Suffering: The Mark of True Ministry

Open your Bible to Philippians chapter one, and look with me at verses twenty-seven through thirty. This morning our text is Paul's charge to the church at Philippi: that whatever happens, we conduct ourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ — standing firm in one spirit, striving together as one for the faith of the gospel, and not frightened in any way by those who oppose us.

It was John Stott who observed that there are many Jesuses on the overcrowded shelves of the world's religious markets. I would like to reframe that: on those same crowded shelves there are many gospels being preached, and many kinds of preachers on offer. Paul knew this — he spoke of another Jesus, another gospel, another spirit. And so in verse twenty-nine he sets before us the gospel he actually preached.

'For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe in him, but also to suffer for him.' Most of us have heard only the gospel of believing. But Paul says this has been granted to you — God has graciously given it. Eugene Peterson captures it well in The Message: 'There is far more to this life than trusting in Christ. There's also suffering for him. And the suffering is as much a gift as the trusting.' If believing is a gift, then suffering too is a gift. That is why Paul says it has been granted to you — come, pick it up, it is a gift, take it. It is a hard thing to grasp. Thinking of faith as a gift is easy; thinking of suffering as a gift is not.

This is a beloved letter, and most of us would say its theme is joy. Yet as you read it, many other facets emerge. Let me introduce this church to you. Philippi was pioneered by Paul himself. In Acts sixteen, Paul had wanted to go into Asia, but the Holy Spirit stopped him; then came the Macedonian call, and he went to the city of Philippi.

There are at least three kinds of people in this church. The first convert was Lydia, from a wealthy family. She opened her home to Paul, and most probably the church was born there; she became a partner in the ministry, representing the affluent, aristocratic class. Then there is the slave girl, who followed Paul crying out that these were men sent by God, until Paul cast the spirit out of her; most likely she too became part of the church, representing another class altogether. And there is the jailer, who believed that same night. Three different social classes are gathered in this one congregation. Two of the three are women, which tells us something of the prominence of women in this city — which is why it is not surprising that in chapter four Paul pleads with Euodia and with Syntyche to be of the same mind in the Lord.

People had come from many backgrounds. There were some Jews present, but there is no record of a synagogue; the majority were Gentiles. That may be why, in chapter two verse fifteen, Paul speaks of a warped and crooked generation — describing both the society outside and much of the church within. And as with every church Paul planted, things did not go smoothly here either.

In our Kerala churches we sing a song that longs to go back to the experience of the first-century church, the early church. But I pause and ask: which first-century experience do we actually want? The experience of Corinth, or of Philippi, where workers could not get along, where there was division and people discriminated against one another? Most churches have some problem of disunity, and false teaching flourished in places like Colossae. Yet the deepest problem in Philippi is not disunity. Disunity is there — chapter four verse two makes that plain — but the real issue, I think, is their understanding of suffering. That is why joy is set before them as the antidote to suffering.

Look closely at chapter one. In verse seven Paul says he is in chains; in verse fourteen, again, he is in chains. He keeps showing them his condition. Then in verse thirty he says they are going through the same struggle they saw he had, and now hear that he still has. So here is the situation: the pastor has a great trouble, and the believers have the very same trouble — but the pastor's response is different from theirs. This letter is written to correct their reaction to suffering. One verse makes it clear: in chapter two verse eighteen Paul says, 'you too should be glad and rejoice with me.' What gospel have we heard, dear people of God? Is it a gospel that says only believe and you will get the best of this world? Or a gospel bound up closely with suffering? Looking at verse twenty-nine, there seems to be no option offered — who would want to take one gift from God and refuse the other? Why does Paul say suffering is a great gift? Let me draw out three reasons.

First, suffering is the way we become like Christ. Everywhere Paul went, this was his burden. To the Galatians he wrote that he was in the pains of childbirth until Christ was formed in them. The measure he set was nothing less than the fullness of Christ. John writes the same in his first letter: whoever claims to live in him must walk as Jesus walked. We need to realize this is what is written on our ticket.

Albert Einstein was once travelling by train. When the ticket collector came around, Einstein was fumbling through his luggage, unable to find his ticket. The collector recognized him and said, 'You are Albert Einstein — you don't need to show me your ticket,' and moved on to the next carriage. Twenty-five minutes later the collector came back and still found Einstein searching everywhere. He said kindly, 'Sir, you don't need to show me your ticket; I believe you.' Einstein looked up and said, 'It is not about you believing me. The trouble is, I don't know where I am going.' It can happen to believers too — we can forget our destination.

