GLORYING IN TRIBULATION – TOPICAL STUDY OF ROMANS 5:3 Our Heavenly Father, Creator of all things and Master Teacher, we humbly come into Your presence to seek Your Holy Spirit to open our eyes to these Holy Scriptures. We earnestly pray for enlightenment as we study together, and we ask You, Father, to open our eyes to see the truths contained in these words. Open our minds to comprehend that which we are reading, and open our hearts to receive the message that You have for us. Finally, dear Father, we ask for the strength and courage to live our lives in a manner of the called, constantly giving You the glory, honor, and praise that You deserve. We pray these things in the name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen. The Apostle Paul’s middle name could well have been “trouble.” Wherever he went, whatever he said caused difficulty and controversy. Think you had a tough time this week? Think about Paul. From the time he became a minister of the gospel, he was: put to hard labor, beaten, imprisoned, given thirty-nine lashes five times, stoned, shipwrecked three times, stranded a day and a night in the open ocean, and left for dead. When Paul talked about difficulties, he knew from whence he spoke. Yet he said we are not only to rejoice in coming glory, but in present tribulations. Why? Because tribulation is the catalyst God uses to bring about patience, experience, and hope. We see this principle in nature. The Seventeen-Mile Drive on the Monterey Peninsula is world famous for, among other things, the beautiful cypress trees that abound in that region. Because of their beauty, these cypress trees are photographed, painted, and sculpted by artists from all over the world. The beauty of the cypress tree is due to the wind that blows them constantly. And the wind that produces their outer beauty also develops their inner strength. You see, the root system of the cypress tree sinks proportionately deeper than that of any other tree in the state. This is especially interesting considering the mighty Redwood also makes California its home. “Lord, I want to be an object of beauty,” we say. “All right,” He says—and proceeds to send winds of adversity, not to blow us out, but to make us beautiful; not to sink us, but to strengthen us. The cold winds of adversity, the hot winds of tribulation cause us to sink our root systems deeper in the soil of Scripture, to ground and root us in faith. That’s why Paul says we are to rejoice in tribulation. Tribulation and testing are what God uses to take the dings and dents out of our body—both corporately and individually. God takes us into His body shop. He starts pounding away, pulling out dents, and doing some grinding. It’s not during the party times when strength is developed, when beauty is born. It’s when the wind is howling and the sander humming that God is doing His finishing work. Ask Johann Sebastian Bach.… This man, who was one of the most prolific composers in history, locked himself in a room day after day, where he put pen to paper and scored the glorious compositions he heard in his mind. Why did he lock himself in the confines of a single room? He had twenty kids. You would lock yourself in a room too if twenty kids were running around your house! Yet from his own times of testing, tribulation, and challenge came beautiful music. Paul makes the same point, saying, “Don’t only rejoice in your peace with God, your access to God, or your hope in God. Rejoice also in your present difficulty because it’s working in you something of beauty.” “I know that,” you say. “Everyone knows we’re to count it all joy when we fall into various trials. I already understand that concept.” Do you? The prophet Jeremiah was a man who knew the Lord, but he struggled with something the Lord had told him prophetically and which he observed personally. That is, the Babylonians would soon march on Jerusalem. When Jeremiah asked why, God told him to do something very interesting. “Arise,” He said. “Go down to the potter’s house and I will cause you to hear My words” (see Jeremiah 18:2). So Jeremiah went to the potter’s house, wherein he observed clay on a potter’s wheel. The most common of all substances, clay typifies you and me. Psalm 103 declares that as a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on us. He remembers our frames and knows that we are but dust, earth, and clay. God is not mad at us, disappointed in us, or tired of us. Knowing we’re nothing more than lumps of clay, He has chosen to work on us. That is why Jeremiah saw not only the clay. He saw the Master Potter as well—pumping the pedal that caused the wheel to turn. “The problem with life,” said one philosopher, “is that it’s so daily.” Maybe you can relate to that. If you’re in school, it’s geometry, history, English, and lunch. Then it’s science, study hall, and P.E. You go home, have a Twinkie, watch TV, do homework, go to bed—and get up the next morning to begin the same cycle all over again. If you work, it’s the same old people, same old problems, same old struggles every morning. Round and round you go, day after day. That’s how the clay felt. And sometimes we become so tired of the routine of our lives that we say, “I’m getting off this wheel.” What, then, does the Master Potter do? Even as Jeremiah observed, he picks us up—lumps of clay that we are—kneads us a bit, and puts us right back on the wheel. All of us are aware of the circuitousness, the sameness of daily life. But it’s all part of the plan of the Potter. And if I try to escape, I will only be crushed in the process and end up right back where I started. The storm raged. The disciples rowed and complained. Then they saw Jesus walking on the water. “Lord! If that’s You, bid me to come,” Peter cried—perhaps not so much an act of faith as a plea to get away from the disciples. “Okay. Come on, Peter,” Jesus said (see Matthew 14:29). Peter got out of the boat and started walking to Jesus. But when he took his eyes off the Lord and focused on the storm, what happened to him is the same thing that happens to us: He began to sink. “Save me, Lord!” he cried. So Jesus lifted Peter, the giant fisherman, out of the water with a one-armed curl and put him where? Right back in the boat. God puts us in fixes to fix us. Therefore, if I try to fix the fix God put me in, He’s sure to put me in another fix to fix the fix He wanted to fix in the first place. As a result, slowly but surely, I learn to be