Present Suffering, Future Glory

Jesu Juva

Romans 8:18-27                                                  

July 19, 2026

Proper 11A         

Dear saints of our Savior~

        I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.  That is 24 karat, 200 proof good news.  And that’s just the first sentence of today’s magnificent epistle reading from Romans 8.

        But before we unpack those words, let me first take you to the scene depicted on today’s bulletin cover. 

This photo comes from a museum in Florence, Italy. On the right and left sides of this passageway are unfinished, uncompleted sculptures from the studios of Michelangelo. The artist was working on them, but stopped in the middle of his work, leaving behind these works-in-progress.  The marble edges are rough.  The stones are crudely shaped. 

But emerging from these blocks of stone are the beginnings of figures.  Some have no faces.  Others are missing arms or legs. Michelangelo began these works but never finished them.  What they once were—rough slabs of marble—is gone.  Yet what they will be—beautiful sculptures—is not yet here.  As you stand in that hallway you realize that the past is gone . . . and yet not completely gone.  The future is here . . . and yet not completely here.  The figures are still encased and enslaved in stone.

But hey, we don’t have to go to Italy to see unfinished works of art; just go upstairs into our former sanctuary.  It’s not what it once was; and it is certainly not what it will be.  Dust dominates that space, along with heat and smoke and conduit and masonry ripped asunder.  We suffer through all that now; knowing it’s not worth comparing with the glory that is coming.

        In Romans chapter eight Paul invites us into scenes like these.  He wants us to see how we are ensconced right now in the middle of God’s great and mighty work. The sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.  Suffering and glory are held together in that one sentence; just like suffering and glory are held together in this very moment—in you.  Like rough-hewn stone, our present world is filled with suffering.  God originally formed a beautiful creation.  But our first parents sinned and brought suffering into God’s perfect creation.  God had warned them, “The day you eat of it, you shall die,” and now that punishment—that curse—is set in stone.  Human beings live and die beneath that curse every day. 

Now only God can free His creatures and bring about a new creation.  And that’s the glory that Paul has seen in Jesus Christ.  Like the firstfruits foretelling a future harvest, Jesus Christ is the promise of a new and never-ending life—a good and glorious life.  God has begun His great work in Jesus, and it’s just a matter of time before the glory of God is revealed in its totality—in you.

        Paul wrote today’s text to help the Roman Christians stand firm in the face of pain and persecution.  And His words also come to us to help you stand firm here and now.  In Christ, we have been made into the children of God.  This is sure and certain.  His death has destroyed the power of sin for you and His resurrection has brought you the promise of a new creation.  Yet, like those partially-completed  sculptures, what we are becoming is not fully seen or experienced here and now.    

Take a close look at God’s people, Paul says, and you will see a people imprisoned and suffering, groaning because they desire to be free.  The whole world is groaning as it awaits the new creation.  God’s people are groaning as they are locked in positions of suffering and weakness—unable to do the good they want to do, but doing the evil they want to avoid.  It’s enough to make you groan.  But the apostle Paul reveals one more thing.  He opens our ears so we hear one more groan.  It’s the groaning of the Holy Spirit, who is interceding for you.

        Paul writes:  Likewise, the Spirit helps us in our weakness.  For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. Who would have guessed this?—that the Holy Spirit is interceding for us with groans too deep for words?  As you know, there are times when we are at a loss for words.  The sufferings of this present time are so strong that we cannot find words to express it all.  When you go to a child’s funeral, what do you say, even as your heart is filled with groans that words cannot express?  What do you say when the doctor’s diagnosis is terrible and terminal?  What do you say when baptized brothers and sisters—people you have communed with and prayed with—forsake the faith, reject God’s truth, and go charging down the broad and easy path that leads to destruction?  What do you say?  Human language is too limited to express our sorrow and speak that sorrow to God.  At moments like this, Paul reminds us to listen—to hear the groaning.  For the Holy Spirit takes our suffering and weakness, and transposes it all into perfect petitions of prayer.  He intercedes for you with groanings too deep for words.

        But the groans of the Spirit are not just groans of complaint.  No, those groanings are joined to glory.  The Spirit helps us see that future glory—even amid present suffering.  One of the interesting things about Michelangelo is how he approached his work as a sculptor.  He believed that he was liberating the figures from the stone.  Rather than carving figures into the stone, he saw his role as freeing those figures from the marble.  And though his “hallway sculptures” are unfinished, we can catch a glimpse of his larger vision.  We can see where he was going.  That plan was already there in the artist’s mind and, only through time and effort and the removal of stone piece by piece, did that vision slowly come into being.