It is good that we have come to a place like this to study. But for some people, study becomes the whole of life. 'What are you doing?' 'I'm doing my BTh.' 'And after that?' 'An MDiv.' 'And then?' 'An MTh.' 'And then?' 'Some counselling programme.' 'And then?' 'I'll look for any one-year course, anywhere.' But what is written on the ticket is not 'keep studying, keep roaming the campus.' I am not discounting study — you know I work in a Bible college. But all of this is only a means to an end, not the end itself. What is written on the ticket is that you become like Jesus. And there is only one means to that end: suffering. It is through suffering that we become like Jesus.

Paul says it plainly in chapter three verse ten: 'I want to know Christ — yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death.' This verse always disturbs me. Notice what Paul was discussing just before, in verses eight and nine: his right standing before God — what we would call justification, or salvation, or simply believing. But Paul does not stop at justification. He says, 'I want to know Christ.' Yes, you believed ten years ago; yes, you were justified twenty years ago — but Paul presses on: I want to know Christ, and I want to become like him in his death.

To understand what that death was, you need go no further than chapter two, where Paul quotes a magnificent hymn. What kind of death was it? He who was in very nature God did not consider equality with God something to cling to; he made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death. Paul says: I want to become like Jesus in that kind of death — the death of the One who was in the form of God yet surrendered all control, took the form of a servant, and let himself be put to death.

The more I studied this, the more I realized it is a dangerous prayer to pray. We have many prayers — Lord, answer today, answer this week. But if we begin to pray, 'Make me like you, even in that kind of death,' we hardly know what we are asking. In the pages of history there was a man who prayed exactly this. His name was Henry Suso, a godly, saintly man who lived in Germany. Every morning he would pray, 'Lord, make me, break me, humble me, until I am like you. I want to become like you.'

God answered that prayer. One morning he woke to a knock at the door. He opened it to find a strange woman standing there with a baby — and she left the child with him. Then she went out into that street and called the whole neighbourhood together, crying, 'This is the fruit of your sin!' The neighbours came out, eyebrows raised: 'Now we know who you really are. You were acting like a saint — now we know.' And what did this godly man do? He took the baby into his room and prayed, 'Lord, you know I am innocent. What shall I do?' The answer from heaven was clear: 'Do what I did. Suffer for the sins of others.' Suso was shattered; his reputation was gone. But the voice of heaven was unmistakable: you do what I did — you bear the sins of others. So he began to raise that baby boy. Many years later, under the weight of conviction, the woman came back and called the neighbours again: 'This man is innocent. I told a lie.' Suso later put it in writing that from that time he was broken, and through that brokenness and humility he became more like Jesus. That is how we become like Jesus in his death — through the death-like crises God allows into our lives.

Look again at the second half of chapter one verse twenty-seven. Paul — encouraging a people shaken by suffering while he himself stands firm and rejoices — says: stand firm in one spirit, striving together for the faith. Mark that phrase, 'striving together.' It is an unusual word in the original, used only twice in the New Testament. You find it again in chapter four verse three, where Paul asks his true companion to help those women, Euodia and Syntyche, since they have contended at his side — the same word: they strived, they struggled together. And in verse thirty a closely related word appears for Paul's own life — 'the same struggle' — a word that comes from the arena of the gladiators.

Who was a gladiator? In the Roman Empire it was common sport: a man forced to fight, sometimes against wild beasts, so that others could be entertained. That is the picture Paul draws. We become like Jesus when we are thrown into battles like this. And I can assure you, in ministry such battles are inevitable. Some of you will pass through financial crisis; some already are, wondering how to pay your fees. I have only one piece of counsel for a struggle like that: do not look to any man. Do not go and ask a person for money. Someone will say, 'But Paul asked for money' — yes, he asked, but he asked on behalf of others, never presenting his own need. Never stand in this pulpit, or any pulpit, or go elsewhere, and parade your own need. Know that when you are in such a struggle, something far bigger is happening. The moment your eyes turn to people, your trust is diverted and you are defeated. This battle is meant to make you more like Jesus.

