When we think about suffering in relation to the good life it helps to make some distinctions about the different kinds of suffering we experience as well as the different connotations that attend the word ‘good.’

A major component of what we commonly think of as a good life would be the happy life. The happy life, as we are using it there, is a life of comfort and ease spared of any and all kinds of suffering. In a way, it is a natural longing we all ought to have. We all perceive a kind of innate enmity between our happiness and those things that cause us to suffer. For someone to express that they desire a life full of suffering would be cause for concern. We all want to be happy and part of our quest for happiness involves preventing or minimizing our exposure to suffering.

The tragic irony, however, is that in our pursuit of securing the happy life for ourselves, we often end up increasing the possibility of suffering for others. As Americans, we all know those famous words embedded in our nation’s constitution:

Constitution of the United States

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed, by their Creator, with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

The problem arises when our unalienable right to pursue our happiness is challenged by someone else’s, or some other nation’s unalienable right to pursue theirs. On the global level, most often what happens is war. Nations war against one another for many reasons, but a constant and enduring one is to protect or acquire those resources that will best ensure happiness in the long run. Human history is, in many ways, simply the long, bloody march of one war after another in the pursuit of happiness.

Of course, this plays out often enough in our personal lives as well. The pursuit of our own individual happiness often comes at the expense of someone’s else happiness, whether we are cognizant of that reality or not. The things that bring us happiness — the food we eat, the clothes we buy, the phones we stare at, the list goes on and on — all come to us on the backs of others who must bear the burden of making those goods and services accessible, convenient and affordable for us.

In the Christian tradition we are taught not to think of happiness as a right, but rather, as a gift. It is not something we pursue, but something that comes to us, that we receive. What is more, what we find in the biblical narrative is that ultimately, the truly happy life is unattainable for us living as we do in the world as it is and not yet as it will be. That is, the horizon of human history is the Second Coming of Christ. It is the day the prophets of old testified about:

Micah 4:1-4

1 In days to come
the mountain of the Lord’s temple
shall be established as the highest of the mountains
and shall be raised up above the hills.
Peoples shall stream to it,
2 and many nations shall come and say:
“Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord,
to the house of the God of Jacob,
that he may teach us his ways
and that we may walk in his paths.”
For out of Zion shall go forth instruction,
and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.
3 He shall judge between many peoples
and shall arbitrate between strong nations far away;
they shall beat their swords into plowshares
and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation;
neither shall they learn war any more;
4 but they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees,
and no one shall make them afraid,
for the mouth of the Lord of hosts has spoken.

The prophetic vision of happiness captured in the poignant image of all sitting under their own vine and fig trees is set against the stilling of warring nations. It is difficult to say whether swords are beaten into plowshares because provision has been made such that all can enjoy happiness under their own vine and fig tress, or that all can enjoy happiness because weapons of mass destruction have been turned into tools for fishing. What we can say is that this day that is yet to come is a day made possible through the gracious hand of God. We do not bring this day about by our own ingenuity and achievement. It only comes about through the good and faithful judgment of God.

And until this day comes to pass, the council of Scripture advises us to expect, and in some ways welcome, suffering.

As St. Paul tells us in his letter to the Philippians:

Philippians 1:29

29 For he has graciously granted you the privilege not only of believing in Christ but of suffering for him as well,

To be clear, suffering for Christ is not about the kind of suffering inflicted on us through circumstance and sheer dumb luck. As if we are to consider it a privilege to have to suffer through cancer or to suffer the loss of a loved one or to have to suffer the calamitous fallout of a natural disaster. The suffering Paul has in mind is a kind of suffering that comes to us because we have chosen to give up our “right” to doggedly maximize our happiness quotient in this life.

This is not to say that happiness does not matter. The Christian ethic does not follow a kind of stoic denial of pleasures. It is not about detaching ourselves from what makes us happy. What the story of Christ reveals to us is that God desires our happiness and yet we must wait — wait for that day in which all of God’s promises foretold in Scripture will absolutely and fully come to pass. Our lives are lived in anticipation now of God being faithful to that promise then.

In the meantime we are given something of a foretaste. The death and resurrection of our Lord is, as the Apostle Paul puts it, the firstfruits pointing to that long awaited harvest (1 Cor. 15) — that what God did for Jesus in raising him up out of the grave is a kind of down payment assuring us that God will one day make good on his word and do the same for us.

So the suffering we are to expect and, as Paul seems to intimate, welcome, is the suffering that comes to us because we live in eager anticipation of a day that the world is yet unable to see. If we see happiness as something that ultimately will be realized fully in the future, we are less anxious about maximizing our own happiness in the present. But in doing so we may often find ourselves on the other side of the happiness equation. As others pursue happiness, we may feel like we are losing out and, in some cases, may suffer precisely because we have been given the short end of the stick due to the determination of others in securing their own happiness.

This suffering is tied to that sinking feeling we are not getting all that we assume we have a right to. That we are being looked over. That our labor and care in keeping with what we believe is good and right is not being recognized. In Paul’s day, this suffering is synonymous with persecution. In its most extreme form this is the suffering of the martyrs, who gave their lives in service to the promise that what was taken from them will one day be restored; thus, enabling them to risk love of enemy even when such love required them to suffer to the point of death. This is the most extreme response of a world unable to envision the good news at the heart of the Christian revelation about Jesus, the world, and the happy end God intends for us all.

