Five Purposes of the Fire

Scholars and theologians have written entire books on this subject, but one thing I want you to hear from this book is that God never desires our suffering, and He certainly doesn’t delight in it, no matter how transformative it might be. The God of Justice (Yahweh-Tsidkenu) despises suffering even more than we do.

Simply put, suffering is the result of sin—this shattered state that arose when humanity chose self-interest over submission to God. As we’ve seen, pain was never intended as part of God’s grand design. What was intended as part of His design is free will—that remarkable capacity given to us to shape our own destinies. For God to eliminate suffering, He would have to erase our free will, reducing humans to spiritless robots. Instead, He longs for a genuine relationship with us, flawed and messy as we are.

Doesn’t it make sense? This relentless wrestling with the why of suffering stems from an innate awareness that suffering is not inherent to our creation. Deep within our souls, we yearn to be restored to God’s original design. Listen to what Paul says in Romans 8:22–23: “We know that all creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. And we believers also groan, even though we have the Holy Spirit within us as a foretaste of future glory, for we long for our bodies to be released from sin and suffering. We, too, wait with eager hope for the day when God will give us our full rights as his adopted children, including the new bodies he has promised us” (NLT, emphasis mine),

That word groaning drags my own memories to the surface. I think of times after Cole and I learned of our baby’s prognosis when I crumbled onto my closet floor, the carpet absorbing my tears. Moments when I had no words to spare, no prayer to pray, no strength to stand. Just groaning—guttural grief expressing more than any verbal plea.

Paul knew about this kind of anguish firsthand. What we read in Romans 8 isn’t some pie-in-the-sky language from someone who’s oblivious to suffering. He speaks not only of longing but also of groaning and waiting for the day of promise. No one’s implying here that we ignore or deny the weight of pain. Paul isn’t advising us to look past suffering. Instead, he’s instructing us to gaze through it. To cradle both healing and hope delicately, letting each strengthen the other.

With this in mind, let’s briefly venture into some of the main purposes of the fiery crucible of suffering.

1. Sharing in Christ’s Sufferings

As deeply as we delved into the concept of sharing in Christ’s suffering in the previous chapter, we just scratched the surface of scriptural truth on this topic. But allow me one more powerful account, that of the apostle Paul, who wrote to the Philippians while he was imprisoned. His words in this letter were meant to encourage them to stand firm in their faith and live in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ. Paul expresses the extraordinary value he places on knowing Christ Jesus as his Lord. He considers everything else as insignificant compared to this surpassing worth. Paul willingly endured the loss of all things, considering them as worthless, so he could gain Christ and be found in Him. The righteousness the apostle sought didn’t come from adhering to the law but rather through faith in Christ, so that he could “know him and the power of his resurrection, and . . . share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death” (Philippians 3:10).

As the saying goes, “To know him is to love him.” When we actively participate in Christ’s suffering, the profound truth of the gospel moves beyond mere intellectual understanding and takes root deep within our hearts. This intimate connection with Christ is the ultimate outcome of our next purpose: determining if our faith is real.

2. Testing and Refining Faith

One of the most pivotal purposes of pain is the testing of our faith. In the flames of adversity, our faith undergoes a rigorous examination. Here, trust in God is either forged and strengthened or unmasked as a mere pretense. Here, genuine faith is separated from superficial belief.

You see, a dangerous condition afflicts those who have only an intellectual belief in God. Without the transformative essence of the gospel of Jesus Christ having permeated their hearts (often a direct effect of suffering), biblical knowledge and spiritual tradition turn stale in the mind. And with no vital lifeblood from the heart, the gospel remains cold at best. This is also when the gospel is most likely to be weaponized against others to fan the flames of their fires. Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas, comes to mind—a group of people who identify with Christianity yet promote immense hatred, division, and bigotry. While this is an extreme case, similar dynamics happen on a small scale to many people. I call it a “gospel blockage,” when a person intellectually aligns with the teachings of Jesus, but Christ’s grace and truth have not reached his or her heart.

There is perhaps no greater cure for this gospel blockage than pain. Pain is what typically brings us to the exam room (or the emergency room) for diagnosis, and then—often—straight to surgery. On the spiritual operating table, the foundations of faith are scrutinized, its authenticity laid bare. God takes the pain in His expert hands and, from it, creates an antidote for hardened hearts. Paradoxically, pain is many times exactly what’s needed to dislodge the blockages and allow for an infusion of gospel vitality.

Using a different metaphor, Peter reminds us, “These trials will show that your faith is genuine. It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold—though your faith is far more precious than mere gold. So when your faith remains strong through many trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world” (1 Peter 1:7 NLT).