I can look back over my own life and see that I never became more like Jesus by receiving large sums of money. From the time I was six or seven, I would imitate our local pastor; I always wanted to be a preacher. As I grew, my father would say again and again, 'Study as much as you can. Go to the best college. I don't have much money, but even if I have to sell our house, I will send you.' I grew up hearing that. So when I went for my MTh, and a huge financial crisis came, I still remember the email. I was enjoying my thesis, and my mentor was delighted with the way I was engaging the scholars. That is when the message came: 'Joe Thomas, we cannot accept your thesis. You have seventy thousand rupees due. Clear it before Friday, or vacate.'

The first time I read it, I thought, 'Never mind — I'll simply ask my dad,' because his words were always in my mind: for finances, don't worry, we will support you. But there was a struggle inside. I was at an age when my friends were already working and helping their parents, and here I was, still at my father's mercy, having to make that call. That evening I telephoned home. My parents were sitting down for family prayer. My mother asked if everything was well. I said, 'Everything is fine, except one thing. I got a mail today — I have to pay seventy thousand rupees in a day or two.' And my father's response made me more like Jesus. He said, 'Pack your bag and come back. We'll do ministry. I don't have the money. You've studied four or five years — enough. Come home, and we'll serve God together.'

I was shattered. I thought, 'God, you have deceived me. I left everything and went to Bible college, and now tomorrow morning I must pack my luggage and walk back.' I began to picture the exit — the others watching, asking, 'Why are you leaving?' Perhaps I would slip away in the night so I would not have to face anyone. That night was a gladiator's struggle in my life. I could not sleep, wondering how I would face my friends and my professors the next day. And then something happened. A man in a country we had never seen and never heard of telephoned my father. 'Pastor, for many days there has been a burden on me. I want to send you some money.' My father, as he always did, said, 'I don't need money; I have enough. And I don't even know you, or how you earned it. I don't want your money.' But the man would not hang up. 'Pastor, you can enquire about me — about my reputation, my testimony. I am a genuine person. I must give this to you, because I cannot sleep here.' The next day my fee was cleared. This God is your God. Do not ask a man. It is a shameful thing to present your need dressed up as a prayer request. Never do that. We are serving God; we are in a battle, and in that battle he makes us more like Jesus.

Who are the Philippians battling? Paul calls them the opponents. In chapter one there were those who, seeing Paul in prison, preached Christ out of envy and rivalry, hoping to add to his suffering — watching to see whether he would be beaten all the more. In chapter three verse eighteen there is another group, the enemies of the cross of Christ. And in chapter three verse two he warns, 'Watch out for those dogs, those evildoers' — the Judaizers who added to the gospel. The Philippians were contending with false brothers, with enemies of the cross, with Judaizers. Paul's word to them is: this is a battle in which you can become more like Jesus. Stand firm. Here in this college and outside it, expect that it will come.

When we embrace suffering, we imitate the Jesus who suffered and died before he was raised. There is a pattern that Jesus himself set: suffering comes before glory. Do not try to change the order. And the glory is not something you experience on this side of eternity. In John twelve Jesus says the Father will honour the one who serves him, and they will sit with the Father — that is the glory, on the other side. On the cross it was like a gladiator's combat, and out of it came the words, 'Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.' When you are pressed from all four corners, what spills out reveals what you are made of. From Jesus, pressed on the cross, came forgiveness and trust in God.

That leads to the second reason suffering is a gift: suffering is a way of witnessing. It is an experience God designs so that his name may be made known to those outside. Look at chapter one verse twenty-eight: do not be frightened by those who oppose you; for them your steadfastness is a sign of destruction, but for you a sign of salvation — and that from God. When we go through suffering with perseverance and endurance, it becomes a sign to the people watching. I take this to be one of God's main purposes in allowing suffering: first, to make us like Jesus; second, to make us a witness to others.

This is why Paul can say the astonishing thing in chapter two verse eighteen — 'you too should be glad and rejoice with me.' Rejoice for what? It is not, 'People of Philippi, I have sent you some money, so be glad — go shopping on Saturday.' Paul is saying, 'I have the very same struggle you have, and I am rejoicing; you rejoice with me.' Why? Because Paul knows he is caught up in a greater conflict, between God and the prince of darkness. When we are in a gladiator's battle, there is always a larger battle behind it. When that financial crisis struck me, the prince of darkness was laughing: 'Now Joe will betray Jesus; now Joe will leave the ministry; now he will write that email.' And on the other side God was standing: 'He will not write it. He will not look to people for money. He will look to me.' That is why Paul says, I rejoice — darkness, look at my response: I rejoice.