        Beloved in the Lord, God is at work on a New Creation—a great and holy work of art; and you have been joined to that new creation by the power of your baptism into Christ.  God, the Master Sculptor, is at work on you, shaping your life, forming your faith, forgiving your sin, smoothing the rough edges, chiseling away all the wickedness and sin that still holds you in bondage, working steadily, in small and sometimes painful ways, moving you toward the glory which will one day be revealed. 

We often can’t see or understand God’s plan and design.  But the Holy Spirit is our Comforter and our Counselor.  The Spirit knows the mind of God; and the Spirit knows our suffering.  And the Spirit joins these two realities into prayer.  Groans and glory are held together by the Spirit for us in prayer.  When we stand before God like unfinished works of art, living in this world and longing for the life of the world to come—when we experience suffering and find ourselves unable to put all of this into words, the Holy Spirit speaks for us.  The Spirit voices our petitions to the Father.  

        Join me once more in the hallway depicted on the bulletin cover.  Note how the unfinished sculptures are displayed in a corridor through which people move from one place to another.  But at the very center of the photo, at the far end of the hallway—there stands a completed creation of glorious beauty—Michelangelo’s David.  No longer is this figure encased in stone.  But now he stands, in glorious freedom—the freedom of a man of God—a man after God’s own heart—a new creation.

        Most of us will never lay eyes on Michelangelo’s David.  But sooner than you imagine you will lay eyes upon the Son of David—our Lord, Jesus Christ.  He was crucified for our offenses.  He was raised for our justification.  For each of us, Jesus stands there at the end of earthly life—which is also the beginning of a new creation—the place where glory and beauty are finally and fully revealed.  Jesus stands there not as a stone figure, but a figure of flesh and blood—like you.  This Jesus is the friend of sinners.  He is the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep in death only to be raised and resurrected in glory. 

Although we suffer in this world, we are heirs of the next.  Today we wait for it all—with faith and hope and love—that day when our groanings will be swallowed up by glory.  For we who stand in the shadow of the cross—we know that the sufferings of this present time aren’t even worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. 

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

 

Rest for the Weary

Jesu Juva

St. Matthew 11:25-30                                           

July 5, 2026

Proper 9A                               

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        Are you weary?  Are you burdened?  Are you laboring beneath a heavy load?  Are you in need of rest?  For many of us the answer is a resounding “yes.”  That’s us:  weary and burdened, stressed-out and burned-out, pushing hard but making little progress.  You’ve got no enthusiasm.  Even the fun stuff in life just seems kind of ho-hum. Everyone feels that way sometimes.

But did you know that the followers of Jesus are especially susceptible to burn-out?  It’s true.  Being a disciple of Jesus doesn’t give you immunity to weariness.  Being a disciple of Jesus isn’t easy, but difficult.  As Jesus often said, “If anyone would come after me, let him take up his cross and follow me.”  Christians are cross-bearers.  And all that cross-bearing can sometimes lead to deep weariness and burn-out.

        Now this might surprise you, but not all burn-out is bad.  There’s a proper place for weariness in the Christian life.  In fact, part of the reason God gives us His Law and Commandments is to grind us down to nothing and drive us to despair of ourselves.  The Law of God is more than just nice rules to live by.  It does more than just “show” us our sin.  The Law magnifies our sin—amplifies it—causes us to cry out with St. Paul, “What a wretched man I am!  Who will deliver me from this body of death?”

        Are you with me so far?  The Law of God is good and wise; but part of the Law’s goodness and wisdom is that it burdens us and wearies us.  It works like this:  You know God wants His Law kept perfectly.  But you—you can’t keep the Law perfectly no matter how hard you try.  And the harder you try, the less of the Law you wind up keeping. 

        Today’s reading from Romans 7 is a horribly accurate portrayal of the battle that rages every day in all who follow Jesus:  We have the desire to do what is good; but we can’t do it!  The good things that we want to do and should do—these aren’t the things we do.  Instead, it’s the bad things—the evil things—the sinful things we know we ought to avoid—these are the very things that we end up doing.  If that doesn’t lead to weariness and burnout and despair, I don’t know what does.

