Sarah Edwards (1710–1758), wife of the great theologian and revival preacher Jonathan Edwards, is most often remembered for her lifelong devotion to God. She had experienced God’s grace even as a little girl. At age 16, she confided in her journal that she had been “led to prize nearness to Christ as the creature’s greatest happiness” (Sarah Edwards: Delighting in God, 27).

In addition to being a devoted Christian, Sarah was the mother of eleven children. Having married at the age of 17, she gave birth to her first baby the next year, and had ten more children at more or less two-year intervals until she was 40.

In the eighteenth century, childbirth was still painful and risky. Rates of maternal (and infant) mortality were high. Sarah’s life was in danger at least once during childbirth. We should not romanticize the physical and emotional burden of bearing and raising eleven children.

So how did she respond to the challenges of motherhood? What might her example teach us today?

God-Centered Home

Parsonages in Sarah’s time would have visitors constantly arriving and expecting accommodation. The Edwardses often had guests staying for extended periods. Such visitors consistently testified that theirs was a joyful home. Delight in God characterized daily family worship and everyday life as well.

“Delight in God characterized daily family worship and everyday life as well.”

The Edwards children were trained from the earliest age to obey their parents, but the training was not harsh. Jonathan and Sarah’s descendent Sereno Edwards Dwight included this glowing tribute to Sarah in his Memoir, written in 1830:

She had an excellent way of governing her children: she knew how to make them regard and obey her cheerfully, without loud angry words, much less, heavy blows. She seldom punished them, and in speaking to them used gentle and pleasant words. If any correction was needed, she did not administer it in a passion; and when she had occasion to reprove and rebuke, she would do it in few words, without warmth and noise, and with all calmness and gentleness of mind. (40–41)

The great English revival preacher George Whitefield visited the colonies in 1740 and was invited to preach at Jonathan’s Northampton church. As a guest in the Edwards home, he was impressed by this happy and godly family, and he confided in his journal the prayer that God would supply him with a life partner just like Sarah.

At the same time, neither Jonathan nor Sarah trusted that their parenting would automatically produce Christian children. During Whitefield’s visit, Jonathan asked him to speak about Christ with the older Edwards children (then aged 12, 10, 8, 6, and 4). After this visit, it became apparent that God was working in the lives of Sarah Jr., Jerusha, Esther, and Mary. Jonathan and Sarah were overjoyed. They did not assume the salvation of their children; each needed to experience God’s grace individually.

Ultimately, Sarah’s parenting rested on the truth that God gives the gift of children. So, despite the unremitting demands of nursing, broken sleep, caring for little ones through sickness, and the daily work of training them, Sarah regarded each child as a gift from God. She longed for God to be glorified in each of their lives. And she trusted that, by God’s grace, each would in turn tell of God’s glory to the next generation:

One generation shall commend your works to another,     and shall declare your mighty acts. (Psalm 145:4)

Her Eternal Perspective

Sarah loved her children dearly. But she loved God more. She was confident that whatever happened to them, she could trust in God’s goodness, wisdom, and love. He was working, and would always work, all things for his own glory and for the good of his people (Romans 8:28).

“Sarah loved her children dearly. But she loved God more.”

That assurance deepened in the spring of 1742 during a time of revival in Northampton. Over an intense three-week period, Sarah enjoyed a sustained and intense experience of God’s love. “My safety, and happiness, and eternal enjoyment of God’s immutable love, seemed as durable and unchangeable as God himself,” she testified (66).

Five years later, Sarah’s confidence in God’s goodness would be severely tested. Her second daughter, Jerusha, had helped to care for a visiting missionary, David Brainerd, who was suffering from tuberculosis (a major cause of death at that time). In October 1747, Brainerd died, aged 29. By then, Jerusha had contracted the disease. She died in February 1748, aged just 17. Unusually godly, Jerusha had been regarded as the “flower of the family” (106). Sarah grieved deeply, but she did not question God’s love. Her enduring delight in God was based on her conviction that God is sovereign in all things. She could trust him with the choice of life or death, comfort or pain, for herself and her loved ones.

