I was meditating this week on Romans 8:18:
I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.As I was reading the newspaper yesterday morning, that verse was in my mind. Consider the contrast between Paul's words and three items that were on the front page. A blind Muslim cleric who inspired terrorist bombings in New York was detained amid the shouts of his followers promising bloody reprisal. A sixty-seven-year-old man who had never married and had no children, no friends, and few acquaintances, who had lived alone in a trailer with the curtains drawn, was found dead surrounded by more than $100,000 worth of model cars in cellophane packaging that had never been opened. And a handsome newlywed husband, loved by a wide circle of friends for his capabilities and generosity, died shielding his wife with his body from a crazed gunman in San Francisco. The world is filled with suffering people who often spread suffering to others. Yet in contrast the apostle says, "I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."
I am a rock, I am an island...It is saying, "I will refuse to let this world touch me." But that doesn't work either.
And a rock feels no pain,
And an island never cries.
The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.There is poetry in every language and every culture that gives the natural world a personality. Psalm 98 speaks of the rivers' clapping their hands and the mountains' singing. Elsewhere in Scripture it talks about the hills' skipping, the trees' clapping, the morning stars' singing together, and so on, giving creation a personality. That is the poet's way, and here in this passage it is the apostle's way, of telling us something about ourselves. It is true that when Christ returns and sets everything right again, the natural world will be given all its beauty, purity, and abundance back again; the natural world will be glorified when the glorious freedom of the children of God is made plain. But what he is saying here as he imagines creation to be straining forward, looking to that day, is really about our experience.
We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.
It was only once in awhile at night, just as she was going off to sleep with all of her usual defenses down, that her mind drifted back to the days when because there was nothing especially important to do, everything was especially important. When too good not to be true hadn't turned into too good to be true. When being alone was never the same as being lonely. Then sad and beautiful dreams overtook her and she would wake up homesick for a home she could no longer name to make something not quite love with a man whose face she could not quite see in the darkness at her side.It is that wish that we could have things right again that rises up in us when we imagine the creation to be groaning. We can never be innocent again, and there is a heartbreak, a form of suffering, in all that is lost.
Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.Not only does creation groan, but we ourselves groan. We have the Spirit of God, the firstfruits of the harvest. We have tasted of what it is like to know God and are able to pray, "Abba, Father." But what we haven't yet heard is his voice speaking clearly back. The child is comforted by the presence of his Father, but he can't see his face yet. There is still what Paul calls in 1 Corinthians a dark glass. We see him as if through a smoky glass; we can't see everything yet. We know the peace of God and the enlivening presence of the Spirit, and we have seen his power at work in us, but our adoption as sons is not done yet.
Laughter is what the Lord himself is talking about when he says that on the day he laid the cornerstone of the earth, the morning stars sang together and all the angels of God shouted for joy. And it is what the rafters rang with when the prodigal came home and his father was so glad to see him he almost had a stroke, and they began to make merry and kept on making merry until the cows came home. It is what Jesus means when he stands in that crowd of cripples and loners and oddballs and factory rejects and says, "Blessed are you, those that weep now, for you shall laugh." Sarah and her husband had had plenty of hard knocks in their time and there were plenty more of them still to come. But at that moment when the angel told them they had better start dipping into their old age pension for cash to build a nursery, the reason they laughed was that it suddenly dawned on them that the wildest dreams they had ever had hadn't been half wild enough.There is something to come that we can't even imagine in our wildest dreams, so we must not settle for less, but groan and follow our Lord as he is bringing it about in our experience.
In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will.Prayer is that which aligns us rightly with God. When we pray about ourselves, we are reminding ourselves that God is interested in us. In our prayers we are putting ourselves consciously in his presence. He communicates with us and we are changed. Prayer changes us more than it does anything else. It puts us in a place to both appreciate and hear God, to think his thoughts with him, to be sure that we matter to him and what we pray about matters to him.
Ah, but we want so much more---something the books on aesthetics take little notice of, but the poets and mythologies know about it. We do not merely want to see beauty, though God knows that is bounty enough. We want something else that can hardly be put into words---to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it. That is why the poets tell us such lovely falsehoods. They talk as if the west wind could really sweep into a human soul, but it can't. They tell us that the beauty born of a murmuring sound will pass into a human face, but it won't, or at least not yet... The door on which we have been knocking all our lives will open at last.
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