Lectionary Commentaries for July 19, 2026
Eighth Sunday after Pentecost

The Parable of the Wheat and the Weeds (Matthew 13:24–30) is well known to many Gospel readers. Jesus describes a person who sows “good seed” in a field (13:24), but an “enemy” comes and sows “weeds” overnight (13:25). When the field owner’s slaves notify him of this agricultural infiltration, they are told to let the wheat and the weeds grow together until the harvest—at which time the reapers will gather the wheat into the owner’s barn and burn the weeds (13:29–30).

In his explanation of the parable (13:36–43), Jesus identifies himself—“the Son of Man” (13:37)—as the planter of good seed and equates the harvest to the “end of the age” (13:39), when the angels will send “evildoers” into the “furnace of fire” (13:41–42) and gather the “righteous” into God’s kingdom (13:43).

This passage includes traditional elements of parables that appear in the Hebrew Bible and later Jewish literature. Jesus’s initial agricultural illustration is what’s known as a mashal—a narrative device that presents an allegory or extended metaphor for the sake of comparison: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field” (13:24). The Hebrew term mashal appears in Ezekiel 17:2, in which God tells the prophet to deliver “an allegory (mashal) to the house of Israel.” Jesus’s parable echoes Ezekiel’s description of a “seed” being placed “in fertile soil” (Ezekiel 17:5), which becomes a vine that would “produce branches and bear fruit” (17:8).

Matthew 13:36–43 follows the form of a nimshal, or an explanation of the preceding illustration. A good example of the mashal-nimshal structure appears in a parable from Qohelet Rabbah—a rabbinic commentary on Ecclesiastes compiled several hundred years after the time of Jesus.¹

With reference to Ecclesiastes 5:12—“Sweet is the sleep of laborers, whether they eat little or much, but the abundance of the rich will not let them sleep”—Rabbi Berekiah asks, “To what can this matter be compared (mashal)? It is analogous to a king who had an orchard that he handed over to his son. As long as the son did his bidding, the king would see where a beautiful tree was in the world and plant it in his son’s orchard. But when the son would not do his bidding, he would see the most beautiful and extraordinary tree in the orchard, and he would uproot it” (Eccl Rabbat 5:11).

Then comes the explanation (nimshal): “The king is the Holy One. … the orchard is the world. … As long as they do the bidding of [God], when he sees a righteous person among the nations of the world … he brings them and attaches them to Israel. Whenever they do not do his bidding, he sees a righteous person who is in Israel and he removes him from among them.”

This rabbinic parable echoes Jesus’s words in multiple ways: It offers an initial agricultural illustration (mashal)—a king planting trees in an orchard—and follows it with an explanation (nimshal). Just as the rabbinic nimshal identifies the planter as God and the orchard as the world, Jesus explains that the sower is the Son of Man and the harvested field represents the end of the age or “world” (aiōn, Matthew 13:40). Likewise, both Jesus and Rabbi Berekiah refer to the divine acts of planting and uprooting based on people’s fulfillment of God’s will.

A difference between Matthew and Qohelet Rabbah is that the Gospel explains its parable with reference to the eschaton (in other words, the end of history). The Matthean scene envisions God’s kingdom having arrived on earth at the end of days and the angels removing “evildoers” from that divine space (13:41).

The Greek for the New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition’s “evildoers” is poioūntas tēn anomīan. The final term in this phrase, anomīa, combines the Greek word for Torah (nomos; in other words, the Law of Moses) with an “alpha privative”—a prefixed “a” that denotes negation (as in the English words “atheist” or “amorality”). Thus, Jesus asserts that those who do not observe the commandments will be removed from the eschatological kingdom of heaven. Conversely, the “righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father” (13:43).

In the narrative world of the First Gospel, the “righteous” are those who enact the love of God and neighbor specified in the Torah and in Jesus’s interpretation of it (see, for example, Matthew 5:6, 20; 6:1, 33; 25:36–40). Therefore, the Parable of the Wheat and the Weeds provides a behavioral blueprint for Christ-followers based on the biblical principles that Jesus deems the most important: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart” and “love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:37–40; see also Deuteronomy 6:5; Leviticus 19:18).

