Romans 5:1-11 - The Paradox of Lent: Joy in Suffering - March 12, 2023

Lent is perhaps both the most rewarding and the most challenging season in the Christian church year. Rewarding because we get to witness once again our Savior’s love in offering himself for us; challenging in that we must come to grips with the fact that it was our sins that made him suffer at the hands of wicked men and die nailed to a cross. Another challenge of Lent are the paradoxes. What’s a paradox? A paradox is statement that seems contradictory but is nonetheless true. Jesus presented a paradox when he declared that whoever wants to save his life will lose it. But whoever loses his life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it (Mark 8:35). You must lose your life to save it? This would be nonsense coming from anyone but Christ – who lost his life only to take it up again 3 days later! Authentic Christianity – as defined by Jesus in his Sermon on the Mount – is filled with paradoxes: the poor will inherit the riches of heaven, only those who mourn will be comforted, and it is a blessing to be persecuted (Matthew 5:3-4, 11). But perhaps the most difficult paradox Lent presents is the one before us this morning: finding joy in suffering. It seems to be foolish and nonsensical. But as Paul explains, nothing could be truer for Christ and for Christians.

In the years following the conclusion of WWI, H.G. Wells voiced the thought of many when he described it as “the war to end all wars”. [1] They imagined that future generations would learn from the death, depravity and violence and never repeat the same mistakes. They believed that the Treaty of Versailles would establish a peace that would last. Time has a way of dashing fickle human hope, doesn’t it? WWII, Korea, Vietnam, the ongoing global war on terror and now, Russia and Ukraine have proved that our world is anything but peaceful. Each day the evening news reminds us that there is no peace in our world as it reports on robberies, car-jackings and worse. Even more sobering, we often don’t even have to look outside of our own homes to find the absence of peace. To make matters worse, this lack of peace is only symptomatic of a deeper problem: the lack of peace between God and man. Sin separates us from God. It earns us his wrath. It makes us hostile to God and God hostile to us. And we were helpless to do anything about it. But Paul says that God did something about it: therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.

With the word “justified” Paul transports us into a courtroom. God’s courtroom. A courtroom where we are the defendants – whether we like it or not. The charges against us fall into 10 categories – all first degree felonies worthy of an eternity in hell: failure to fear, love and trust in God above all things; failure to pray, praise and give thanks; failure to gladly hear and learn the Word of God; failure to honor and obey those in authority; failure to help and befriend those in need; failure to lead a pure and decent life; failure to help our neighbor keep what belongs to him; failure to take words and actions in the kindest possible way; failure to be content. We know – and God knows – that we are guilty as charged. But then something shocking happens. The judge slams down his gavel and declares that we are innocent of all charges, that our records have been expunged, that we are free to go. If such a thing were to happen today, there would be outrage and cries of injustice and marches in the streets. How is this possible?

Paul’s “therefore” points back to chapter 4 which tells us how this is possible: [Jesus] was handed over to death because of our trespasses and was raised to life because of our justification (Romans 4:25). Here’s the greatest paradox of all: because Jesus endured the exact opposite of peace: a cruel death on a cross – we now have peace with God. It may seem contradictory, but it was the only way. And Paul tells us why a few verses later: at the appointed time, while we were still helpless, Christ died for the ungodly. It is rare indeed that someone will die for a righteous person. Perhaps someone might actually go so far as to die for a person who has been good to him. But God shows his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

What does this mean? Do you remember the name Aaron Feis? You might remember the name Nikolas Cruz. Cruz was the young man who killed 17 people at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida five years ago. Aaron Feis was an assistant football coach and security guard at the same school and when Cruz came charging down the hall, Feis threw himself in front of a group of students, saving them from death but dying in the process. Feis made the ultimate sacrifice – he gave up his own life to save others. That kind of heroic, selfless sacrifice is rare in our world. But as heroic and selfless as Aaron Feis was, he didn’t do what Jesus did. Feis sacrificed himself for innocent students. Jesus sacrificed himself for helpless, ungodly sinners. Jesus did the equivalent of taking a bullet – not for innocent students, but for Nikolas Cruz. Jesus didn’t die for his friends, but his enemies.

And the result is that through faith, we have peace with God. This is not the peace that our world talks about. This is not the end of school shootings; it’s not the end of wars or racism or natural disasters; it’s not a peace that can be achieved by getting rid of guns or urging love and tolerance. Standing justified before God does not mean that we will always feel “at peace” or have peace in our homes and families. This peace is better. This an objective peace – a peace that exists outside of us. It means that regardless of what is happening in our lives our relationship with God has been changed: instead of being his enemies, we are now his friends, his children.  

