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CHAPTER 1

Father of Mercies, God of All Comfort

2 Corinthians 1:1–3

Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, and Timothy our brother,

To the church of God that is at Corinth, with all the saints who are in the whole of Achaia:

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort.

On August 1, 2007, the I-35W bridge near downtown Minneapolis collapsed. Countless people still suffer both physically and emotionally in the aftermath of this devastating event. Some lost family members in this tragedy. Others' lives were spared, but they were hospitalized with a variety of injuries. Those not directly involved, but perhaps friends with those who were, struggled to make sense of what occurred, asking questions such as, "Where was God? Who is God?" What did the church in that city most need to know about God on that tragic day?

There are any number of answers to that question. Some in Minneapolis needed to know that not so much as a sparrow falls to the ground apart from our Father in heaven (Matt. 10:29). They, therefore, being "of more value than many sparrows" (v. 31), may rest assured that this event did not catch God by surprise.

Others needed to be gently and lovingly reminded that none of us knows "what tomorrow will bring" (James 4:14a). Indeed, "What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes" (v. 14b). Instead, they and we "ought to say, 'If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that'" (v. 15).

And certainly everyone should stand with confidence and unshakable assurance on this glorious truth, that God orchestrates all things, both blessing and blight, both triumph and tragedy, for the ultimate spiritual good of those who love him and "are called according to his purpose" (Rom. 8:28).

But perhaps most important of all, the church in Minneapolis and all the saints throughout Minnesota needed to know what Paul believed the church "at Corinth" together "with all the saints" who were "in the whole of Achaia" needed to know (2 Cor. 1:1), namely, that "the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ," who is most worthy of the affirmation and proclamation "blessed," is "the Father of mercies" and the "God of all comfort" (2 Cor. 1:3) "who comforts us in all our affliction" (2 Cor. 1:4).

Paul didn't write this in some isolated ivory tower or from the perspective of a detached and out-of-touch theologian who himself had never encountered pain and suffering and the confusion that tragedy so often elicits. He knew what it was like to endure "affliction" and to be "so utterly burdened" (2 Cor. 1:8) beyond one's strength that the only option left seemed to be death (v. 9). He had tasted the bitter dregs of "deadly peril" (v. 10) and was well acquainted with the darkness of depression (2 Cor. 7:5–6).

This is a man who had suffered the physical horror of being stoned by an angry mob (Acts 14:19) and had felt the relentless emotional pressure of responsibility for the welfare of others (2 Cor. 11:28). This is a man who had endured "far more imprisonments" and "countless beatings" and was "often near death" (2 Cor. 11:23). Five times he had been thrashed with thirty-nine blows and three times beaten with rods, not to mention having endured shipwreck and countless other dangers from both friend and foe (2 Cor. 11:25– 26). He knew "toil and hardship" and sleepless nights, even hunger and exposure to the elements (2 Cor. 11:27).

So, when Paul the "apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God" (2 Cor. 1:1) describes our heavenly Father as one who is the source of mercy and the fount of all comfort, we need to take heed, for he knows of what he speaks.

I suppose some in Minneapolis were inclined to curse God for what transpired in 2007. But as counterintuitive as it seems, Paul declares him "blessed" (2 Cor. 1:3), as one to be thanked and adored and praised! One would almost think Paul had read the book of Job: "Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head and fell on the ground and worshiped. And he said, 'Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD" (Job 1:20–21).

There are two things in particular on which we need to focus in this passage. First, when Paul says that God is the "Father of mercies" and "God of all comfort," he means more than simply that mercy and comfort come from God. Yes, God most assuredly dispenses these wonderful blessings, but Paul is more concerned to tell us something about God's character, his personality, the disposition and inclination of his heart. In other words, we should read this passage something along the lines of: "the Father who is characterized by mercy" and "the God whose heart delights in giving comfort."

Yes, of course Paul is describing what God does. But even more foundational is what he says concerning who God is or what he is like. This is his nature, Paul says, his personality, not simply his performance. What God does is a reflection of who he is, and he is above all else characterized by tenderhearted compassion and gentleness and love and a passionate desire to encourage and strengthen those who are suffering hardship and hurt.

The second thing to note is the comprehensive scope of God's merciful and compassionate nature, for he is the "God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction ..." (2 Cor. 1:3–4). The former phrase points to the fact that comfort of every kind comes from the heart of our Father. Whatever sort of comfort is needed, whatever its nature, you can trust God to be in plentiful supply. Murray Harris suggests that the word "all" may have a "temporal connotation, 'ever ready to console' (TCNT), 'whose consolation never fails us!' (NEB, REB); it may also denote the comprehensiveness of God's compassion, 'who gives every possible encouragement' (NJB). In accordance with his limitless compassion (cf. Ps. 145:9; Mic. 7:19), God provides his people with never-failing comfort of every variety (cf. Isa. 40:1; 51:3, 12; 66:13)."

And just how does God do this? What could he possibly say to us that would have this effect? Perhaps he brings to mind David's declaration: "I say to the LORD, 'You are my Lord; I have no good apart from you'" (Ps. 16:2). Or maybe Asaph's affirmation: "Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you" (Ps. 73:25). Or Paul's promise: "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword, [or collapsing bridges]? No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us" (Rom. 8:35, 37).

I can't begin to know what those in Minneapolis were and still are suffering, and I certainly don't intend to pontificate with pious words spoken from the comfort and safety of my own circumstances. But this I do know and can say with all confidence: "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. 'The Lord [not physical life or health or wealth] is my portion,' says my soul, 'therefore I will hope in him'" (Lam. 3:22–24).