By following these divine dictates, Jesus says, one “does the will of my Father in heaven” and will thereby “enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 7:21). In the language of Matthew’s parable, attention to God’s will is the distinguishing feature of the “good seed” in the sower’s field that will blossom into everlasting wheat in the world to come.

Though Jesus insists that enacting the divine will leads to kingdom entry, this insistence does not constitute so-called “works righteousness.” Following God’s commands demonstrates righteousness, but it does not merit righteousness. Jesus saves his people from their sins (Matthew 1:21) so that they are freed to perform “good works” (5:16).

This matter might be compared to a mechanic who fixes an automobile. Once the car is saved from its former corruption, its owner would be expected to begin driving and, ultimately, arrive at the desired destination. Indeed, the refusal to drive would undermine the mechanic’s hard work. Likewise, Jesus provides salvation from sin so that saved people can demonstrate righteousness and arrive at their eternal destination. Refusing to perform good works would be to obviate the purpose of Christ’s work on the cross. The Parable of the Wheat and the Weeds envisions saved believers living out their righteousness and entering into the kingdom of heaven.

Notes

1. For the rabbinic text, see https://www.sefaria.org/Kohelet_Rabbah.5.11.1?lang=bi.

Trauma theorists tell us that one of the essential steps for trauma victims in reconstituting their shattered lives is to repair their narrative identity—that is, constructing fragments of their former selves into a sense-making narrative.¹

Isaiah 44:6–8, as part of the larger context of Isaiah 44, seeks to establish a new identity for the broken exiles by reminding the exilic community that their own identity should be understood in relation to the character of God. Having received a new name in verses 1–5, the exiles are reminded that they are witnesses of the Redeemer God. They are called to testify to God’s liberative action in their lives, which is a continuation of God’s redemptive action in the past.

The promise of God’s redemptive action to which the trauma survivors are called to witness is a source of great comfort. Speaking to people who have been deeply wounded, the people are consoled with the words: “Do not be afraid” (verse 8). The Redeemer God, who has done marvelous things in the past, will once more act to save the exiles from their dire situation.

The image of the redeemer is indeed a powerful image of liberation in Israel’s collective memory. Employing the connotations associated with the institution of the redeemer, according to which the closest relative had the obligation to rescue his family member from economic bondage by purchasing the victim from indentured service (Leviticus 25:47-54), God’s salvific activity is painted in vivid colors.

Drawing on God’s redemptive activity in the past, when God redeemed the people out of slavery in Egypt, the image of God as redeemer receives new significance in light of the exile. The exiles are thus encouraged to look to the past but to be open to what the future will bring.

However, in light of everything the people had gone through, it is understandable that the exiles harbored serious questions regarding God’s ability or willingness to save them. The common belief in the ancient Near East was that when nations fought, their gods also engaged in battle. After seeing what had happened to their city and its inhabitants, not to talk about the house of God, the only logical conclusion would be that God had lost the war—that Marduk, the god of Babylon, had won. Responding to this profound sense of doubt, Isaiah 44:6–8 even more strongly asserts that God is the Redeemer God.

In addition, closely associated with the portrayal of the Redeemer God is the overarching affirmation in Isaiah 44 that God is the only God, repeated three times in this short pericope. God alone is the first and the last—or the alpha and the omega, as the writer of Revelation many centuries later would formulate this claim (Revelation 21:6; 22:13). Referring back to the Psalms’ application of rock imagery to denote God as source of protection in times of danger (Psalms 18:2; 31–32; 62:7; 94:22), Isaiah 44:8 proclaims that God is the only Rock—there is no other.

The assertion that God is the only god ought to be understood in terms of the larger context of Isaiah 44, as well as Deutero-Isaiah as a whole. One characteristic of Deutero-Isaiah’s theology is the polemical nature of the prophet’s teaching that, tongue in cheek, could be described as “My God is bigger than your god” theology (see also a similar theme in Isaiah 40:18–20, where the question is asked, Who can be compared with God?)

