The discipline of suffering.

Hebrews, Part 14: Our God is an artist who uses our pain and suffering to create something beautiful.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Few topics pique our interest quite like suffering does, and there are miles of bookstore shelves to prove it. This isn’t to say that we like suffering, nor that we even necessarily like to talk about it. Even still, suffering and sorrow persist as realities that we cannot quite wrap our minds around. We want so desperately to understand them, though, to make sense of the mystery of suffering. Whether your worldview begins with the God of the Bible or not, coping with the onslaught of life’s pain and perplexity is an elusive lesson. Why is there so much tragedy in this world? If God really exists, and if he’s really capable of what the Bible says he is capable of, why is there so much affliction in the world he created? Why would a God who is supposedly “good” let this planet be riddled with so much “bad”? Why doesn’t he do something?

These are not new questions, of course. Scores of philosophers have been wrestling with these inquiries since the earliest days of civilization. Mankind’s deepest philosophical struggle has been making sense of life’s struggles. How one goes about answering these questions of suffering reveals what one truly believes. Like Job’s “friends” who sit with him in the ashes of his former life, your method for “solving” the problem of suffering speaks volumes. You could very well choose not to answer any of those questions and resign yourself to the idea that life has no point at all. This is the predominant philosophy of modernity, which operates under the presumption that if God is good then there wouldn’t be so much hatred, violence, and brokenness coloring our days. But since this world is rife with these egregious elements that must mean that God doesn’t exist, or if he does, he’s not good. Either way, nothing matters so have it your way and live it up, for tomorrow we die.

Alternatively, you could learn to despise the question of suffering, letting yourself become embittered toward life altogether. This is the person who’s angry about everything all the time. Suffering has soured them, leaving them mired in the reality that God never comes through. Life has seemingly given them the “raw end of the deal” at every turn, leaving them jaded and jaundiced. But how should the believer interpret life’s sorrows, struggles, and disappointments? How should the church view all the pain and perplexity that swirls around us in a way that is hopeful? These, of course, are critical inquiries to answer, and the church has offered a surplus of ideas and theories for handling suffering throughout the ages, with some faring better than others. The point is that even those in the community of faith don’t have all the answers.

Indeed, suffering rarely has answers, and, on this side of eternity, suffering doesn’t seem to have answers at all. But, even still, those who belong to Jesus are imbued with a better hope. The gospel gives us a way we can cope with those dreadful days. This, to be sure, isn’t to say that we can have everything all figured out, but it does mean that we can look at suffering in the face, and suffer honestly. Life is full of times of fainting, hardship, adversity, and struggle. The old saying is true: “In this world, nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes” — and we could add suffering to that list, too. It’s an unavoidable part of life “East of Eden.” The point is that faith in God is decidedly not a denial of that reality. Trusting in God is not tantamount to the blissful ignorance of Pollyanna. The understanding of the Christian faith that says, “Your problems will go away if . . .” is nothing more than the faith of ostriches with their heads in the sand. Jesus’s followers are not ostriches. They have no reason to ignore or avoid life’s suffering. Rather, by faith, we can look suffering and sorrow in the face and call it what it is.

Suffering has a point.

This is certainly one of the more perplexing points, but it is nonetheless true. For those who belong to Jesus, suffering is not pointless. There are, of course, times when it feels that way; times when it seems as if a random stream of bad news just keeps coming our way. But whether or not we are always privy to it doesn’t change the fact that suffering has a purpose. We may not know what that entails, but suffering by faith means taking God at his word and trusting that he does. He knows the purpose behind it all. In Chapter 12 of the Book of Hebrews, the writer reminds his congregation of what God’s Word says by citing Proverbs 3:11-12 so that they might see that suffering honestly is seeing suffering as God’s discipline of those he loves:

Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted. In your struggle against sin you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding your blood. And have you forgotten the exhortation that addresses you as sons? “My son, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord, nor be weary when reproved by him. For the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and chastises every son whom he receives.” It is for discipline that you have to endure. God is treating you as sons. For what son is there whom his father does not discipline? (Heb. 12:3–7)