Through this, and a series of further trials, Sarah was sustained by her eternal perspective. God’s supreme goal is the glory of his Son, and Christ seeks the glory of his Father (1 Corinthians 15:24). The ultimate success of that goal has been secured at the cross. The last enemy, death, has already been defeated (1 Corinthians 15:25–26).

And so, when Sarah’s beloved husband unexpectedly died in 1758, she was able to respond with towering faith:

A holy and good God has covered us with a dark cloud. O that we may kiss the rod, and lay our hands on our mouths! The Lord has done it. He has made me adore his goodness, that we had him [Jonathan] so long. But my God lives; and he has my heart. (115)

Shortly afterward, aged just 48, Sarah faced death herself. She died peacefully, assured that nothing, not even death, can separate the believer from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus (Romans 8:38–39).

Every Child a Gift

Sarah Edwards’s assurance that children are a blessing from God stands in stark contrast to today’s society. Many view children as a threat to female fulfillment (and a barrier to the achievement of equal outcomes in the paid workforce). The availability of contraception (often a misnomer for abortifacient medication) often leads to the assumption that we, not God, are in control of when to have children. If a baby is “unplanned,” many claim the “right” to kill their unborn child.

Such is the depravity of a society that has rejected belief in the Creator God. But the consistent biblical teaching is that God is the giver of life. In a fallen sinful world, childbirth and childrearing involves pain and toil, yet even still, children are a blessing.

Conversely, in a society that elevates personal fulfillment over all else, some claim the “right” to have children (with or without a partner). And in churches where, rightly, motherhood is honored, some women see bearing children as the ultimate blessing. They wrongly assume that they cannot be truly fulfilled unless they bear biological children.

But Sarah reminds us that children are a gift, not a right. If God’s glory is our great desire, we will submit to his higher wisdom. He has planned from all eternity the good works he wants us to do (Ephesians 2:10). Christian women may be spiritual mothers, and a blessing to many, whether or not they bear physical children.

Whatever our circumstances, our deepest joy can be found in praising God and seeking his glory. And the testimony of Sarah Edwards can become our own:

The glory of God seemed to be all, and in all, and to swallow up every wish and desire of my heart. (78)

Let no one despise you for your youth, but set the believers an example in . . . love. (1 Timothy 4:12)

Setting an example is a powerful and essential part of pastoral leadership. A strong line of reasoning in preaching, even a soundly biblical argument, might fail to persuade. But a personal example of Christlikeness, especially what Francis Schaeffer called “the beauty of human relationships,” is unanswerable (Two Contents, Two Realities, 141). Beauty can be martyred, but it cannot be denied, and it will rise again.

A young pastor can and must deeply resolve to love everyone in his church and outside his church with Christlike love. He can and must set the believers an example by his gracious, patient, gentle, forgiving, pain-tolerant love. But without the beauty of love, any pastor, however orthodox, becomes a living denial of Christ. To quote Schaeffer again, “There is nothing more ugly than an orthodoxy without understanding or without compassion” (The God Who Is There, 34). Schaeffer was even more blunt: “I’ll tell you something else, orthodoxy without compassion stinks to God” (Death in the City, 1968, 123).

Pastoral ministry is not a career track, not a job, not a gig. It is a sacred calling from above. And the pastoral calling is basically twofold: to preach Christ and to embody Christ. The former is a matter of declaring the truth, the latter of demonstrating the truth. And how can we truly declare the truth without also demonstrating it? If we pastors do not set an example in love, we unsay by our lives what we say by our doctrine. Such an anti-example betrays the gospel. And that horrible betrayal is not a remotely hypothetical possibility. That betrayal of the gospel is common.

We pastors need not be perfect. All of us have many shortcomings. But still, following God’s call, we pastors must accept, deeply accept, that we have signed up for sacrifice. It’s how we set an example of love.