So one encounters in Isaiah 44:6–23 a vivid description of idol manufacturing—a detailed and quite humorous account of what one commentator calls a “guided tour of an idol factory” (Blenkinsopp).

We read how the prophet makes fun of the creators of these wooden idols (using the same verb to describe the “creative activity” of the idol makers in verse 10 that was used to describe the work of the Creator God in verse 2). These “creators” use one part of a tree to create an idol to which they look for salvation, all the while employing the other part as fuel for a fire to prepare food for dinner. By means of this satire, the prophet wants to say that the idols made of wood and stone are not able to redeem—the one true Redeemer is the Creator God of Israel.

In a multicultural world where people increasingly are living in close proximity to others who do not share their religious beliefs, it is indeed a question of how the appeal to the believer in verse 8 to act as God’s witnesses ought to be understood. In particular, the polemical nature of this text, and especially the belittling of the religious beliefs of the other, is not very helpful in an environment where religious tolerance is the key to peaceful coexistence.

The contentious nature of the prophet’s words is best understood in terms of the trauma the exiles had experienced. Faced with the challenge of living as minorities in a foreign land, fearing assimilation or even annihilation, the intense desire to maintain one’s religious and cultural identity is certainly understandable. However, the lectionary text’s assertion that Israel is called to be God’s witness does not allow the exiles to withdraw into enclaves in a “circling-the-wagons” mentality.

This call receives new significance in light of the Servant’s vocation elsewhere in Deutero-Isaiah, according to which the individual or the nation (depending on whether one interprets the Servant individually or collectively) is called to be a light to the nations, ministering in justice and compassion to the others with whom the exiles share their world (Isaiah 42:1–7).

Isaiah 44 offers a good opportunity to talk about issues of identity and otherness, and of the challenges and joys of living in a multicultural environment. It may be good, though, to remind one another that one’s struggle for self-preservation does not occur at the expense of one’s vocation to be a witness to God’s salvific work in the world.

Notes

1. Commentary previous published on this website for July 20, 2008.

This story both reveals God’s grace to someone who doesn’t deserve it and challenges the dominant empire’s logic.

A story of grace

Most of us have had moments when we feel like we have no business being a Christian. We don’t feel worthy of the calling God has put on our lives. We know we’ve often made things worse, rather than better.

One of the best things we can do is become friends with Jacob. Early in his story, he’s a villain. When his brother Esau is so hungry that he’s near death, Jacob offers food only if Esau gives up his inheritance (Genesis 25:29–34). When their dad Isaac is blind and appears ready to die, Jacob deceives Isaac to rob Esau of their dad’s blessing (27:1–45).

Facing the fallout of these actions, Jacob is forced to travel 285 miles (410 km) north, away from his family and all that’s familiar. He has nothing more than his staff (32:10). When he gets to his destination, he’ll have to deal with an uncle who is more deceptive and manipulative than he is (29:15–30; 31:28–42).

Even though Jacob has made a mess of his life, and even though he has to face the bitter consequences of his actions, God still shows up. God is determined to work with him, come what may. God promises land (28:13), offspring (28:14), blessings (28:14), protection (28:15), return (28:15), and presence (28:15). Jacob has done nothing to deserve any of it.

In fact, even after encountering God, Jacob still appears to have questionable character: He promises that the Lord will be his God, but only if God first fulfills a lengthy list of requirements (28:20–21):

1. if God really is with him,
2. if God actually protects him,
3. if God does give him food,
4. if God keeps him clothed, and
5. if God brings him back home in peace.

It’s an incredibly selfish prayer, as if God—who’s already promised most of these things—needs to somehow earn Jacob’s approval. In this moment and many others, Jacob isn’t exactly a saint. He’s all too human. He’s stumbling through life, unaware of how good he really has it. He’s focused on himself and doubts that things will turn out okay in the end.

But God’s promises go marching on to fulfillment in spite of Jacob and his self-centeredness.

The rest of Jacob’s story shows that he continues to know his share of drama. He gets what’s coming to him. He lives with his uncle Laban, who treats him just as badly as Jacob treated his family. His children experience great suffering.

