmonious was corrupted. It is, of course, a well known story. Maybe the best known story. And at least for the Christian, it’s not only well known but essential because it is through this story that we find the answer to the question of what is really wrong with the world.
Yes, there are all kinds of answers to that question, depending on the person you ask and the particular issue at the forefront of a person’s mind, but those are all downstream answers. The upstream answer – the one at the source of the trouble – is sin. That’s what’s wrong with the world. And this moment in the garden is when it all started.
Knowing this story, then, is an essential part of knowing who we are and what is wrong with us.
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He is ready to help us when we are feeling too small or when we are feeling too big. But let’s also recognize this: The help He offers is not to get us out of either situation. It’s not necessarily to fix our troubling circumstances, nor is it to elevate us out of our current situation. It is rather the form us into the image of Jesus using both circumstances.

Then they came to Jericho. As Jesus and his disciples, together with a large crowd, were leaving the city, a blind man, Bartimaeus (which means “son of Timaeus”), was sitting by the roadside begging. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”
Many rebuked him and told him to be quiet, but he shouted all the more, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” (Mark 10:46-48).
It’s a simple prayer. One of the simplest in the whole Bible, and yet we shouldn’t make the mistake of equating its simplicity with its fervency. A lifetime of pain and hardship is crammed into these few words. There are no flowery phrases and beautiful appeals here – only urgency. Desperation. Need.
And don’t we know what that feels like? Surely we do – to be in the midst of a situation when all the words have run out; when emotions are stretched to their limit; when we find ourselves acutely aware of our need; and when the only prayer we can squeak is something like what Bartimaeus kept disruptively repeating here:
“Help me.”
While the circumstances that prompt desperate prayers like that are varied, they all have a couple of characteristics in common, namely:

We realize that we cannot do or be or feel what a situation demands on our own, and…
We need someone outside of ourselves to come to our aid.

In other words, prayers like these are born when we see, in combination, the situation confronting us and our own weakness in the midst of it. Again, the circumstances that bring about these realizations are many and varied, but perhaps we could group those circumstances into two main categories. The first one won’t surprise you, but perhaps the second one will:
1. Category 1: When the circumstances are too big.
This is the unsurprising category. Sometimes the circumstances in front of us are just too big.
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How secure are those included in Christ? They are sealed – shut in – by the Holy Spirit who lives within us. Feel it today, friend – feel deeply the comfort of knowing that you belong to Jesus. Though all hell might break loose outside, though you might be attacked and assailed on many sides, though you will inevitably face trials of many kinds – you are safe. God has laid claim to us, and we are His.

There are all kinds of questions that come about when you read the story of Noah in Genesis 6 and 7. Most of the answers are left to the imagination. For example:
Pairs of clean and unclean animals, of birds and of all creatures that move along the ground, male and female, came to Noah and entered the ark, as God had commanded Noah (Gen. 7:8-9).
They came to Noah? What was that like? Was it orderly? Were the animals friendly to one another? Lots of questions, but ones that the Bible is not particularly concerned with answering. The overall point seems to be that God told Noah it would happen, just as He did with the flood, and so it was.
Here is another moment in the same chapter that might cause us to wonder:
The animals going in were male and female of every living thing, as God had commanded Noah. Then the Lord shut him in (Gen. 7:16).
“The Lord shut them in.” What a wonderfully mysterious and imagination-stirring little sentence that is.
How did He shut them in? What did Noah and his family see, if anything? What did it sound like as the door was closed? We don’t know.
What we do know is that however it happened; whatever it looked like; whatever it sounded like – it was secure. Because the Lord shut them in. Sealed the door. And when the Lord shuts you in, you are in.
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It was the great missionary William Carey who said in the late 18th century: “Expect great things from God; attempt great things for God.”
That resonates with most Christians; we want to see God move mightily, and we want to play a part in it. We want to see our homes, communities, countries, and world reached with the gospel of Jesus Christ. But where do we begin? Where do we start?