He’s saying that the hotter the flame, the more impurities can be extracted. That’s the process with gold. There is only one way gold is purified, and it’s not over the gentle flicker of a candle. Gold must be plunged into the center of a roaring fire. It must endure the excruciating blue heat—the kind that makes the days of the mild orange flame seem not so bad. Only by staying in that searing intensity can gold shed its impurities, lose its resemblance to its former condition, and be shaped to the goldsmith’s intent.

The same is true for us. In the scalding heat of tribulation, our self-righteousness can float to the top, our doubt can be discarded, and our pride can be strained away.

If our pain doesn’t refine us, God knows it will define us. Why else would He allow His chosen people, the Israelites, to suffer through forty years of wilderness wandering before delivering them to the Promised Land? Based on the distance of their journey and the number of people involved, it might have taken weeks to cross the desert, but forty years? God freed them from slavery in Egypt, only for the Israelites to refuse to appreciate and adhere to the boundaries He’d lovingly set for them. They let the remnants of their pain erupt into a wildfire of suffering. They fanned the flames with false gods, grumbling, and immorality.

Imagine with me a journal entry from an Israelite after the thirty-seventh year of wilderness wandering. Maybe it would sound something like this:

The barren landscape seems to extend endlessly. In this harsh wilderness, the scorching heat of day is matched only by the piercing cold of night. Supplies are scarce. I complained to Moses, again. Oh, how I miss the variety of food we had in Egypt. The availability of water. Living in a home, no matter how humble, rather than a tent. The smells of the market.

The Promised Land feels far away. They talk of this land flowing with milk and honey, a land of freedom and abundance. But I don’t know how much longer I can hold out hope. . . .

Pastor Charles Spurgeon delivered a sermon in 1889 in which he addressed the wanderings of the Israelites: “Israel gained by education,” he said. “The Lord was not going to lead a mob of slaves into Canaan, to go and behave like slaves there. They had to be tutored. The wilderness was the Oxford and Cambridge for God’s students. There they went to the University, and he taught and trained them, and they took their degree before they entered into the promised land. There is no University for a Christian like that of sorrow and trial.”¹

You and I are also awaiting a promised land. It’s coming. But no one will force us to go to class. We can spend our time on earth skipping class, complaining about the workload, and copying others’ papers, or we can see our time on earth for what it really is: a profound allotment we’ve been given. A free (to us) education bought and paid for by the blood of Jesus. A time to learn, grow, and receive revelation that will prepare us for what’s coming.

Now, imagine the same person’s journal entry three years later:

Today is a day I will never forget—the culmination of generations of hopes and dreams. We have finally entered the long-awaited Promised Land, a gift from Yahweh Himself. The moment we set foot in this land, a surge of emotions overwhelmed me. It is more beautiful than any description could capture. I wish Moses could see this. As I gaze upon the abundance, I can’t help but reflect on the long and difficult journey that brought us here. The wilderness is where we shed the mindset of slavery and embraced our identity as a chosen people. It is the place that taught us humility, trust, and dependence on the Almighty.

There were moments when the Promised Land seemed like an unattainable dream, and I questioned whether it was worth the struggles. But standing here, I am now more confident than ever, not in myself, but in the God who led us out of Egypt. The same God who fulfilled His promise to us.

We don’t know what lies ahead, but we know who will continue to lead us. I’m reminded of the Lord’s words to Joshua: “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

This land is new. This chapter is new. And I am, in so many ways, new.

3. Attaining Spiritual Growth and Maturity

Have you ever met someone who seems to have a flawless life without any real difficulties? Be cautious of quick judgments; most of us bear far more than we readily reveal. Yet if I were to encounter someone who truly leads a life without struggles, I’d be willing to bet that they’re actually marked by immaturity. They might find it difficult to express compassion and empathy. Perhaps they give up on things that don’t come easily. I expect that they tend to rely more on their own abilities than on God’s provision. True maturity, whether spiritual or in any other aspect of life, is usually cultivated through hardship. In suffering, we learn valuable lessons and develop resilience. (Incidentally, this is why we shouldn’t shield our children from all hardships either.)

I also want to emphasize this crucial point: maturity should not be mistaken for perfection. It’s all too easy to confuse the two, but let me assure you, they are not the same. The road toward maturity is often a wild and messy ride, riddled with missteps, moments of false humility, and even failure. We must let go of the idea of attaining perfection and instead embrace the reality that we all mess up from time to time.

In fact, recognizing and acknowledging our imperfections is a significant indicator of spiritual growth. We are called to receive salvation and to grow in our relationship with Christ. As Paul said in Ephesians 4:15, “We are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ.” This implies an ongoing process of learning and aligning ourselves with Jesus.