But in the end, Jacob’s story is ultimately one of redemption. Though he’s empty-handed here, he’ll eventually return with enormous wealth and a huge family. He’ll give Esau back what he stole, showering him with hundreds of animals—the ancient equivalent of a fortune. Jacob has so many blessings in his life that others around him experience blessings as well. Like all of us—and all of our ancestors—Jacob is far from perfect. But over time he gains wisdom, experiences God’s blessings, and becomes a better person.

Perhaps the person Jacob most resembles is the prodigal son in Jesus’s parable (Luke 15:11–32):

1. They’re both the younger of two brothers (Genesis 25:26; Luke 15:12).
2. They each get their inheritances in unorthodox ways (Jacob gains his brother’s birthright by exploiting him in Genesis 25:31–33; the prodigal son gets his inheritance early in Luke 15:12).
3. They both travel to faraway lands (Genesis 28:10; Luke 15:13).
4. They each return home after facing difficulties in those lands (Genesis 31:28–42; Luke 15:14–17).
5. They each come back with humility and repentance (Genesis 32–33; Luke 15:21).
6. As they approach home, a close family member runs out and greets them with hugs and kisses (Esau with Jacob in Genesis 33:4; the father with the son in Luke 15:20). They each find undeserved grace.

A story challenging the empire

When the Bible was written, people hadn’t yet invented italicized, underlined, bold, or capitalized text. To drive a point home, writers would use key words over and over. Like a flashing light, these words let readers know what deserves attention.

One of the most important words in this passage is “place,” which shows up six times (Genesis 28:11 [x3], 16–17, 19). The reason for repeating this word is revealed in 28:17, where Jacob realizes with awe that “this is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”

In Hebrew, the words “the house of God” are similar to the name of that place, “Bethel” (28:19). Bethel is a city of immense importance. The Bible mentions it more than any other city except Jerusalem. It’s in the center of Israel. At one point, it’s home to the ark of the covenant (Judges 20:26–27). Important people have connections to Bethel, including Deborah (Judges 4:5), Samuel (1 Samuel 7:16), Jeroboam (1 Kings 12:29–33), Elijah (2 Kings 2:2–3), Elisha (2 Kings 2:23), and Amos (Amos 5:6).¹ It was an important worship site for the northern kingdom of Israel (1 Kings 12:26–30). Prophets often denounced it (2 Kings 23:15–18; Jeremiah 48:13; Amos 3:14; 4:4; 5:5–6; Hosea 10:15), even though Genesis portrays the location quite favorably.

Early audiences of Genesis likely included people the Babylonians had conquered and sent to live in exile in Babylonia. There, the exiles would have heard that Marduk is the supreme God and that Babylon is the place where heaven and earth meet. “Babylon” even means “gate of god,” and it was home to a massive pyramid-like structure called a ziggurat covered with staircases. Inhabitants of that city assumed that divine beings traveled up and down these staircases, moving from heaven to earth and back.

Genesis denounces Babylon’s imperial propaganda. “Babel” is the ordinary Hebrew word for Babylon, meaning the familiar story in Genesis 11:1–9 undermines many claims about Babylon’s greatness. It’s not in the empire’s capital of Babylon, Genesis insists, that God is found and heaven and earth meet. It’s in a small town in the middle of Israel. That’s where God’s angels ascend and descend a stairway to heaven. That’s where heaven and earth kiss.

If you want to find God, do not listen to the empires of this age or their propaganda. Don’t assume that might makes right. Don’t fall for the lie that God’s power aligns with human power. Look for God in the small, the ordinary, the unexpected places that the world misses. Whether it’s at Bethel, a manger, or a cross, God shows up.

Notes

1. See also Robert T. Anderson, “Bethel (Place),” Eerdmans Dictionary of the Bible (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 170.

No small amount of ink has been spilled trying to sort out the structure of this prayer song of the individual.¹

Hans-Joachim Kraus believes the poem to be plagued by copy errors,² while James L. Mays sees it as a prayer composed of snippets from other psalms and scriptures that have been crafted into an original creation.³

The present division of the psalm into a pericope comprising verses 11–17 is also difficult to understand. James Limburg divides the prayer into three major sections, each concluding with a doxological statement (verses 5, 10, 15),⁴ while Kraus sees two divisions, verses 1–13 and 14–17.⁵ The present author also sees a break between verses 13 and 14.