You’ll note that “discipline” occurs eight times in a span of nine verses, with each occurrence implying “correction” or “training.” Verse 11 brings this thought to bear even more pointedly. “For the moment,” the Hebrew writer says, “all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it” (Heb. 12:11). The pivotal term here is “trained,” which literally translates to “exercise” or the practice of being “disciplined as an athlete,” hearkening back to verse 1. Both of these references bring back memories of running suicides during basketball practice. At the moment, conditioning drills are “painful rather than pleasant.” But the coach seems to know that it is “for our good” that we run and train as hard as we can. He understands that discipline is necessary, and even when the players gripe about running another lap, the coach says, “Trust me.” Suffering by faith understands life’s harrowing days in a similar way (Heb. 12:7, 10–11).

Discipline rarely feels good; it is “painful rather than pleasant.” Indeed, “the heat of the moment” has a way of blinding us to what God may be up to. But we can be sure that God is “up to something.” There is a purpose and a point that he is working in us and on us. He is the only one who fully understands that purpose, even if we don’t. “His work upon [his saints] is one thing in appearance,” asserts Martin Luther, “but quite a different thing in reality. He seems to kill, but in reality, makes alive: he wounds, but in reality heals: he confounds, but at that very time, in reality, glorifies: he bringeth down to the grave, but at that very time rather brings up from the grave” (1:148). This does not mean that God causes suffering, but it does mean that he allows it “that we may share his holiness” (Heb. 12:10; cf. Job 5:18–19).

Our God is an artist who uses our pain and suffering to create something beautiful on the canvas of his gracious providence. He repurposes the horrors and hardships of life into the proving grounds of his righteousness. This is a feat we are incapable of bringing about on our own, which is why the writer encourages us to “consider him who endured” for us (Heb. 12:3). To believe that “suffering has a point” means “looking unto Jesus,” the only one who holds the power to turn all the bad ingredients of life into his good and glorious purposes (Rom. 8:28).

Suffering reveals who we are.

There is tremendous comfort in realizing that what God is doing through discipline is allowing us to “share his holiness,” but God’s comfort for sufferers goes even deeper when you realize that this discipline serves to “reveal who you are.” Now, while that might sound like a negative idea, the writer of Hebrews says otherwise. According to his testimony, discipline is the trademark of those who belong to God (Heb. 12:5–7). He takes this notion a step further when he writes, “If you are left without discipline, in which all have participated, then you are illegitimate children and not sons” (Heb. 12:8), which surely repulses our modern sensibilities when it comes to suffering. Overall, the writer alludes to our identity as “sons” some six times in nine verses, which is indicative of the fact that our identity as God’s children is not being altered when we undergo discipline.

It’s easy to slip into thinking this way, though. Prolonged seasons of difficulty and adversity have a way of troubling us something fierce, even causing us to question our standing as God’s sons or daughters. Suffering by faith, however, understands that his discipline isn’t dispensed out of frustration or irritation. Indeed, the presence of discipline doesn’t mean that God is mad at you. It means he loves you (Heb. 12:5–6). It means he is making you into what he has already said that you are — namely, his child (Deut. 8:5; Job 5:17; Prov. 13:24; Rev. 3:19). When a sculptor begins to chisel away at a hunk of granite, she doesn’t do so because she harbors any ill will for the granite. Rather, her hammer and chisel are extensions of her love for that granite, which allows her to see what it will eventually become and, in her eyes, what it already is.

Similarly, our artisan God allows seasons of discipline into our lives not because he’s mad at us, but because it is through the chisel of discipline that he reveals what he has already called us to be and what he already sees us to be in Christ. “We are his workmanship,” Paul says, that is, his masterpieces, “created in Christ Jesus for good works which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them” (Eph. 2:10). Despite how broken we are, God in Christ has bought us (1 Cor. 6:19) because he loves us and because he knows what he can make us into. And through the chisel of his Word in the hands of his Spirit, he is shaping, fashioning, and disciplining us into his image of his Son (Rom. 8:29). Suffering by faith, therefore, trusts that it is through the process of discipline that God is revealing who we already are in his sight: his children. “Only a father who is deeply concerned for his sons chastises them,” notes R. C. H. Lenski (432).