Our Sacred Calling

The apostle John says, “In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him” (1 John 4:9). Jesus died that we would live. That is how love thinks, how love behaves — paying a price, that others might enter into the life that is truly life. So, Bonhoeffer was right: “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die” (The Cost of Discipleship, 89).

Recently I was in conversation with a friend who serves in a church-planting network. He told me that one of the questions he hears, as men consider that call, is whether they might have to exceed a forty-hour workweek. I was astounded, as was my friend. Limit ourselves to a forty-hour week? Love doesn’t think that way. Love does whatever it takes for others to live. Should a pastor attend to his family at home too? Of course. But a self-protective minimalism is not love.

“Pastoral ministry is not a career track, not a job, not a gig. It is a sacred calling from above.”

When the apostle Paul was describing the great heart of God for us, he had to strain at the leash of language to say it. He speaks, for example, of “the riches of his grace, which he lavished upon us” (Ephesians 1:7–8). If God loves us richly and lavishly, then his pastors cannot love with a guarded heart that holds back. We pastors have the privilege of hurling ourselves, by faith in God, into the depths of his love for people. Then we find out along the way what it will cost us. And we’re fine with that, because we will also see how wonderfully people will come alive — even through us, flawed as we are.

Beauty Through Sacrifice

I remember my final Sunday as pastor at Immanuel Church Nashville in 2019. Jani and I were sitting in the front row, waiting for the service to begin. The band was playing a pre-service number. I forget what it was, but it was a bluesy, rocky something, to the glory of Christ, and utterly delightful. Then my peripheral vision noticed movement off to my left. I looked. And there, about fifty feet away, was a young mom in the church, no longer sitting but standing and moving and even dancing. She wasn’t making a spectacle of herself. There was no hint of self-display. She was just too happy to sit still. And Jani and I knew that dear lady. We knew she didn’t live a charmed life. But there she was, her heart moved by the music and lifted up to the Lord, dancing.

The sight of her joy was so beautiful, I choked up. And in that moment, I knew and felt that all the pain and heartache and sheer hard work we went through to establish Immanuel Church as a gift to our city — it was all worth it. Why? Because it funneled down to one final moment in 2019 when a young mom was enjoying the felt presence of the living Christ so wonderfully she had to get up and dance. In that sacred moment, our sacrifices no longer felt sacrificial. We were too happy to care about all that.

Love and Its Opposite

I wish I could say I always feel that way. But I don’t. Many times, I have to grab myself by the scruff of the neck and say, “Ray Ortlund, you’re going to go do the right thing, and you’re going to like it!” I expect you understand. And here is a line of thought I use as a diagnostic, a way of helping myself realign with Jesus, even in the moment. It’s these two opposites: what a loving pastor is not, and what a loving pastor is.

What a loving pastor is not: He is not out for himself. He does not perceive other people through a lens of cost-benefit calculation. He does not treat others as props on the stage of his grandiose drama. He does not make people into stepping stones on his upward path to ministerial stardom, a big platform, epic book sales, and invitations to speak at big-deal events. He does not curve reality back in on himself, his own advantage, his own importance. He is not self-referential in how he navigates reality. In fact, a selfish mentality is repugnant to a loving pastor.

“If we pastors do not set an example in love, we unsay by our lives what we say by our doctrine.”

What a loving pastor is: He is a man for others. He sets a cheerful “for you” tone as the culture of his church. He feels a gentle fierceness that people will not walk out of church on a Sunday without feeling seen, understood, valued. He is willing to lose, but he is determined to protect others. He will explain himself, but he will not fight for himself. He gives his all, and he enjoys doing so, because the people he serves matter that much to him. If he feels successful, it’s because more and more people are coming alive to Jesus. And he marvels that the Lord has given him such a glorious privilege.