The first half of the poem is structured as a psalm of individual lament. The anticipated address and cry appear in verses 1 and 2, while the motivations for God to act are signaled by the preposition ki (translated as “for” by the New Revised Standard Version) in verses 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 7. An oracle of salvation or word of assurance—missing from the lament psalms (but see 1 Samuel 1:17)—led to the praise and thanksgiving that appear in verses 8–13. Verses 14–17 return to the subject of lament, now identified as harassment by insolent villains who threatened the psalmist’s life (verse 14).

Given the clumsy division of the lectionary, the preacher may want to concentrate on the relationship between the petitioner and the Lord. Seven times in the psalm the psalmist refers to the Lord as “my Lord,”⁶ while three times the psalmist refers to himself as “your servant.”⁷ This relationship, Lord to servant, means that the servant can cry out to his Lord and confidently expect a positive response to his cry.

The Lord will answer (verse 7), the psalmist avers confidently, because he belongs to the people who know the constitutive character of this God. The Lord is good, forgiving, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love (verses 5, 15; see Exodus 34:6; Psalm 103:8). God has, moreover, spoken to this servant or, at the least, to his people in the past; Mays notes that verse 2 is the response to the declaration of Exodus 20:2, “I am the LORD your God.”⁸

Because of this relationship, the psalmist can call boldly to God, confident both of God’s will and of God’s power to help (verses 8–10). On the one hand, the psalmist is a member of the community that is “poor and needy” (verse 1), dependent upon the Lord to keep him from Sheol (verse 13). On the other hand, the petitioner knows himself to be a pious man (chasid, verse 2) who trusts God to respond to his calls for help (verse 7).

As is usually the case with the psalmist, he assumes that his enemies are also God’s enemies. In verse 14, the insolent ruffians who rise up against the psalmist and seek his life are the very ones who “do not set you before them.” Again, in verse 17, the psalmist wishes for a sign of divine favor so that his enemies will be shamed by the knowledge that the one they despised was aided by the Lord.

If the pious trust of this servant of the Lord serves as a model for us, the one he repeatedly addresses as “my Lord” deserves our praise. If we knew no more about this God than what appears in this psalm, we would still know much. This Lord answers the prayers of the poor and needy (verse 1)—a claim that should give pause for thought to those of us who are neither poor nor needy. More, this Lord is known by a character that is good, forgiving, and abounding in steadfast love (verse 5); a God who, both in the past and in the psalmist’s experience, is known to be merciful, gracious, slow to anger and (again!) abounding in steadfast love (verse 15).

This Lord can deliver us from the gates of Sheol (verse 13). This Lord strengthens and saves us (verse 16). This Lord’s wondrous works distinguish God as the only God worthy of praise (verses 8, 10)—a circumstance that will ultimately be recognized by all nations, who shall come, bow down, and glorify the name that is above every other name (verse 9; see Philippians 2:9–12; Revelation 15:4).

In short, this psalm praises the selfsame Lord who has been fully revealed in Jesus Christ.

The response to such a revelation in this psalm is, appropriately enough, characterized by doxology (verses 8–10, 15) and thanks (verses 12–13).

Added to his praise and thanks, however, is the fervent petition of verse 15 to the effect that the psalmist might be instructed to live according to the grace that has been poured out upon him: “Teach me your way, O Lord, that I may walk in your truth; give me an undivided heart to revere your name.”

The psalmist requests that the command of Deuteronomy 6:4 (described by Jesus as the “first” of all the commandments) might be his experience as well. He longs for an “undivided heart.” The prayer is for a heart that concentrates its affections in order that God’s name might be revered properly and, with verse 12, entirely.⁹ Given that Hebrew anthropology generally credited the heart, not the head, with rational reflection,¹⁰ this petition summons us to a devotion that is also intellectually engaged and thoroughly concentrated.