Of course, none of this is easy. We may feel we are nowhere near the example given to us by the martyrs. We may not even think that that ought to be our aim. Whatever the case, wherever we find ourselves, we must have the sober outlook that the good life Christ calls us into will not be devoid of some kind of suffering. “In this world,” Jesus reminds us, “you will have trouble.” But we take heart because we know that Jesus has overcome the world (John 16:33). This means that though the good life is not one without its share of suffering, we are, nevertheless, carried along by the hope that in the end our happiness will be made complete when we, along with all creation, “will be set free from [our] enslavement to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God,” (Rom 8:21).

Amen.

Romans 7:14-25

14 For we know that the law is spiritual, but I am of the flesh, sold into slavery under sin. 15 I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. 16 Now if I do what I do not want, I agree that the law is good. 17 But in fact it is no longer I who do it but sin that dwells within me. 18 For I know that the good does not dwell within me, that is, in my flesh. For the desire to do the good lies close at hand, but not the ability. 19 For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do. 20 Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it but sin that dwells within me.

21 So I find it to be a law that, when I want to do what is good, evil lies close at hand. 22 For I delight in the law of God in my inmost self, 23 but I see in my members another law at war with the law of my mind, making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. 24 Wretched person that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? 25 Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!

So then, with my mind I am enslaved to the law of God, but with my flesh I am enslaved to the law of sin.

This has always been one of the most relatable passages for me from Paul.  This stream of consciousness rant about the frustrations he has with his own flesh and sin that dwells within him.  It’s like Paul plagiarized my journal.

I think we can all relate to Paul in this passage.  If we look at our lives closely enough we can come up with circumstances where we knew what we should have done or said, but we went and did the opposite.  We felt a pull to respond graciously in an encounter where we were wronged or slighted, overlooked or not considered, but a stronger pull bites back and we return what was served to us rather than turn the other cheek.  Or our resolve to care better for our physical bodies ends a day of healthy choices with a whole carton of ice cream because we just can’t resist anymore.

We try really hard to do the right thing but something in us drags us away.  Our own effort can only get us so far.  It’s like we’re chained to something and we ourselves don’t have the key to break free no matter how hard we try.

This is the imagery Paul uses in this passage.  Paul asks, “Who will rescue me from this body of death?”  In ancient times, Kings could sentence prisoners to be chained to a dead body as their punishment.  This convict would be forced to drag around, sleep beside, eat next to, a decaying, rotting corpse, always reminded of the wrong they did.

This may seem like overkill, to make this kind of an analogy in his letter, and it’s possible he wasn’t making a reference to this practice, just calling his own body and flesh nature one that is subject to death and dying (this is how the NIV translates this verse).

But I actually quite liked this word picture because it resonates.

Sometimes I feel like my flesh, my sin nature is like a rotting corpse I’m dragging around everywhere.  But more than just some dead body lifelessly hanging off of me, it’s more like a zombie version of me, chained to my ankle.  It’s alive but not really alive.  It does what it wants and is utterly controlled by basal desires. It pulls on the chain seeking the fulfillment of its own will.

As I go about my life, its stench wafts through the room with every self-centered decision, its weight pulls me away from where I want to be with every impatient response or unkind word spoken to a loved one, it moans aloud and tries my patience when I seek space and quiet time with God.

No matter how good I want to be, this rotting, old flesh gets in the way.  I am ashamed of it, I want to move past it, I don’t want to be reminded of it, but it follows me.

When I lash out and try to subdue it in my own strength, it fights me back.  I find myself saying along with Paul, “Wretched person that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?” because no matter how hard I try, I can’t break the chain myself.

And just as I reach the same realization as Paul, I reach the same conclusion as him too…it’s only through Jesus and his power that I can be freed from this unholy trinity of flesh, sin, and death.

When it’s me just wanting to be better and do better, I cannot overcome the weight of my flesh, at least not indefinitely.  I am easily worn out and worn down when I try to be good in my own strength.  But when I invite Jesus into the process, when I ask him to lead me and to loosen the grip and lessen the weight of this body of death, it does become lighter, more manageable.

I don’t think our bodies of death will ever be completely gone this side of Jesus’s return, but if we let him, he will share the load.  He will cover us in his grace and take on the weight of our dead flesh if we accept it.

This is usually my stumbling block…letting Jesus bear the weight of my flesh and sin.  He already did it on the cross, but I have this picture in my head that I have to wrangle and carry this rotting flesh myself, that it’s my zombie so it’s my responsibility, but Jesus asks me to put it down.  To bring it to him and stop trying to get everything together on my own so I feel worthy.

I am already worthy because God adopted me as his own.  He has already accepted me as his child.  He loves me, zombie companion and all, and he knows that this zombie companion is part of my walk in this life and he’s here to help me with her.  