Love Has a Future

As you set the believers an example in love, sadly, some might not see the beauty of it. They might even dislike you for it. Your selfless love might stand as a living reproach to their own selfishness and worldliness. In their eyes, your love might be made into your crime. They might even throw you out. But it is better to fail by doing what is right than to succeed by doing what is wrong, better to fail in the Spirit than to succeed in the flesh. Such a failure still contributes to the great battle being fought in the heavenlies in your generation.

But most people who claim Christ are reasonable. They will rejoice to receive your ministry, and they will join you in your spirit of Christlike love. Even if it does end badly, “they will know that a prophet has been among them” (Ezekiel 33:33). And the resurrection of Jesus proves this promise: “There is a future for the man of peace” (Psalm 37:37).

Talk about the Holy Spirit? That’s always been tricky. After all, he is the Spirit, the Wind, the great unseen Enigma, that most mysterious and hidden Person of the ineffable Godhead.

Also, we live in times that can make thinking and speaking about the Spirit all the more difficult. For one, pervasive secular influences pressure us to deal with concrete phenomena — the seeable, hearable, touchable, tastable. The effect is a subtle but strong bias against the Spirit. With Jesus, we’re talking real-life humanity, at least in theory; with the church, we’re talking real-life fellow Christians; with creation, we’re talking tangible, sense-able, the world that surrounds us; with anthropology, flesh and blood and our own undeniable inner person. But the Invisible Wind is almost a no-starter for the mind shaped by secular influences.

What’s more, many Christians have the unfortunate tendency to quickly turn Spirit-talk to “manifestations of the Spirit” (1 Corinthians 14:12) — that is, spiritual gifts and especially controversial ones like speaking in tongues. All too soon, we are not even talking about the Spirit and the real heart of his work but mainly speculating about ourselves and telling strange stories.

In Scripture, the Spirit himself does not receive the front-and-center attention that the Father and the Son do. He often hides in compact, meaningful phrases and works quietly in the theological background. Of course, this is the Spirit’s own doing. He is the author of Scripture, thrilled to shine his light on Father and Son, to carry along prophets and apostles in word ministry, and to empower the words and deeds of the eternal Word himself. Scripture’s brevity of focus on the Spirit isn’t oversight or suppression. The Spirit likes it that way — he did it that way.

‘Life in the Spirit’

Still, hide and work quietly as he may, he does step forward in a place of striking prominence, in one of the greatest letters ever written, at the very climax of Paul’s magnum opus: “The Great Eight.”

Romans chapter 8 is one of the few spots where the Spirit pulls back the curtain and says, in effect, “I will tell you a little bit about myself: as much as you need to know, but not too much, and not for too long.” For centuries, devoted Christians have given special place to the promises and wonders of Romans 8, which is well summarized in the ESV with the heading “Life in the Spirit.” Romans 7:6 sets up the contrast that follows in the rest of chapter 7, and into chapter 8:

We serve in the new way of the Spirit and not in the old way of the written code.

Romans 7:7–24, then, rehearses the challenges of serving under the oldness of the previous era and its law (holy, righteous, and good as it was), and Romans 8:1–27 bursts into the joys and benefits of living in the newness of the Spirit. In Christ, the Spirit is not only with us, as he was with old-covenant saints, but now, poured out from heaven in new fullness by the risen Christ, the Spirit testifies to us of our status, intercedes for us in our weakness, and even dwells in us as the present, personal power of the Christian life. Consider these three Spirit-glories in Romans 8, working from the outside in.

Sonship: He Testifies to Us

First, the Spirit speaks to us — and not any insignificant word. His is the foundational word about our most foundational identity. And it’s a weighty word, a testimony — knowing with certainty what has already happened, he testifies to us about what is truly the case, like a witness in court, in order to persuade us of the truth.