Conduits of Divine Comfort

2 Corinthians 1:3–7

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer. Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort.

One thing that I've never heard said is that people profit the most from those who suffer the least. The most profound and lasting encouragement typically emanates from people who've experienced the deepest trials and greatest loss. When I'm hurting or wallowing in self- pity, I don't instinctively turn to those who've been insulated from pain or who've never tasted the bitter dregs of disappointment and heartache. People who've walked through "the valley of the shadow of death" and bear its scars are a greater inspiration to me than all the collective wisdom of those who remain safely isolated on the mountaintop of spiritual triumph.

However, this isn't something widely embraced in our day. All too often we look on the healthy and wealthy and conclude they must be walking in lockstep with the Lord, while those who struggle and suffer and endure an endless succession of heartaches are deficient in faith and therefore disqualified from any meaningful ministry to others.

Two of my heroes are a standing rebuke to such unbiblical thinking. Few have had a greater impact on my life than the Soviet dissident author Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn and quadriplegic Joni Eareck-son Tada. The former endured the injustice of Stalin's gulag and the persecution of an atheist communist regime while the latter has spent the last forty or so years in a wheelchair. Yet their endurance and joy and resolute commitment to Christ have inspired millions, myself included.

There's a sense in which they've been conduits of divine comfort, middlemen, so to speak, "between producer and consumers," much like the apostle Paul described himself in 2 Corinthians 1:3–7. This calls for explanation.

Let's not be naïve. Solzhenitsyn and Tada, again like Paul, have each undoubtedly felt the pressure to yield to self-pity and bitterness. After all, few things have the power to turn us in upon ourselves as do affliction and inexplicable suffering. When we hurt, we rarely think of others. We expect them to think of us.

Both Solzhenitsyn and Tada openly confess to their initial, indeed recurring, struggles with suffering. There have been times when they both prayed for death, wanting only to be delivered from an anguish that at times seemed senseless and unjust. I suppose some today would consider them failures, decidedly lacking in faith. How else, after all, does one explain their pain and constant battles? Surely this couldn't be "God's will," or could it?

Reflect for a moment on your own seasons of suffering, and consider the two most likely questions that came to mind: "Why me?" and "Doesn't anyone care?" The first is directed at God and implicitly accuses him of injustice. The second is aimed at others and explicitly charges them with insensitivity. But as I read this paragraph in 2 Corinthians 1, I hear Paul saying that there are two quite different questions that ought immediately to cross our lips: "Who else?" and "What for?"

I want to highlight two remarkable truths found in 2 Corinthians 1:3–7. There are undoubtedly other things that could be said, but let's focus on these two in particular, in reverse order.

First, Paul clearly affirms that there is what can only be called a qualitative and quantitative correspondence between the intensity of human suffering and the availability of divine comfort. If there is an abundance of suffering, so too there is a supply of comfort that is more than adequate to sustain the hurting soul (see esp. v. 5).

No amount of human suffering can outstrip or exceed the resources in God's heart to bring comfort and sustenance and grace to see us through. You need never doubt whether God is up to the task of providing what your soul most needs to survive, even thrive, in the midst of the worst imaginable heartache and hardship. It was only because Paul was confident that God's comfort matched and exceeded his suffering that he was able to mediate that comfort to others when they faced similar, perhaps even more severe, trials.

Second, Paul also discerned a divine design in his hardship. What might appear haphazard and serendipitous to the human eye comes wrapped in the package of God's eternal purpose. Look closely at Paul's statement in verse 4 where he asserts that when God comforts us "in all our affliction" it is "so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God." Pain threatens to anesthetize us to any observable "so that." It seems so senseless, so random, so utterly lacking in good and devoid of a goal. But Paul won't hear of it. Whatever degree of suffering I've endured, the apostle says, it was to equip me to serve you who likewise endure affliction of body and anguish of soul.

This doesn't immediately resonate with many of us. We are by nature so intractably selfish that we regard our own souls "as the center of all providences" and "naturally seek to explain everything by its bearing on ourselves alone." We struggle to envision how our pain and hardship could possibly have any relevance for or bearing upon anyone else. If nothing else, Paul's confession "calls into question the individualism of modern Christianity and the sense of remoteness within and among many contemporary churches."

But there's a vital lesson for us to learn in this truth. When faced with affliction, whatever its nature or source or perceived cause, stop and do two things: first, avail yourself of the corresponding comforts of Christ and, second, lift up your head, look around, and ask, "Who else, Lord?"

Here's how Paul put it in terms of his relationship to the Corinthians. "If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer. Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort" (2 Cor. 1:6–7). Nothing in Paul's life was interpreted as existing or occurring solely for himself. It was for them!

There are two possible ways to interpret Paul's use of the word "salvation" in verse 6. Certainly he is not claiming that his sufferings are redemptive, as if he accomplished in his body and soul what only Christ achieved at the cross. Rather, some believe Paul is afflicted for their "salvation" in the sense that they received the gospel in the context of his suffering. "What they tend to despise in him [his weakness that comes from suffering] is part and parcel of what brought life to them." On the other hand, the word "salvation" may simply refer more to their general well-being — their spiritual safety and health as well as joy and victory over sin (i.e., sanctification) rather than any notion of deliverance from divine wrath.

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Excerpted from "A Sincere and Pure Devotion to Christ Volume 1 2 Corinthians 1–6"
by .
Copyright © 2010 Sam Storms.
Excerpted by permission of Good News Publishers.
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