I can’t and don’t need to take care of her on my own, I just need to trust him.  That he means what he says and that what he taught in his time on Earth was true.  That seeking the kingdom means I’ll find it (Matthew 7:7), that I have the Holy Spirit living in me to guide me (John 16:13), and that I will never be alone (Matthew 28:20).  

I can learn to trust him through the stories of others, like Paul who struggled with his flesh and came to the conclusion that Jesus was the only one who could free him (Romans 7:24-25).  And Paul again who said inviting the Holy Spirit into my thoughts and work and actions means I will see the fruit of the Spirit in my life rather than the evidence of the flesh, aka be led by my zombie self (Galatians 5).

The enemy of the Good Life is a life lived under the power of death – a life where the zombie version of us is in the driver’s seat, one where our sin nature, our flesh, dictates our choices and actions.  When we are led by the desires of flesh, we sin and this sin leads to death (Romans 6:23), maybe not immediate physical death, but a zombie-like existence where we’re breathing but not really alive.  A life run by fear and survival rather than peace and thriving.

Choosing to pursue the Good Life means no longer allowing the zombie to lead, or fighting her on our own, or just trying to ignore her, but turning to Jesus, asking for his help to free us from what we are chained to, to join him in the resurrection he made possible through his own death, so that we too can be pulled from death into new life, into the Good Life.

The great Christian theologian and philosopher, Augustine of Hippo, once quipped, “It is the decided opinion of everyone who uses their brain, that all people desire to be happy.” It seems a rather dull observation when you think about it. Who doesn’t want to be happy? Why would anyone desire a sad, miserable life? But Augustine points this out not to be Captain Obvious, but to direct us to the all important question we too often fail to ask: “What is it that we ought to desire that will bring us the happiness we all wish we could have?”

The classical name given as the answer to this question is the summum bonum, which is Latin for the “highest” or “ultimate good.” Simply put, the summum bonum is that which we ought to desire in order to be happy.

Of course, this begs the question, what is our summum bonum? What is this highest good that we ought to be desiring?

If you feel the overwhelming weight of this question then you’ll rightly recognize this isn’t a question we can just answer on our own based on our limited experience and knowledge. It seems like a question we could use some help with (to say the least) and in fact what we find throughout human history is that there has been a robust, ongoing conversation dedicated to this very question. It may not be readily evident to us today, but philosophy was originally designed as a discipline dedicated to providing resources around the question of our summum bonum as human beings. The entire philosophical project was about helping us wrap our minds around the massive question of how we can live towards that which will bring us true happiness.

What also may be lost to us today is that this is the question Jesus was most concerned with, as well. Contrary to popular belief, Jesus did not come to tell us how to get to heaven after we die. Rather, Jesus came to reveal to us what he believed was the answer to the question philosophers had been grappling with for centuries before his arrival. To put it succinctly, Jesus came to reveal to us what the good life is by showing us who God is.

This is the rich soil out of which the Christian life grows. To know who God is is the beginning of the good life because God is none other than our summon bonum. That is, God is our highest good, the ultimate end toward which our lives must be directed in order to find true happiness. In this way, the question of who we believe God to be is intimately and inextricably bound up with what we imagine the good life to be. To answer the question of who God is is to answer the question of what (or who) we ought to desire in order to be happy.

In the Christian faith there is God as God is revealed in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus and then there are all the pretenders. These pretenders are legion and go by many names. Idols and lowercase “g” gods in the Hebrew Scriptures. Caesar and Mammon in the Gospels. The Apostle Paul in his epistles prefers to name them as the “powers and principalities” which he sees as conduits of the greatest threat to our happiness – the devilish duo of Sin and Death.

The human condition as it is illuminated by the biblical narrative is that we are forever finding ourselves settling for the pretenders rather than the summon bonum. This condition is given the name idolatry in both the Old and New Testaments. The problem with idolatry is precisely a kind of settling that leaves us continually restless. And so our problem is not so much that we assent to a set of wrong beliefs, but that we entrust ourselves to things that, in the long run, will leave us empty and disappointed.

If we simply believe God to be a better option to Death or, in the worst forms of Christianity, just a better alternative to eternal conscious torment in hell, we are selling short the goodness of God revealed to us in the wisdom of the cross. The “trick” of Christianity, if we can call it that, is that faith comes to us because we find the person of God revealed in Jesus Christ to be so beautiful and so true that we cannot but help but believe in this God as our summum bonum, the greatest and ultimate good.

This is why so much of the Christian life comes down to worship. We worship what we have come to understand as our greatest good. This happens whether we are religious or not. As many have pointed out, the question is not whether you will worship, but who or what you will worship. And we can end up worshiping any number of “goods” that are constantly on display around us. The constant barrage of sound bites, images and video clips that bombard us on the daily, all promoting some good we should entertain. The work of Christian worship is to say that over and above all these competing goods our summum bonum is the God we find revealed in Jesus Christ and him crucified.

The life of faith is that life shaped and formed by the worship of this God who comes to us in the person of Christ through the work of the Spirit. Simply put, the good we worship is the good we become. This is the logic at work for us Christians as we pursue the life that is drawn ever more fully into the life of God, where true happiness is found in the one who is our summum bonum.