Joy in affliction

The Thessalonians were imitating the apostle in this. They would have heard about what happened in Philippi, the city Paul went to before getting to their city: how Paul had preached the gospel along with Silas, and been unjustly apprehended. He had actually been beaten by the civil authorities, and they threw him in a prison. They actually manacled their ankles to stocks while they were in prison. Imagine the despair there would be—to be in some hostile city, to be physically beaten and abused, thrown into prison.

Was all that a cause for despair? No—no despair. They began worshiping. Why? Because they knew their God. They still saw him. They knew his promises. It was their privilege to suffer for and with him. They began singing and praying to the Lord. And you should know the story from Acts 16:25–26: About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them. And suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken. And immediately all the doors were opened… Well, that again is what the Lord would see taking place in our lives. Yes, they received the Word under affliction.

And if we do not have affliction yet, we are likely to get it—particularly as we begin living boldly and witnessing to the gospel, and the world begins looking at us. But then, as the affliction comes, we begin rejoicing in Jesus Christ. And the power of the gospel, in that way, causes others to be willing to embrace the Saviour. Paul says that it is the joy of the Holy Spirit. It is not a joy that we work up. It does not come from any technique, any particular effort of our own. It is the joy that comes from the throne of God, with Jesus at his right hand, to whom we pray, to whom we are looking in faith as we serve him. And he sends the Spirit into our lives.

Now look, this is not to say that there is something wrong with you if you find yourself weeping sometimes. To be a Christian is not just to smile all the time. We get the whole range of human emotions. In fact, we get a wider range. I like to say that being a Christian makes me not less human, but more human. And I grieve more deeply than I would if I were not a Christian. And I suffer. And sometimes we are going to walk through shadows—spiritually and emotionally. But the point is not that we will avoid all those things, but that even in them, we will still have the joy of the Holy Spirit. Why? Because of the gospel we believe. Because we see the Lord. We know his love for us. We know his salvation. We see the wounds on his hands and feet. We know what it is he is gaining for us. He has gained an eternal inheritance and glory, and he is going to bless all that we do. It is our privilege to do all we do for him, as it was for the apostles. And so, even in our tears—as Psalm 84 says it, in the Valley of Baca—he makes the valley of weeping (for that is what Baca means) a place of rejoicing. And so the Holy Spirit brings joy to the grieving heart.¹

Richard D. Phillips