Suffering is the Christian’s boot camp. Those who are preparing to be soldiers must give evidence that they’ve got what it takes. A grueling course of endurance tests is set for them which some survive and some don’t. Some decide early in the game that it’s not really worth it, and drop out.
In his wonderful “Grace Chapter,” Romans 5, Paul tells us that we’ve entered the sphere of God’s grace and can therefore exult in the hope of the divine splendor that is to be ours. “More than this, let us even exult in our present sufferings, because we know that suffering trains us to endure” (vs.3).
No normal person enjoys suffering. To “exult,” however, is an action verb. It means to leap for joy, to be jubilant. It is said that when St. Francis of Assisi was persecuted he literally danced in the street for joy. He was simply being obedient to Jesus’ command to rejoice when men revile you and persecute you. You can only rejoice if you take the long view, however, --the view which sees the great reward in heaven. You certainly don’t rejoice if all you can see is the persecution.
I’ve never been in an army boot camp. I’ve seen pictures and it looks awful and I can’t imagine anybody enjoying some of the endurance tests that are required, except as the goal is kept in mind: I’m going to be a soldier. I’m going to prove myself. I’ll like this thing if it kills me.
“Endurance brings proof that we have stood the test, and this proof is the ground of hope. Such a hope is no mockery because God’s love has flooded our inmost heart through the Holy Spirit he has given us.” (Rom. 5:4-5, New English Bible).
My father took us mountain-climbing when we were growing up; we were thrilled with the chance to stand the test. My brothers were certainly not going to beat me at it, nor would I dream of letting them slow down just for me. There is an exhilaration in endurance. Often I see it on the face of small boys in airports. They’ve just met Daddy at the plane, and insist on lugging his attache case or even his suitcase. “Sure I can, Dad!” they say, and their faces shine.
We are under the mercy of an infinitely loving Father. He will never allow us to suffer beyond what He knows is the proper measure. In the middle of it the suffering is real, not to be compared, of course, with the small boy with the suitcase. I think of those, for example, who are tortured because of their faith, or tortured by cancer. At such a time one desperately needs the Everlasting Word to fall back on –the Word which stands forever, which nothing on earth or in heaven can ever change: Divine splendor is to be ours. The soldier thinks of pleasing his commanding officer, receiving a commission, perhaps, and some day winning a victory. “Such a hope is no mockery” for the Christian who suffers. He can be absolutely sure there is reason and purpose behind it all. Phillips’ translation of the passage has steadfastness, soundness, and hope as the reasons. In that the soldier can legitimately exult.
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