content in the boat, to remain on the wheel. Yet no sooner do I accept the confines and routine of my situation than I feel the hand of the Master Potter suddenly and unexpectedly poking me, pinching me, and shaping me. And if I’m not careful, I will jump off the wheel once more—this time not because of predictability, but because of pressure. If I do, I’ll find myself face down on the floor before I feel the hand of my Master Potter picking me up and plopping me on the wheel once again. This process may go on over and over again—until I finally give up and lie still on the wheel. But when I do, if I catch my reflection in the window, I’ll see myself taking shape as the Potter forms me into something useful. Awesome! I think as the wheel comes to a stop. Then I feel the hands of the Potter under me and I think, This is great! Now He’s going to put me on the top shelf, in a place where everyone can see me. But instead, He walks right by the top shelf and keeps going until I hear the sound of a door opening. It’s the kiln. In I go. The door closes behind me. The temperature rises. And I start sweating. “What now, Lord?” I cry. “Why am I in this place? What in the world is going on?” And He answers, “It takes not only pressure points but also fiery trials to produce in you a solidity that will keep you from cracking up or flaking out.” This process continues until the Potter takes me out and carries me to His shop. Now, according to Romans 9:21, the Lord makes some vessels to honor and some to dishonor. This means He makes some people beautiful vases to hold flowers. But others He makes spittoons. “Wait a minute!” I protest. “Let me get this straight. I should rejoice in tribulation because tribulation works patience that produces experience, which produces hope, which makes me unashamed. But what if He’s making me a spittoon? The daily-ness of my job, the boringness of my career, the sameness of my school, the pressure financially, relationally, emotionally—when all is said and done, am I going to end up a spittoon? Is that what it’s all about, Lord?” But wait. Look again at the Master Potter. In the feet pumping the pedal that causes the wheel to turn so routinely, you will see holes where a nail pierced them for the sake of the clay. Look at the hands putting pressure on the clay. See the holes in each palm, and realize the Master Potter is the Wonderful Counselor, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace, your Savior, Jesus Christ. If He loves you so much He was willing to be pinned to the Cross, you can trust that the repetitiveness of your schedule and the pressure in your life are meant to make you into something wonderful. Not only does He love you that much now—but when you were a sinner, when you were ungodly, when you were an enemy, He was in love with you (Romans 5:8). Suppose my wife and I go house shopping and find a house for five thousand dollars. The roof is caving in. The wires are hanging out. The floors are sagging. The foundation is gone. But she loves it anyway, so we buy it. Then, unbeknownst to her, I call fifteen master carpenters and craftsmen and pay them five hundred thousand dollars to replace the roof, rewire, and rework the entire house from top to bottom. When I take my wife back to the house, she’s sure to say, “This is fabulous. I loved it when it was a shack, but now look at it!” So, too, God loved you when you were a shack. He said, “I see there’s no foundation under your life, no covering over your life, no wiring in your life. But I love you just the way you are.” And because He was in love with you at your worst, you can be assured that for the rest of your life—especially now that you’re beginning to be reworked, rewired, and rebuilt—you’ll never have to doubt His love, not even for a moment. Why am I sharing this? Because I know bunches of us understand with our minds the value of tribulation and trials. But even though we embrace the understanding theologically, we struggle with it internally and we start sniveling. “If God loves me,” we murmur, “why isn’t He doing this or working out the other?” Something big was about to happen. The mother of James and John could sense the excitement in the air. Indeed, in a few hours, the city would be crying, “Hosanna! Hosanna! Blessed is the King of Israel who cometh in the name of the Lord!” So it was that Salome came to Jesus and worshiped Him right before His triumphal entry (Matthew 20:20). Fully aware that she was worshipping Him not out of love, but in order to manipulate Him and get what she wanted, Jesus lovingly looked at her and said, “Woman what do you want?” “Well, now that You ask, Lord,” she answered, “when You come into Your kingdom, can my two boys be on your right hand and on your left?” Jesus looked at her and answered very cryptically when He said, “Are you able to drink from the cup I’m to drink from and be baptized with the baptism with which I’m about to be baptized?” Salome must have wondered about such a strange answer to such a simple question. And Jesus probably smiled and said no more. He went into Jerusalem, and you know the story. It wasn’t too many days later that the same Salome would stand with three other women on a hill right outside the Holy City. Seeing Jesus pinned to a Cross with two other men, one on His right, one on His left, hanging beside Him on the day He entered His kingdom, the foolishness of her request must have hit her like a ton of bricks. What I am asking of the Lord right now can be just as dumb. “But, Lord,” I cry, “this is a great idea. Bless it, Lord.” And He lovingly says to me, “You don’t know what you’re asking. You don’t see the whole story. I loved you enough to die on the Cross. Therefore, if I’m not doing what you’re begging me to do, what you’re naming and claiming, trust Me. And like Salome, in retrospect, you’ll be thankful I didn’t respond to your request and do your bidding.” That’s the argument Paul makes. Rejoice in tribulation. Because God fell in love with you and proved His love to you even when you were a sinner, you never have to wonder why the wheel is so dizzying, the pressure so painful, and the kiln so hot. And on the basis not of what you feel emotionally, nor of what you ascribe to theologically, but on His love for you unconditionally, you can trust Him to come through totally. Have a blessed day!
Posted on: Wed, 12 Mar 2014 12:33:49 +0000
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