It is not uncommon in church or academic circles to hear someone speak of “a theology of blank,” where the blank is filled with terms like “mission,” “worship,” “creation care,” or a dozen others. To use the term “theology” in this manner requires us to refocus the meaning of the term. Instead of referring to “the study of God,” it denotes “the study of God’s intention, purpose, and meaning” for a particular realm of life or practice.
We need a theology of suffering. Of course, there are books that provide rich insights into God’s intention, purpose, and meaning for suffering, like C. S. Lewis’s, The Problem of Pain, Timothy Keller’s, Walking with God through Pain and Suffering, Elizabeth Eliot’s, “A Path Through Suffering,” and many others. When I say, “We need a theology of suffering,” I do not mean that we need another book about God’s intention, purpose and meaning for suffering. I mean that each Christian needs to develop his or her own theology of suffering.
I say this because, despite the many good books on the subject of suffering, we are (at least I am) not very good at it. When I hurt, my reflex action is to withdraw, complain, and become discouraged. But withdrawing, complaining, and becoming discouraged cannot be the intention, purpose, or meaning God has for suffering in our lives. (Note: I am here neither implying that God actively causes our suffering nor that he passively allows it. For more on that subject, read one of those good books on suffering.)
An impoverished (or non-existent) theology of suffering leads to serious problems both in life and witness. Take the young man with a biblical studies degree. He has studied ancient languages and shown an unusual aptitude for Koine Greek. He has done postgraduate work and has earned both master’s and doctoral level degrees in New Testament. Though he read Lewis’s The Problem of Pain and appreciated it, he never internalized Lewis’s arguments. When he encountered real suffering – not even his own – he began to question God’s goodness and then God’s existence.
I have known people whose stories are not dissimilar to the one I’ve just related. They have rejected God not because of their own suffering but because of the suffering of others, even the suffering they have only heard about. These people needed a personal theology of suffering.
The absence of such a theology has also weakened the church. The American church, which lacks adequate theologies of both suffering and prospering, does not know how to instruct, comfort, or admonish those who are experiencing one or the other. Living in a society where it is possible to avoid suffering temporarily, or at the very least distract oneself from it, has left us unprepared. But avoidance and distraction are never more than temporary. When suffering comes, as it inevitably does, we must have some idea of why God allowed it and how we can endure it.
There is hardly a better place to find help in developing a theology of suffering than Peter’s first letter. It takes up a little over 1% percent of New Testament real estate yet provides nearly 29% of the uses of the verb “to suffer,” and forms besides the verb as well. Peter was writing to hurting Christians who needed to understand God’s intention, purpose, and meaning for their suffering.
In Peter’s letter, readers discover (1 Peter 4:12) that suffering is neither strange (“Do not be surprised by the fiery trial you are going through”) nor is it purposeless (“when it comes upon you to test you”). Whatever its source, suffering “puts you on trial” – a trial that will reveal the state of your faith in God.
Another important element of a theology of suffering is Peter’s insistence that suffering allows the Christian to share in Christ’s sufferings, which is an honor indeed, as St. Paul recognized (Philippians 1:29). If, when I am suffering, I remind myself that I am sharing “in the fellowship of his suffering” (Philippians 3:10), I may find strength to endure.
And not just endure, but to rejoice (“But rejoice insofar as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed.”) Imagine the impact that suffering church members could have on the people around them (in the church, family, and neighborhood) if they were genuinely joyful despite their obvious suffering. In this way, our suffering can benefit others, in imitation of Christ’s suffering, which benefitted us.
Peter instructs Christians on what to do (and not do) when they suffer (1 Peter 2:19-23). They are not to insult or disparage others, nor are they to threaten those who mistreat them. Instead, they are to imitate Christ by entrusting themselves “to him who judges justly.” This practice alone can transform suffering into a context for blessing.
Peter also explains the why behind suffering—why God allows or initiates it. He says that “all kind of trials…have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”
In other words, the trials serve as “proof of faith” for the person who continues to trust God even through suffering. This “proof of faith” is enormously important to the Christian now (for more on this, click here) and will result in praise, glory, and honor later. Peter does not make clear who receives the praise, etc., but a broader survey of Scripture suggests that God does—and his child does too. (For example, see 1 Corinthians 4:5.)
The truths outlined above need to sink into a believer’s soul while remaining available in their memory. They will do no good if they exist only as abstract notions that are occasionally entertained. They must be forged together into a shield (see 1 Peter 4:1), which is what a personal theology of suffering can be.
The Way Home 
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