Not only are we creatures of the Creator, humans formed from humble dust, and not only are we sinners who have turned against our King, but now, in Jesus Christ, God’s unique Son, we too are “sons of God” (Romans 8:14). “The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God” (Romans 8:16). He is “the Spirit of adoption as sons” (Romans 8:15) who solemnly testifies to assure us that we are God’s chosen — not mere creatures but beloved children drawn into his family, who now irrepressibly cry out, “Abba! Father!” (Romans 8:15). Already we are children. The Spirit knows this and bears witness to it so that we, too, might confidently know and embrace it.

Hidden and enigmatic as the Spirit may seem, he is not some silent force but a revealing, speaking, leading Person. He is “the Spirit . . . of revelation” (Ephesians 1:17), who not only “carried along” the prophets and apostles as divine mouthpieces (2 Peter 1:21; Ephesians 3:5) but still speaks, says, indicates, and testifies (1 Timothy 4:1; Hebrews 3:7; 9:8; 10:15; Acts 20:23; 1 John 5:6) through the living word of Scripture. He still prompts and leads God’s people (Romans 8:14; Galatians 5:18).

His profile may often seem unpronounced, but he is not silent. If you know yourself to be a beloved, chosen child of God, the Spirit is the one who awakened and sustains that recognition in you. Without him, sinners may cry out for help to a distant, unknown deity. With him, saints cry out for the care of our Father. And that crying out leads to the second glory of the Spirit in Romans 8.

Intercession: He Prays for Us

To be beloved children — “heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ” (Romans 8:17) — is almost too good to be true. Yet so it is in Christ. But this towering ideal of sonship doesn’t mean Romans 8 is unrealistic about our lives in this sin-sick and cursed world. The heights of God’s grace do not ignore the depths of our lives. We suffer. We groan. We know ourselves to be weak.

Because of human sin, God subjected the creation to futility, and

the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. (Romans 8:22–23)

We know ourselves to be children through the Spirit’s testimony. Yet we still wait for the public formality and revealing. Yes, we are heirs, but still to come is our full inheritance. In the meanwhile, we groan. In this life, we navigate seasons and sequences of pain. At times (if not often), we come to forks in the road where we don’t even know how to pray — whether to be spared pain or to endure it faithfully, whether for respite from our groanings or holy persistence in them.

“Hidden and enigmatic as the Spirit may seem, he is not some silent force but a revealing, speaking, leading Person.”

Here, amazingly, the Spirit helps us in our weakness: “The Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words” (Romans 8:26). In the agonies and complexities of this age, we come wordless before God, unable even to articulate the heart of our sighs and groans. “We do not know what to pray for as we ought” (Romans 8:26). And oh, what comfort in these moments to have God himself at work in us praying to God for us. Beyond our ability to ask as we ought and even articulate our prayers, the Spirit appeals to the Father for our everlasting good.

Christ’s intercession for us (Romans 8:34) is outside of us, in heaven, where he sits at the Father’s right hand, having accomplished his atoning work and risen again to make good on it through his life. The Spirit’s intercession is in us, prompting us to pray and empowering our prayers (Ephesians 6:18; Jude 20). The Spirit is not only deep in God (1 Corinthians 2:10) but also deep in us (Romans 8:26–27) — which leads to a third Spirit-glory in Romans 8, perhaps the most astounding of all.

Indwelling: He Lives in Us

In Romans 8, and elsewhere in the New Testament, we find a bundle of mind-bending claims about God himself and Christ dwelling in us by the Holy Spirit. Paul hammers it on repeat in verses 9–11:

The Spirit of God dwells in you. [You] have the Spirit of Christ. . . . Christ is in you. . . . The Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you . . . his Spirit . . . dwells in you.

In case you missed it: if you are in Christ, you have the Spirit. You have him. He dwells in you. God himself has taken up residence, as it were, in your body and soul — in you. In a way that was not part and parcel of God’s first covenant with Israel, the risen and glorified Christ has given his Spirit to new-covenant Christians (John 7:38–39).