We might get so fixated on “attempting something great” that we miss the opportunity right in front of us—an opportunity that is readily available and also very simple. The best opportunity you might have to impact your community right now is through hospitality. What’s more, that’s not a new phenomenon.

Hospitality was vitally important to the spread of the gospel in the days when the church was just beginning to flourish because when traveling to a new area, people were at the mercy of the people who lived in that city. Christians took hospitality seriously, and because they did, the gospel was able to take root as it spread through displaced Christians who were welcomed into the homes and lives of others. It’s not wonder, then, that the biblical authors of the New Testament put such an emphasis on hospitality:

“Share with the saints in their needs; pursue hospitality” (Romans 12:13).

“Don’t neglect to show hospitality, for by doing this some have welcomed angels as guests without knowing it” (Hebrews 13:2).

“Be hospitable to one another without complaining” (1 Peter 4:9).

From a purely pragmatic perspective, the early church had to practice hospitality in order for the gospel to continue to move throughout the world and for the church to grow. But there’s also a deeper reason why hospitality is so vital – that’s because practicing hospitality is one of the simplest and most tangible ways we model the truth of the gospel.

How often we see the state of someone else’s life – their home, their car, their kids’ behavior – and we become discontent with our own station. That discontentment has an allure to it – it’s easy to let it settle in and take root in our hearts. But our discontentment is not merely a longing for more – it’s actually a subtle charge against the manner in which God has chosen to provide for us. For that reason, we must also be on guard to take thoughts of discontent captive for Jesus.

Blessed is the onewho does not walk in step with the wickedor stand in the way that sinners takeor sit in the company of mockers,but whose delight is in the law of the Lord,and who meditates on his law day and night (Ps. 1:1-2).
There is a definite progression in these two verses. The man described here did not intend to keep company with the wrong crowd. At least not at first. At first, it was just a conversation that led to a decision. Just walking along. But then walking turned stationary and the man was a little further along. Until eventually he took up some kind of residence with evil. He walked, then he stood, then he just sat down. Deeper, deeper, deeper. Further, further, further.
Here is the creep of sin. Sin starts small, but it never stays that way. We walk with it, then stand with it, then sit down right in the middle of it. And the most frightening part is that we never really intended to. It just sort of happened. Like an untethered boat in the middle of a lake, we slowly drift into a place we never intended to be.
And that small beginning almost always begins with the mind. With the thoughtlife. With harboring and then dwelling on what begins as the hint of a suggestion until it grows and grows and grows. No wonder, then, that the Bible pays so much attention to our minds and thoughts, because that’s where it all starts.
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Nobody likes to wait.
Not for food, not for service, not at the DMV, not for a lull in the video streaming—not for anything. One of the reasons we hate to wait comes from our culture. We live in a culture in which everything is measured against time. Everything must be better—faster—at virtually any cost. We want what we want, and we want it now. And if we can’t have it now, we demand to know exactly how long it will take in order for us to get it. Hence the rise of the “time guarantee”—whether it’s the delivery of pizza, shipping on a product, or a repair on a kitchen appliance, if we have to wait we want to at least wait with a timetable. It is, after all, our sovereign right as a consumer.
This is problematic for the Christian, though, because we worship a God that doesn’t give timetables.
God is perfectly content to operate in His way, and in His time, and is not obligated to tell us what—much less when—He is going to act. There are, then, many times when we find ourselves believing God will make good on His word, and yet we do not know when.
This is not a new phenomenon, though—because God is the Rock who does not change, He has always operated in this way with His people.
Think of the children of Israel, enslaved for 400 years, trying to hold onto the promise given to their father Abraham that they would have a land of their own, and yet having no timetable on when God would make good on that promise. Or consider Abraham himself who was promised a son that would be the beginning of an entire nation, and yet the decades came and went without God scheduling a baby on Abraham’s calendar. And then there are the promises of the Messiah who would come and deliver the people of God, and yet these promises did not contain a specific date or time in which God must perform this service or the service would be free.
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