James wrote, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (James 1:2–4 NIV). He advises us not to view suffering as an obstacle blocking God’s plans or evidence of its failure, but to recognize pain’s powerful role in shaping our maturity. In the darkness our roots can grow deep enough to survive any storm. The rich soil of experience nurtures our reliance on God, cultivates empathy and compassion for others, and fosters a profound understanding of an eternal perspective. In this fertile ground, our maturity takes root.

Addressing the immense potential for growth amid trial, author Paul David Tripp has written:

Rather than being signs of God’s inattention, [moments of difficulty] are sure signs of the zeal of his redemptive love. In grace, he leads you where you didn’t plan to go in order to produce in you what you couldn’t achieve on your own. In these moments, he works to alter the values of your heart so that you let go of your little kingdom of one and give yourself to his kingdom of glory and grace. God is working right now, but not so much to give us predictable, comfortable and pleasurable lives. He isn’t so much working to transform our circumstances as he is working through hard circumstances to transform you and me. Perhaps in hard moments, when we are tempted to wonder where God’s grace is, it is grace that we are getting, but not grace in the form of a soft pillow or a cool drink. Rather, in those moments, we are being blessed with the heart-transforming grace of difficulty because the God who loves us knows that this is exactly the grace we need.2

4. Accepting God’s Discipline and Correction

Although much of the pain we encounter results from living in a broken world, some trials we face are the direct outcomes of our own decisions and actions. In these moments, we must view God’s discipline and correction for what they are: acts of love, mercy, and grace. Whether His guidance comes in the form of gentle nudges toward growth or the fierce fire of refinement, God is always acting on our behalf, providing us precisely with what we need. In Psalm 119:75–76 (NLT), we gain insight into the psalmist’s understanding of God’s discipline: “I know, O Lord, that your regulations are fair; you disciplined me because I needed it. Now let your unfailing love comfort me, just as you promised me, your servant.”

God’s discipline is not a flagrant reaction. He isn’t sitting in heaven doling out punishments that match the offense. Rather, in love, God’s correction is carefully tailored to redirect our paths and bring us closer to Him.

Like a caring parent who knows the most effective way to discipline his or her child, God possesses an intimate knowledge of each one of us. Thus, He can shape us in ways that capture our attention, prompting us to turn back toward Him and encouraging us to flourish in His love. Hebrews 12:6–7 reminds us that just as a loving parent disciplines a child out of care and concern, God does the same. His correction is never condemning but eternally rooted in an unwavering love—a love that longs to see us become who we were created to be, image bearers of God Himself.

In 1779, John Newton wrote a hymn that aptly describes the purposes of godly discipline:

I asked the Lord that I might grow
In faith and love and ev’ry grace,
Might more of His salvation know,
And seek more earnestly His face.

’Twas He who taught me thus to pray,
And He, I trust, has answered prayer,
But it has been in such a way
As almost drove me to despair.

I hoped that in some favored hour
At once He’d answer my request
And, by His love’s constraining pow’r,
Subdue my sins and give me rest.

Instead of this, He made me feel
The hidden evils of my heart
And let the angry pow’rs of hell
Assault my soul in ev’ry part.

Yea, more with His own hand He seemed
Intent to aggravate my woe,
Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,
Humbled my heart and laid me low.

“Lord, why is this,” I trembling cried;
“Wilt Thou pursue Thy worm to death?”
“ ’Tis in this way,” the Lord replied,
“I answer prayer for grace and faith.”

“These inward trials I employ
From self and pride to set thee free
And break thy schemes of earthly joy
That thou may’st find thy all in Me.”3

5. Pursuing God’s Glory and Honor

Ultimately, for those who walk the path of Christ, their suffering brings glory to God. While enduring a prolonged period of testing, the apostle Paul recounted in 2 Corinthians 12 how he pleaded with the Lord to take away his burden. God’s response was this: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (v. 9).

When we persist through trials, trusting in God’s faithfulness, our lives become a living testament to His power. Our suffering becomes a platform for God to display His boundless grace, mercy, and love. As others witness our unwavering faith, they are irresistibly drawn to the God who sustains us.

At the same time, we are pushed to fervently pray. God sometimes reveals His glory and power through divine interventions and miracles, and sometimes we witness it in the simple faithfulness of people who stay true to Him. Through those who steadfastly hope in Him and grow stronger in their hope, even as the fire gets hotter.

Cole and I had clung to this purpose of glorifying God since the day of Emma’s diagnosis. But we also knew the inferno was far from over. Our hope was in God; we just prayed that as the flames intensified, we would not fail Him.

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