For even when we came into Macedonia, our bodies had no rest, but we were afflicted at every turn—fighting without and fear within. But God, who comforts the downcast, comforted us by the coming of Titus. 2 Cor. 7:5-6
Gracious Father, the travel-log commentary in the Scriptures is often as profound the intentional promises and theological gems. This story of a conflicted Paul being comforted by a good friend comes like a kiss from heaven today.
Thank you, Father, for reminding us even your most faithful servants (Paul)—those who know you the best and grasp the gospel a gazillion times better than us—even these men and women experience heaviness and weariness, loneliness and isolation, too-much-ness and “How-long-O-Lord?”-ness.
It’s easy to “should-on-ourselves” and assume, if we just prayed enough, believed better, or had the Spirit’s fullness, we’d never get discouraged or downcast. What a devilish lie, horrible burden, and grace-less myth. Warfare continues until Jesus returns.
Thank you for comforting us when we’re downcast. You don’t deride us, chide us, or hide from us. You comfort us. You’re “the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort” (2 Cor. 1:3). And thank you for the comforters you send. Though you’re quite capable of sending ravens and rainbows, and manna and miracles, more often than not, you send a Titus to a Paul, or a Phoebe to a Paul (Rom. 16:1), and fellow strugglers to fellow strugglers. You love to show your kindness and concern for your people through your people.
Father, on this late May Sunday morning, we praise you for the gift of burden-bearing friends—those you’ve already sent, and those who are around the corner. For the rest of this Memorial Day weekend, keep us comfortable in our brokenness, expectant of your faithfulness, and engaged with one another’s stories. By the Holy Spirit, point us towards other weary travelers who need your kind presence, and gentle words of comfort. In our own weakness we do some of our best loving. So very Amen we pray, in Jesus’ compassionate name.