        So what do you do?  What do you do when the things you do are the very things you hate?  When you want to be loving, but anger comes spilling out?  When you want to be thankful, but resentment and jealousy are what you feel?  What do you do when you want to do good, but evil always worms its way into the picture?  You know you shouldn’t do that, but you do it anyway.  You know you really ought to do that, but you never quite get around to it.

        Some Christians essentially give up.  They’re weary of discouragement and failure.  They’re tired of trying harder, so they don’t try at all.  “I’ll just do my best and live my life as I please, and hope for the best.  I’ll try not to hurt anyone, mind my own business, be nice to animals.  I’ll recycle.  I’ll reduce my carbon footprint.  I’ll put a sign in my yard to signal my virtue to everyone.  But I’m just not going to worry about “do’s” I can’t do and “don’ts” I can’t stop doing.”  That’s where some people are at.

        But what do you do when the Law has its way with you—when you realize with Saint Paul that by nature nothing good lives in here?  You can give up.  You can pretend otherwise.  Or, you can embrace the burnout and welcome the weariness, and, then, take it all to Jesus.

        Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me—that I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  Are you weary, burdened, and needing rest?  Come to Jesus. Take that invitation to heart.  It’s addressed to you.  Jesus wants you to come to Him—wants your weariness and your wretchedness and your burn-out.  He wants you.  This is why He came.  This is why Jesus was born of the Virgin Mary.  This is why He still draws us to Himself in the Word and in the sacraments.  He wants us to come to Him with our burdens and burn-outs and all the heavy lifting we try to do.  Jesus wants to give us rest.

        It seems so basic, doesn’t it—so simple, really?  Come to Jesus.  Trust Jesus.  Let Jesus shoulder your burdens.  And yet, we refuse to believe it, refuse to trust it, and choose to burden ourselves needlessly.  Jesus Christ bore your sins on the cross; why are you trying to bear them for yourself?  Jesus Christ bore the burden of your shame and guilt in His death; why are you still holding onto these things?  Beloved in the Lord, when Jesus says “Come to me,” He’s talking to sinners—poor, miserable, wretched, sinners—not to good, pious, commandment-keepers.  He’s talking to me and you.

        Come to me . . . and I will give you rest.  That, my friends, is a promise from the Savior—an unconditional promise with no ifs, ands, buts or asterisks.  So take it to heart.  All authority in heaven and earth has been given to Jesus, who died and rose from the dead.  His Word is sure and certain.  You’re not walking alone when you come to Jesus.  “Take my yoke upon you,” He says.  He’s bound Himself to you with that yoke of His.  You and Jesus—you’re like a couple of oxen yoked together, pulling a plow.  And that yoke of His is not two tons of commandments.  No, His yoke is easy, and His burden is light because He bears the burden for you.  Jesus shoulders the heavy load, and you just walk along like a little kid tagging along with your older, bigger brother.  Jesus carries the load as the two of you walk on together. 

        Come to Jesus, for He is gentle and lowly in heart.  He isn’t an overbearing, demanding deity requiring sacrifices.  He’s the Savior, the Shepherd, the Redeemer of the world.  He’s not that interested in what you can do for Him.  His interest is in you.  He wants you.  He wants you to come to Him with your burdens, with your cares, with your sorrows, your brokenness, your burnout, your anger, your lost-ness, your doubting, your sins.  He wants it all.  Everything that you carry around every day.  He wants it all beneath the yoke of His cross where your every burden was carried by Him.

        Come to Jesus in His Word.  Hear what He has to say to you.  The wise and learned—they don’t get it.  But listen like a child, trusting and believing what the Lord says.  Come to Jesus in the power of your baptism.  You can draw upon that power every day—power to own up to your sin, confess it, and receive the cleansing of His absolution.  Come to Jesus at this altar where Jesus wants to refresh you with His holy Supper for the forgiveness of sins.  Here you will find faith to follow Jesus and to fervently love one another.  Jesus says, “Come to me,” and you can’t come any closer to Him than when you receive Him in His body and His blood.

        Weariness and burnout are not the end of the story for you, for me, for all the people of God.  For we have been delivered.  The healing has begun.  We have been rescued from this body of death—by the body of Jesus given into death for us, raised from the tomb for us, and now reigning at the right hand of the Father—for us.  Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! 

        In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.