The fact that the incarnate Son of God “learned obedience” (Heb. 5:8) is an essential aspect of Jesus’ human nature and so is indispensable to sound Christology and soteriology. Apart from the cross itself, the clearest example we have of this “learning” is probably found in the Synoptic accounts of our Lord’s prayer in Gethsemane (Matthew 26; Mark 14; Luke 22). While Jesus’ obedience is of unparalleled import for our justification, his example of submitting to his Father’s will and so learning obedience through suffering is also a unique model for our sanctification, the goal of which is nothing less than Christ-conformity.
The Gospel accounts of this prayer show Jesus’ desire to avoid the cup of the Father’s wrath against sin, but only if that can be done in accord with his Father’s will. While this raises some interesting theological questions, the Synoptics give more attention to the subjective or experiential facet of Jesus’ prayer. Similarly, our personal appropriation of the text merits serious reflection, not least because submitting one’s will to God’s when that means accepting suffering involves nothing less than putting to death the remnants of the old man (Mark 8:34-35).
Although Jesus is the supreme example of learning obedience through suffering, the Gospel accounts do not provide a detailed analysis of how this learning took place. For that reason, and because the Old Testament figure of Job exhibits both similarities and differences with respect to Jesus’ example, we turn first to the Book of Job before returning to the Gospels (and to the gospel) in order to reflect on how we might imitate Christ in the way that he learned obedience.
Job is clearly a dynamic character in the book that bears his name. At the beginning and end of his suffering, Job accepted the mysterious providence of his trial, trusting firmly in God’s wisdom and justice. The narrator affirms twice that at the outset of his trials Job’s responses to his suffering were without sin (1:21; 2:10), and at the end of the book Job not only repents of his flawed interpretation of his suffering (and of God), but even intercedes on behalf of his friends. In doing so he demonstrates restored and even strengthened confidence in God’s justice, mercy, and goodness.
But what of the bulk of the book of Job, sandwiched between the opening and closing narratives? After an unspecified period of suffering in which he did not draw into question God’s goodness and justice and on the contrary affirmed them, Job eventually changes and utters a lengthy curse in chapter three. Who can doubt that over time Job’s suffering, compounded by the fear that God had become his enemy (3:23), tore relentlessly at his faith? Eventually his faith wavered, and the curse-lament of Job 3 demonstrates profound differences when compared to Job’s beliefs and attitudes in chapter 2. In chapter 3, Job feels that it would have been better for him not to have existed, and he draws into question God’s wisdom and goodness as well as the usefulness of such immense suffering in his life. Job expresses these sentiments at several later points in the book prior to God’s theophanic arrival (16:7-14; 23:1-7; 30:20-23), and his discourse culminates in a bold challenge for God to answer his accusations (31:35-37).
The differences between Job’s lament (which the book does not condone) and those we find in the psalms (e.g., Pss 10; 22) are significant. Hartley notes that Job voices no affirmation of trust nor any vow to praise God after his deliverance, and omits any review of God’s faithful character and past intervention on his behalf (“From Lament to Oath,” 89-91). As of chapter 31 Job “is not there yet,” and God’s two speeches in chapters 38-42 are necessary to convey the knowledge Job needs to understand and even profit from his extreme suffering. God’s words to Job affirm divine justice over against Job’s accusations and highlight Job’s incomplete understanding of creation and providence. God draws Job’s attention to the “counsel” that Job’s words have darkened in 38:2 (referring to God’s governance of the world), the tension between Job’s desire to affirm his righteousness over against God’s in 40:8, and the reality that divine justice (at least sometimes) is brought about gradually (38:12-15). In response to this wisdom instruction, Job “repents,” which in this context means that he recognizes his epistemological limitations, rejects his earlier view of God’s culpable involvement in his suffering, and accepts God’s self-description as good, just, and beyond his comprehension. Amazingly, this takes place before his suffering has ended.
Let’s come back now to the double significance of Jesus’ obedient suffering, especially as seen through the lens of his prayer in Gethsemane. On the one hand, because of our Lord’s perfect obedience, obeying to the point of death on a cross, our sins are atoned for and his perfect righteousness is ours. On the other, he calls us to suffer with him and to follow Him while bearing our cross. One could almost say that these two poles constitute Christianity’s unique approach to suffering (which we can define as physical, emotional, and/or spiritual pain that is not demonstrably sent as discipline for our sin). Living on this side of the cross and the empty tomb, especially when seen against the immediate backdrop of Gethsemane, our understanding of why God sends suffering into the lives of His children is significantly greater than what Job enjoyed. We see the cross followed by the resurrection as the grounds of our justification, we have received the Holy Spirit who testifies to the certainty of our eschatological adoption (Rom 8:15-17), and we await with impatience the new heavens and the new earth, “in which righteousness dwells” (2 Pet 3:13). These redemptive-historical advances demonstrate God’s righteousness and grace, and address with brilliant clarity the questions that plagued Job: Where is God’s justice? How can the just suffer? Why must the just suffer? Yet the difficulty of Christian suffering remains. Although the goal is nothing less than Christ-conformity, this conformity is inherently cruciformity.
As we know from experience, doubts about God’s goodness or the strong conviction that another set of circumstances would better promote our Christ-conformity (or both!) are only too quick to arise in our hearts when we are faced with suffering. Before the final stage of his suffering, Jesus sinlessly petitioned his Father to remove the cup from him if it were possible, always adding that the Father’s will was, in the end, also his. Thus even before the response to his prayer was clear, Jesus was ready to accept the cup from his Father’s hand. His obedience was neither a perfunctory acquiescence nor something born of compulsion, but rather a sincere (if trembling) embracing of the Father’s will.
Depending on our state of heart and mind, the fact that God’s fatherly providence is not arbitrary can be either a source of temptation to doubt his goodness (God forbid!) or the soil in which patience, humility, and even joyful optimism can grow. Not only is conformity to Christ’s death inseparable from conformity to His resurrection (what Calvin called our “true destiny,” on Matt. 2:23, CDCL 45), but offering ourselves to God entails “a real gladness which arises from the love we have for Him to whom our self-offering is made” (Calvin, on Deut 7:7-10, CDCL 34). A positive response to suffering requires that we understand that since God’s power and wisdom are both perfect and without limit, our current circumstances are the best way for God to develop our conformity to the image of His Son. We must remind ourselves that of all possible paths, at this moment this trial is what our heavenly Father wills for us. Even in the most extreme suffering, victory in and over suffering is guaranteed by (and cannot be separated from the experience of) the love of Him who “did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him over for us all” (Rom 8:39). Suffering believers can therefore know, with utmost certainty, that their heavenly Father is using their present, very unpleasant circumstances to conform them to the image of his Son and to teach them the profound power and glory of his love.
“Take up your cross and follow me,” Jesus says; “learn obedience as I learned it.” Why not another way, any other way? Scripture’s answer is that only such a trial, one that cannot be understood here and now, creates a situation in which we can submit our wisdom and our will to God’s (“if it be possible . . . yet not my will. . . “). In so doing we will learn that God can be trusted, loved, and honored through a trial which may never be understood this side of glory. Though God’s ways are often beyond our understanding, in our suffering we can be certain that though this trial our heavenly Father is lovingly, justly, and wisely conforming us to the death and the resurrection of His Son. “Whoever loses his life for my sake and for the gospel will save it” (Mark 8:35).
Daniel Timmer is the Professor of Old Testament at the Faculté de théologie évangélique (Acadia) in Montreal.