Suffering isn’t about us.

This last point undoubtedly strikes a confusing chord. What is meant by the statement “suffering isn’t about us”? Namely, that you aren’t the main point of your season of suffering and sorrow. Notice what the writer of Hebrews says near the middle of Chapter 12:

Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed. Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord. See to it that no one fails to obtain the grace of God; that no “root of bitterness” springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled; that no one is sexually immoral or unholy like Esau, who sold his birthright for a single meal. For you know that afterward, when he desired to inherit the blessing, he was rejected, for he found no chance to repent, though he sought it with tears. (Heb. 12:12–17)

The writer relays several words of encouragement before curiously suggesting that we ought to learn from Esau’s example. His objective, of course, has been to solidify these Hebrew believers by showing them all the ways in which Jesus is better. He desires that this church persevere in the faith and “hold fast” to Christ, notwithstanding how treacherous that might be for them at the moment. Accordingly, the church’s “drooping hands” and “weakened knees” are strengthened only as they “look to Jesus.” He is the fixed point toward which we are called to “run.” He is both the goal of our running and our companion along the way. And the point is that we who have been brought into union with the Christ of God by faith have, likewise, been united to everyone else who’s been brought into union with him, too.

Whether you like it or not, or whether you realize it or not, you are someone else’s running mate; a fellow sojourner traversing through this world of woe. Therefore, if you get sidetracked, so, too, will your companion. Your tendency to defect from the blessings of God might very well be putting someone else “out of joint,” too (Heb. 12:13). This is the lesson Esau is meant to teach us since he is the one who willingly punted on his birthright to fill his belly. Understood in those terms, Esau made a horrendous bargain with his twin brother. Although Jacob was a deceiver, and although it was always in the cards for God’s blessing to fall on him and not his brother (Gen. 25:23), the point remains that Esau forfeited what was sacred for the sake of something fleeting. Similarly, we follow in Esau’s footsteps when we take our eyes off Jesus, leading to not only your own stumbling but also the stumbling of others (Heb. 12:15).

A sanctuary for sufferers.

You have no idea how your patience through the discipline of God is influencing others or how those around you need the encouragement of your endurance as they, too, struggle to “suffer by faith.” As you run the race of faith alongside others who are running and struggling just as much as you are, we are invited to fix our eyes on “the founder and perfecter of our faith” so that we might encourage those who are “weary or fainthearted” to do the same. This is what the church is for. It’s a place where weary runners are invited to find refuge and refreshment. It’s a place where struggling sinners have their gaze reoriented back onto Jesus through the Word and the Spirit. It’s a place where exhausted sufferers are free to be honest about their suffering. As sufferers and saints are made to “consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself,” they are made to realize that this is precisely how Jesus endured his suffering as well.

The Son of God understood that his suffering would “fulfill all righteousness” (Matt. 3:15) and that through it he would demonstrate who he was. The truth of who God is in the depths of his person is made apparent in the bruised and bleeding face of his Son being pegged to a Roman cross. As his mutilated form hung on that cross and as he heaved under the weight of death for a world full of sinners, he was revealing the heart of God. What makes suffering so endlessly compelling is that the God who shows up in times of suffering is rarely the God we expect. It’s in the nasty stuff of life that you’ll find the Lord of scary holiness and incredible grace waiting to reveal himself. He doesn’t leave to trudge through tragedy alone. Rather, that’s where he sets up shop; that’s where he is chiefly known and found. He doesn’t wave a magic wand to banish our suffering away. He suffers with us and for us. Ours is a God who comes down to us and endures every ounce of discipline and difficulty on our behalf so that we might be delivered.

Works cited:

R. C. H. Lenski, The Interpretation of Hebrews (Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg, 1961).

Martin Luther, Complete Commentary on the First Twenty-Two Psalms, translated by Henry Cole, Vols. 1–2 (London: Simpkin & Marshall, 1826).