And the devil simply cannot tolerate this. He works tirelessly to make us doubt God’s gift; to make us believe that God is still our enemy, that he’s still angry at us, that he’s just itching to slam the hammer of his wrath down on us at any moment. One of his more sinister methods is to make us wonder and worry about dying in sin – that is, dying or having Jesus return in judgment at the very moment where you’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing. What happens if we don’t have time to repent and be forgiven? Will you go to hell? That’s a scary thought, isn’t it? The reality is that we will be sinning when Jesus returns or we die. Sinful desires pass through our minds at the speed of thought. Sinful words, actions and attitudes are perpetual part of our lives. But Paul grants us comfort and the assurance that peace with God isn’t something we have and lose as often as we sin and repent. He says: we also have obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand. The wonderful reality is that peace with God is not something that we get this morning and lose tomorrow. The peace Christ died to win for us has changed our status before God forever. Wait, aren’t we still sinners? Yes. This is another paradox of Christianity. Luther captured this paradox with the Latin phrase simul justus et peccator – a Christian is “simultaneously righteous and a sinner.” [2] Yes, we are always sinning, but through faith Christ’s righteousness always covers us. Where sin increased, grace overflowed much more (Romans 5:20). So that, while Lent is certainly a time for serious self-examination and repentance, it is also a time to rejoice. Rejoice in Christ’s suffering because through it he produced peace with God. Peace for sinners. Peace for you. Peace for me. Peace forever.

That’s a paradox we could live with, but if we stopped there we might leave with a warped view of the Christian life. A view that, unfortunately, many people actually hold. It’s the view and the expectation that because Christ has established peace with God that we will experience peace in our lives here and now. That’s not true. That’s a distortion and cheapening of the Gospel. The second paradox Paul presents is the paradox of finding joy in the reality of our suffering.

We also rejoice confidently in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces patient endurance, and patient endurance produces tested character, and tested character produces hope. And hope will not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, who was given to us. Rejoicing in Christ’s suffering is one thing – his suffering is over, he is now reigning in heaven’s glory – but rejoicing in my suffering? That’s something else entirely, isn’t it? In fact, isn’t it when we are suffering that we are most tempted to doubt God’s love, to believe that Christ’s suffering was all for nothing – most tempted to give up our hope in God and hope for heaven? How can suffering possibly lead to joy and hope?

First, we have to ask: what kind of suffering is Paul talking about? It is not the suffering that is brought about by our own sin – Peter makes that clear (1 Peter 4:14-16). Instead, it includes any and all suffering that come as a result of being believers living in a sinful world controlled by Satan. This includes the persecution, ridicule, and animosity we face at work, from friends, from the media, from the world because we are Christians. This includes the challenges, sacrifices, and effort we choose to make only because we are Christians. (For example: choosing to pass on a job promotion that would mean working Sunday mornings or as parents, adopting a more humble lifestyle (maybe passing on some luxury) in order to be able to give your children a full-time Christian education.) Suffering includes the problems that are part of the normal human condition: sadness, loneliness, weakness, sickness and death. We suffer all of these things because, while Christ has already won our salvation – we are not in heaven yet. And yet, even in suffering, Paul says that we rejoice.

Why? Because we know where the road of suffering starts and where it ends. It starts with hope – hope for the glory of God. In the life of a Christian, suffering leads to patient endurance. Patient endurance is the quality of bearing up under adversity. Patient endurance leads to tested character. The picture behind tested character comes from the testing of metals by refining them with fire. Character is formed only through testing, trials, pressure. And, when we have been put through the wringer and come out the other side, what is the result? Paul comes full circle: an even greater hope for heaven. The McFarland girls’ basketball team made it to the state tournament this year – sadly they lost on Friday – but Paul likens the life of the Christian to the life of those basketball players. All season long those athletes have trained, sweated, and sacrificed. They disciplined their bodies and their minds. Why? The hope of a championship. Hope is where their training began and where it ended. The Christian life begins with justification, the gift of God in Christ that guarantees our “not-guilty” status in his courtroom. And then, as we pass through the trials and troubles of life God strengthens us in that hope by showing us, in sometimes painful ways, that this world is not all it’s cracked up to be; by creating in us a longing for something better; by increasing our hope for the glory of heaven.

And, unlike the hope of the majority of high school athletes, this hope does not disappoint. Therefore, since we have now been justified by his blood, it is even more certain that we will be saved from God’s wrath through him. For if, while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, it is even more certain that, since we have been reconciled, we will be saved by his life. Jesus has already done the hardest thing – he has reconciled us – God’s enemies – to God. In Paul’s eyes, then, nothing could be easier than bringing those who already stand before God not guilty through this life and through Judgment Day to the glory of heaven. That certain hope is why we can do the unthinkable: rejoice even in our sufferings.

Is this paradox hard to understand? Is it hard to believe when our suffering seems especially bitter and meaningless? Yes. That’s why we need Lent this year and every year. That’s why we need to see and understand that we are following in the footsteps of our Savior – footsteps that lead through suffering and death to a resurrection to glory. The cross was necessary for him because only his suffering could purchase our forgiveness and produce peace with God. The cross is necessary for us because suffering trains and refines our hope – not for a better life now – but for the full and never-ending glory of heaven. Yes, this is one of Lent’s most difficult paradoxes. But this is the paradox that guarantees and sustains our joy and our hope of heaven. Amen.  

[1]https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_war_to_end_war#:~:text=%22The%20war%20to%20end%20war,World%20War%20of%201914%E2%80%931918.

[2] LW 25:336 (On Romans 7) “Now notice what I said above, that the saints at the same time as they are righteous are also sinners; righteous because they believe in Christ, whose righteousness covers them and is imputed to them, but sinners because they do not fulfill the Law, are not without concupiscence, and are like sick men under the care of a physician; they are sick in fact but healthy in hope and in the fact that they are beginning to be healthy, that is, they are “being healed.” They are people for whom the worst possible thing is the presumption that they are healthy, because they suffer a worse relapse.”