The Warmth of the Local Church for the Suffering
I peered down at the update on my phone while guilt nestled in over my body. A family in our church was walking through a medical emergency, and everything in me wanted to move into action—except I stood immobilized. I couldn’t drive to the hospital, carve out time for a visit, or even bring a meal. Our family was sick, slowly waiting out the fight of our immune systems, while I struggled with being unable to come to the help of my friend. Prayers filled my mind, but part of me still craved the opportunity to support the saints who needed it.
It’s a feeling many of us might experience at one time or another. Maybe we’ve benefited from the close support of brothers and sisters in Christ in the midst of our own suffering, and we naturally want to rush to the aid of those who are hurting around us now. Or perhaps this tendency runs deeper inside our personality. The drive to constantly say yes and give the most we can to others eats at us each day. It pushes us to take on more than what’s feasible, and it crushes us when we find ourselves unfit for the task.
While God calls us to sacrificial love, he never intended us to bear this weight alone. Instead, in his kindness, he formed a community of people who work together to keep the flame of faith strong in the church. Just as a campfire finds fuel from the logs as well as the tiny kindling, together, the church can come alongside our fellow sufferers and bring warmth through the big and the small.
Burning Logs
God created each of us to live in community. Admonitions in Scripture largely speak to a host of people, not just the singular Christian. We are told to encourage one another, help bear each other’s burdens, and spur one another on toward Christ (Heb. 10:24–25; Eph. 4:29; 1 Thess. 5:14). Proverbs reminds us of the blessings of friendship particularly in times of adversity (Prov. 17:17), while the book of Job warns us of comfort-gone-wrong. As we walk through difficulty and suffering, we all need the support and care of saints who can continue to carry us and direct us toward Christ.
We need them to check in on us with texts, provide a listening ear for our questions, and hold us in our tears. We need their assuring face every Sunday as we join with the body, so we can remember their prayers and support for us in our suffering. Like logs in a fire, these people help keep the light going in the midst of our darkness with their steadfast care and faithfulness. The steady burn of their love and closeness continues to warm and push us through the cold.
I think often of seasons of my own grief and the people who stood close by, sacrificing time to babysit, rearranging their schedule on my behalf, and taking the time to listen to my tearful words. Often we can feel God’s comfort and closeness through the consistent help of the saints who come nearest in our pain, yet this isn’t the only hope God provides in our darkness.
Bits of Kindling
If you’ve ever spent much time with a fire, you know more is required for it to burn than logs alone. One of my children’s favorite tasks around a campfire is scouring the woods for small twigs and dried pine needles that will serve as kindling. Exuberantly they take the pile of dried foliage and toss it into the glowing embers. Seconds later they erupt with excitement as a flame licks high above the woodpile before dying down again. The short burst of light might seem insignificant, but that kindling plays an important job in warming the logs that will burn for hours to come. Kindling supports the fire, and it gives it a boost when the fuel begins to wane. Fires need both elements working together, and God has provided the same for saints walking through suffering. Scattered about your local body are both logs as well as the small bits of kindling.
While we all need the consistent support of brothers and sisters in our suffering, often we also need an extra boost of hope and light in the midst of our pain. When I walked through my own seasons of difficulty, my constant companions were helpful, but so was the text message from the saint who told me they were praying. The meal dropped off for one evening lifted my spirits on an otherwise difficult day as I remembered the kindness of the Lord. The card in the mail or the few words of encouragement on Sunday are often the kindling that bursts with light and continues to warm us through our grief.
Too often we can minimize the importance of the small. Our world—and our own hearts—can tempt us to believe the act of dropping off a meal, writing a text, or even praying must be insignificant. Yet this is far from the truth. Each of these actions matter to those who are suffering, even if you wished you had the opportunity to give more. God uses each and every bit of service to display his comfort and love to those suffering in our churches.
Tender of the Fire
Ultimately we must accept we won’t be able to be the trunks that support every saint in our churches. Sometimes our own commitments or circumstances will keep us from being able to help in all the ways we want. Our own proximity to the hurting saint in our church will limit the amount of care we’re able to give. Many of us attend churches with hundreds of members. We might not know everyone well enough to be a confidant, but we can still join together with the body of Christ and keep their fire of hope burning in the midst of their darkness.
David may have found strength in the friendship of Jonathan, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t also encouraged by the kindness of some of the inhabitants of the lands he sought refuge in (1 Sam. 30:26–31). Paul may have had brothership with a few close friends, but his spirit was also revived by the small gifts of a home in which to spend the night or another meal offered along his missionary journey.
God made the local church to be a body that operates together, and we behold its beauty in the way each member works together (Rom. 12:4–5). Throughout our circumstances we all take turns in various roles. One season might find us able to become the sister or brother of great support for a church member, while other times we might merely be a small spark of hope in the midst of another’s grief. Both matter.
Ultimately every act of love in our churches reflects the sovereign care of our tender Shepherd. By his power and care, the flames of our faith continue warm every suffering saint. He gently leads us through the dark valleys and supplies us with grace for each difficult day. His Spirit revives the grieving and strengthens the downcast. His steadfast love comforts those who mourn, and amazingly, he invites every member of his church to take part—in big and small ways.
The next time you find yourself burdened with guilt over all you can’t do for a saint, remember the greater body to which you belong. It’s not all up to you. Those small bits of kindling matter, and joined in with the body they create the fire that will warm our brothers and sisters throughout their sorrow.
Brianna Lambert is a wife and a mom to three, making their home in the cornfields of Indiana. She loves using writing to work out the truths God is teaching her each day. She is a staff writer with GCD and has contributed to various online publications, such as Christianity Today and The Gospel Coalition. You can find more of her writing at lookingtotheharvest.com.