Let me say something about this testimony. When does our ministry begin? Most students tell me, 'After my graduation.' But on graduation day your first phase of ministry is simply over — the first chapter of the book is finished. I tell my students at SABC: graduation is not the day you change; it is the day you celebrate a change that has already happened. That certificate will change no one. If you pray now, you will pray after graduation; if you do not pray now, do not expect to start after graduation. Do not say, 'These are college days, let me enjoy them; after graduation I'll rise at five in the morning to pray.' You are already in ministry. Graduation should be a celebration of the change that took place while you were a student here, in the morning chapel. Always remember there is a bigger battle. Do not treat your pillow as your best friend; when you know the battle, you may look at that pillow and call it your enemy — because on one side is the voice saying he will not get up, and on the other side God saying, from tomorrow he will rise.

The suffering and the hard disciplines are meant to make you a witness. Remember: ten years from now, some of you will stand behind a pulpit to preach, and the very roommates you live with today will be sitting there listening. Before you receive big testimonies from outside, your roommate must be able to testify that you are a spiritual person. If that happens, you are winning. If it does not — if, when you rise to lead worship, your roommate mutters, 'Nice song; but we know who you really are' — then, however big the outside battles look, you are losing the ones that matter, and it will not last.

Mother Teresa was once asked for her recommendation for world peace. In ten seconds she answered, 'Go home and love your family.' Some of you are wondering how you will evangelize all of India, how you will plant a hundred churches — yet you cannot live with the person in your own room, and you keep asking for a room change: 'My roommate is not right, I want to move.' If you find yourself filing that complaint again and again, it is time to examine yourself now.

In chapter two Paul gives us three people who won this battle when they were allowed to go through struggle. First is Paul himself, in verses seventeen and eighteen — the man undergoing suffering who becomes a sign to others. Then Timothy, in verses nineteen to twenty-four, who struggles yet remains a model. And in verse twenty-five comes an unusual character: Epaphroditus. He was the Philippian church's representative, sent to visit Paul in prison and to carry their gifts to him. Note the warmth Paul had with this church: he would not take money from the Thessalonians or the Corinthians, but from Philippi he gladly received it. When Epaphroditus reached Paul, he found himself in a great battle, suffering to the very core.

Verse twenty-seven says he was ill and almost died — that was the battle he was in. But see how he became a sign to others, and do not miss verse twenty-six. Paul writes that Epaphroditus longs for all of them and is distressed — not because he himself is dying, but because they had heard that he was ill. Think of it: here is a man at the verge of death, and his pain is that the Philippian church had heard he was unwell. How many ministers are like that? We are quick to announce that we went on a mission journey and now we are dying of some disease; quick to raise funds out of our struggle; quick to write, 'See, I came all this way to bring gifts, and now I am in need — you must support me.' But Epaphroditus says the opposite: 'Don't tell anybody that I am unwell. I don't want a market made out of my suffering.' That is how you win the battle and become a sign to others. Epaphroditus is a different breed of minister altogether, and verse twenty-six alone is enough to challenge much of what goes on today.

Are we becoming a sign to unbelievers — or are unbelievers catching the love of money from watching believers? Too often the testimony is, 'When I began my Christian life I had nothing; now I have this and this and this,' and the unbeliever hears it and thinks, 'If that is what following Jesus brings, I want it too.' Who will tell the world that money is not the most important thing?

Jesus did. Consider Judas Iscariot. No one under the sun would have kept handing the money bag back to Judas — Jesus knew from the beginning what kind of man he was. Yet day after day, when others said, 'You keep it, you keep the money,' Jesus let Judas hold the purse, even as Judas helped himself from it. Imagine Judas presenting his accounts: 'Lord, I gave to the poor, I gave to the beggars, and I've set some aside for our needs' — cleverly, everything in order, just as you might write up an account for a sponsor, every book and every rupee neatly listed. Sometimes an illustration turns out to be prophetic; people have come to me afterward and asked, 'Pastor, did you know something?' — and I did not. Sometimes it will be like Judas handing his accounts to Jesus. And Jesus listens to every account. I can see only one reason Jesus kept entrusting that bag to Judas. Had John known the money was disappearing — a thousand rupees yesterday, only two hundred today — he would have gone to Jesus and said, 'We are losing money; we must change the treasurer.' But Jesus deliberately, again and again, said, 'You handle it.' Why? To teach us a lesson: money is not the most important thing in ministry. Never make money your master. The moment we do, we stop being a sign to the unbelieving world and instead draw people into the love of money.

