Labour pains
Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. On Pentecost Sunday, we celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit and the resulting birth that took place: the birth of the Christian Church.
In Romans 8, St Paul describes the deep yearning of the whole creation, including humanity, to be returned to its former perfect state. As we live in the time after Christ’s first coming but before His final return, we do live in God’s kingdom but only in part. We yearn for the day when all things will be made complete. In the meantime, we live together as God’s Church, His holy people, His communion of saints, having been granted the Holy Spirit to unite us in faith.
What does it mean for the whole creation to groan while it awaits its transformation into a new heaven and new earth? How are we to wait for that time? What does the Holy Spirit do for us in that waiting? These are the questions we will explore today.
We live in the birthing suite
We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies.
Romans 8:22–23 (NIV)
What sort of image or analogy would you use to describe life as a Christian person? We belong to the Church, which is one big happy family. Jesus is our Good Shepherd and we are His little lambs. He is the vine and we His branches.
When St Paul describes what it means to be a Christian person, He imagines that we are in a time of patient waiting. We find ourselves in the most peaceful, clean, quiet place you can think of—a birthing suite.
If you’ve ever been in a birthing suite when the action is taking place, you know how chaotic, messy, filthy, noisy, stressful, and intense that place is. There is pain, suffering, confusion, anger, frustration, and all sorts of expletives being hurled around. People walk in and out constantly, and sometimes some very big decisions have to be made very quickly. It is anything but peaceful.
How could life as a member of God’s Church be anything like a birthing suite? How could the Church experience its own kind of labour pain?
We actually pondered this question together at the Pastors and Church Workers Retreat a couple of weeks ago. Our LCA is experiencing its own kind of labour pain at the moment. Some of it has to do with the debate around the ordination of women, but a lot of our pain has to do with the changing world around us. Should the Church attempt to adapt to the world around us in order to engage with it? Or should the Church be steadfast and unchanging? Is it possible to strike a balance of both?
We long for the day when the world and the Church are one and the same, when we won’t have to say to anyone, “Know the Lord,” because they will all know Him. Yet, we are in this awkward in-between time where we deeply struggle in this tension.
At St Martin’s, we are also in a messy and tense period in our history. We are mid-transformation. The labour pains have set in and we are no longer what we used to be. Our people are older. People in the community seem so much busier and don’t have time for the church. We can’t run things like the Church Fair anymore. We can’t easily fill our committees or Church Council with willing volunteers. People’s social life and church life are separate things when they used to be one and the same. The school is now a College, too big for us to know everyone like we used to.
The good news is that God is transforming us. The bad news is that transformation involves changing from being this thing to becoming that thing. Transformation means that this thing has to die before that thing can be resurrected.
The life of a Christian involves a continual process of death and resurrection. We are baptised into Christ's death before we are then raised in His resurrection. Our sin is drowned and His righteousness is raised in us. Our will and our plans for our life or the church have to go through a kind of death before God’s will and God’s plans come to fruition.
Living in the birthing suite is about letting go of control—putting our control of things to death—so that a new thing can be brought into the world. It’s messy, stressful, and painful, but it’s also a miracle.
We have hope to endure
For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.
Romans 8:24–25 (NIV)
As one church worker very helpfully pointed out at our Retreat, once labour sets in, there’s no going back. It is a process that has to be endured and you simply have to find the strength from somewhere to get through it. Some women might even say that this strength didn’t come from within them at all, but from the outside.
The LCA is enduring its own labour pains at the moment, and it has never faced so much uncertainty. We’ve enjoyed decades of stability, but it seems as though everything is changing all at once. The North Adelaide campus—the physical centre of the LCA—will be sold within months. We face the genuine possibility of a split in the church at the General Convention in October. More and more congregations—even in our cities—are experiencing pastoral vacancies longer than two years.
If our hope rests on physical buildings, financial viability, and the strength of the institution, then all hope is lost. We may as well pack up now because those things are crumbling before our eyes.
But who hopes for what they already have? Why should we put our hope in buildings and financials, as if they will sustain the church? Did this building save you? Does your St Martin’s membership grant you eternal life? Does the proclamation of the gospel in this town depend on whether we can maintain a healthy project account?
Hope that is seen isn’t hope at all. If our hope lies in what we already have—things like property and money—there is no hope for a better future. If our hope lies in this, this is all you get.
“But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.” Hope is what keeps us going. Hope is what keeps this church going. We are not in this game simply for the sake of participating—we are here to be there when the final siren goes and the victory is finally won.
We read in Hebrews 11 that “faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Faith. Hope. Assurance. Conviction. How can we be so strongly convinced that there is something waiting for us at the end of the line? How can we be so confident that we are indeed here for a purpose that’s more than just buildings, finances, and AGMs?
Because labour pains end. Because after all the chaos and mess in the birthing suite, a new life enters the world. Because we eagerly wait for two things, Paul says: adoption and redemption. Both are possible through Christ. He came into the world—into the chaos of the birthing suite—to suffer with us and for us. He showed us the way to new life. He invites us to join Him as members of His body.
In Christ, we have been adopted and redeemed, but only in part for now. We eagerly wait for the day when that will be made complete for all creation. That’s the hope that keeps us going.
We have the Spirit on our side
In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.
Romans 8:26–27 (NIV)
Of course, we’re not always very patient. Most of us aren’t very good at waiting. It’s particularly difficult when we’ve had a taste of the things to come.
How can we keep the faith? How can we resist the temptation to trust in what our eyes can see? How can we put our hope in what is not seen?
The Spirit helps us in our weakness. We have an Advocate, someone who speaks for us, someone who prays for us.
Prayer is not always done with words and language. In fact, language is just an annoying limitation for God, as He showed when the Spirit came at Pentecost. The Spirit’s prayer for us is deeper than words. It is a deep longing that we might be one with the Father, as Christ and the Father are one. It is a deep desire that all things would be restored to their original, perfect, and yet new condition. God doesn’t just want your words, either—He wants your heart.
We don’t know what the future looks like for the LCA, for this congregation, for our College and Kindy, or even for ourselves. What we do know is that we have hope in something far bigger than buildings and institutions: adoption, redemption, and resurrection. We also know that we have the Spirit on our side, praying for us and working in us.
May God grant us the strength and patience to endure the pain and chaos of this life, the humility to listen to His voice, and the faith to trust in His will for us.