Our having the Spirit (Romans 8:9, 23) does not mean we own and control him. He also has us. He is in us, and we are in him (Romans 8:5, 9). He is sent into our hearts (Galatians 4:6), given to us (Romans 5:5), supplied to us (Galatians 3:5), and not just once but continually (Ephesians 1:17; 1 Thessalonians 4:8). And through faith, we receive him (Romans 8:15). So, as Paul repeats elsewhere, the Spirit dwells in us (1 Corinthians 3:16; 2 Timothy 1:14). This is what it means to have “Christ in you” (Romans 8:10; Colossians 1:27).

God Only Knows

If you are a Christian — if you claim Jesus as Lord and delight in him, and he is transforming you — consider what you’d be without the Spirit, without his opening your eyes and giving you a new heart and new desires. Without his still, quiet, daily promptings and leadings. Without his ongoing supply of spiritual life to your soul. Without his sealing and keeping your heart from your still-indwelling sin.

Jude 19 mentions those “devoid of the Spirit.” We get some glimpses as to what at least some people without the Spirit look like: scoffers, who speak up to put the truth down; those who follow their own ungodly passions and cause divisions; in short, “worldly people” (Jude 18–19). If that’s not you, if you are different, what has made you different? Might it be the Holy Spirit? However little you realize it and stay conscious of it, your life, from the smallest details to the biggest, is pervaded by the reality of having the Spirit. God only knows what you’d be without him.

Numerous Things He Does

Best of all, do you trust and treasure Jesus and love to speak of him? As Fred Sanders so helpfully observes, “The people most influenced by the Holy Spirit are usually the ones with the most to say about Jesus Christ” (The Holy Spirit, 3). He also quotes Thomas Goodwin, that the Spirit “is that Person that leadeth us out of ourselves unto the grace of God the Father, and the peace and satisfaction made by Jesus Christ” (21). Have you been led out of yourself to lean on the grace of God? The Spirit does that. Have you ever experienced peace in Christ? The Spirit did that. Have you enjoyed satisfaction in Jesus? The Spirit, the Spirit, the Spirit.

In him, we receive the washing of regeneration (1 Corinthians 6:11; Titus 3:5), the righteousness of justification (Romans 14:17; 1 Corinthians 6:11; 1 Timothy 3:16), and the holiness of sanctification (Romans 15:16; 1 Corinthians 6:11; 2 Thessalonians 2:13; 1 Peter 1:2).
He teaches us (1 Corinthians 2:13; 1 Thessalonians 4:9; John 6:45) and gives us spiritual life and energy (1 Corinthians 12:11; Ephesians 3:16).
We worship in the Spirit (Philippians 3:3).
He gives us love for others (Colossians 1:9), joy (Romans 14:17; 15:13; 1 Thessalonians 1:6), peace (Romans 14:17; 15:13) — indeed all “the fruit of the Spirit” (Galatians 5:22–23).
He fills us with hope (Romans 15:13; Galatians 5:5), stirs our hunger for God, and turns our attention to “the things of the Spirit” (1 Corinthians 2:14; Romans 8:5), rather than sinful distractions.
He seals us (Ephesians 1:13; 4:30) and keeps us faithful to guard the gospel (2 Timothy 1:14).
In him, we also enjoy “the fellowship of the Holy Spirit” (2 Corinthians 13:14; Ephesians 4:3–4; Philippians 2:1; Hebrews 6:4) with others who have the same Spirit in them.

“It is characteristic of the doctrine of the work of the Spirit,” says Sanders, “that it is expressed in lists, wonderfully various lists of numerous things the Holy Spirit does” (162).

We can scarcely trace the “numerous things” he does in and for us. For born-again Christians, the Spirit’s work in our lives, in our thoughts, in our desires, in our wills, is far deeper and more expansive than we can even sense. To receive him, to have him, is to walk in a newness of life that touches and affects everything — yet in such a way that doesn’t keep the spotlight always on him.

Talking about the Spirit is admittedly tricky. But oh, how grateful we might be to have him! We can live in the holy confidence that the supernatural Helper dwells in us. How awesome to have the Holy Spirit.