I am sorry to speak so candidly, but I must put it before you; forgive me if these things were never made clear to you. These days many decide to go to Bible college because they have seen the lifestyle of certain ministers, and the testimonies are appealing: 'I once had a bicycle; now, when I leave my house, I can't decide which car to take.' Who wouldn't want a Jesus like that? But ask yourself honestly — would anyone have decided to serve God after seeing Paul in prison, or after watching Epaphroditus struggle near death? What sign are we giving to others? Suffering is meant to let you witness to the world about what truly matters before God.

How do we live like this — as a sign to those outside? Paul does something interesting. In chapter one verse twenty-seven, and again in chapter three verse twenty, he uses the language of citizenship. Most translations render verse twenty-seven, 'conduct yourselves,' but a more literal reading is, 'live as citizens,' whatever happens — whether I am with you or not, whether you are put in prison or not. And chapter three verse twenty makes it explicit: 'our citizenship is in heaven.' This is a badly misunderstood picture. When people read 'our citizenship is in heaven,' they think Paul only means, 'One day we will go to heaven, so live a simple life meanwhile and don't worry about anything here.' But that is not the primary meaning.

The Philippians, living in a Roman colony, would have understood it better. A Roman citizen living in Philippi was not consumed by a dream of one day going to Rome. His ambition was to live right where he was, in Philippi, by the values and laws of Rome. In the same way, our citizenship is in heaven so that we live here on earth by heaven's values now. That is what it means. The danger is that people become so heavenly minded that they are of no earthly good. But C. S. Lewis put it profoundly: if you read history, you will find that the Christians who did the most for this present world were precisely those who thought most of the next. The people who did the most here were those driven by the world to come.

Third, why is suffering a gift? Because suffering is the way we experience the resurrection power. Without suffering, how would you ever taste it? In chapter three Paul joins them together: he wants to share in Christ's sufferings and become like him in his death, and in the same breath he says, 'I want to know the power of his resurrection.' The more you pass through suffering, the more you experience the resurrection power in your life. If you are going through sickness, understand this: you have a real opportunity to experience the power of the resurrection. God has designed suffering for that, so that in it you get a foretaste of what is to come.

Someone once said the ultimate healing comes only when we are dead and gone — for then there is no more praying for the sick; we are completely healed, when at last the trumpet of the Lord shall sound and the resurrection power raises us. Disease and death are at the door. None of us received a vaccination against sickness the day we accepted Jesus, though many present the gospel that way. If disease and death have not yet touched your family, in time they will. Last year our family passed through a terrible season of fear over my mother's health. She was almost gone; the doctors said they could guarantee nothing. But through that suffering the power of the resurrection came, and today she is walking; she is healed. As long as God's purpose for a person is not yet finished, the resurrection power is enough to sustain and to heal. Do not be afraid of sickness. If God's purpose in your life is not yet fulfilled, you will experience that immeasurably great power flowing through your body.

This is why suffering is a gift. 'It has been granted to you,' Paul says — take it up, it is a gift. Take it, because when you pass through it you become more like Jesus; when you meet it with a different response you win many for him; and in it you taste the power of his resurrection. This is our theme: partaking in suffering, the grace both to believe and to suffer. Will you make a commitment before the Lord? 'Lord, whatever way you want me to walk, I will walk it without questioning you.' Examine your relationships with those you share a room with; ask whether your life carries a testimony on this campus; ask whether, in the gladiator's battle, your eyes are fixed on Jesus or on people. Lift your hands to heaven and tell God: I will not leave you, I will not leave the ministry — if financial hardship comes, if sickness comes, I know that you are in control, and because you live I can face tomorrow. Suffering is not sent to break us; it is sent to make us like Jesus, and to bring a beautiful testimony out of our lives. And if you are suffering even now, having passed through great pain these last days, hear this word: the power of the resurrection may overshadow you today. Tell Jesus, 'I want that power to flow through me.'