In spite of the wish that the psalmist might glorify the Lord’s name “forever” (verse 12b), praise dissolves into a plea for help just two verses later. Whether or not this psalm was originally a single composition, the movement from plea (verses 1–7) to praise (verses 8–13) and back again to a cry for deliverance (verses 14–17) reflects the actual faith journey upon which most of us find ourselves. Simply describing the movement from desperate hope to confident praise and back to pleading hope may, by itself, serve as good news for those who are discouraged that their hearts are so often fearful and divided.

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website for July 20, 2014.
2. Hans-Joachim Kraus, Psalms 60–150 (Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1989), 180.
3. James L. Mays, Psalms (Louisville: John Knox, 1994). 278. Specifically, Mays notes the reuse of the following: Psalm 40:17 in verse 1; Psalm 25:1 in verse 4b; Psalm 27:11 in verse 11a; Psalm 54:3 in verse 14; Exodus 34:6 in verses 5 and 15.
4. James Limburg, Psalms (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2000), 292.
5. Kraus, Psalms, 181.
6. Verses 3, 4, 5, 8, 9, 12, and 15.
7. Verses 2, 4, 16. In addition, the psalmist refers to himself as “the child of your handmaid (leben-‘amateka)” in verse 16.
8. Mays, Psalms, 279.
9. The Hebrew verb ychd here means to be united, and the petition intends that the psalmist’s heart/mind be thoroughly fixated on the Lord and his name. The Septuagint, the Syriac, the Vulgate, and other versions seem, however, to have “let my heart rejoice,” perhaps reading an original yichad from chada. Given the wholehearted thanks of verse 12, the Masoretic Text is likely to be preferred, though there is certainly something attractive about a joyful heart/mind that reveres God’s name.
10. Hans Walter Wolff, Anthropology of the Old Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1974), 46–47.

Paul uses many striking metaphors in this passage (for example, flesh, slavery, redemption, adoption, inheritance, labor pains), and the composite picture that emerges contains a number of jarring juxtapositions that are worth noticing. In this middle section of Romans 8, Paul first explains the significance of receiving the Spirit (8:12–17) and then sets the community’s life in the Spirit against a cosmic and eschatological backdrop (12:18–25). The tone of the passage is one of defiant hope: a hope with its eyes wide open to the suffering and brokenness of the world, but a hope that is rooted in Christ’s own solidarity with creation (8:17) and that bears witness to God’s promise of redemption (8:21–23). 

Life in the Spirit

In 8:11, Paul identifies the Spirit as “the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead,” which underscores God’s power to bring eschatological life from death and anchors the Roman believers’ hope for their own redemption in the creative work of God. The flesh (8:12–13), which is one of Paul’s terms for the supra-human anti-god powers (along with sin and death; see also Romans 5:12–21), stands opposed to God’s life-giving work in Christ and seeks to keep creation enslaved to death and decay. Those who align themselves with the death-dealing and enslaving work of the flesh can only bring death to themselves and others, but those who turn toward the Spirit’s leading bear witness with the Spirit to God’s plan of redemption—these are the children of God. 

The Spirit of adoption

Paul speaks of these children (Greek huioi; sons) as those who have received the Spirit of adoption. Verse 15 is the first mention of adoption in the passage, and Paul uses the same word in verse 23 for those who are eagerly awaiting the redemption of their bodies. 

It is important for preachers to know that the practice Paul calls “adoption” in this passage bears little resemblance to modern, Western practices of adoption. In the Roman world, adoption was a social institution that Roman fathers used to secure a suitable adult male heir in order to pass on their household and inheritance. Preachers who use Paul’s adoption language here as a theological underpinning for Western adoption practices unwittingly perpetuate an “adoption as salvation” narrative that many adoptees and first families/birth families find very painful.

In the context of Romans, the triune act of adoption secures the inheritance of the children and enables them to participate in Jesus’s own Abba cry (8:15). However, Paul also makes clear that the children of God will experience the suffering of the Son as they wait for God’s final act of redemption (8:17). The picture that emerges is one of deep eschatological and existential tension for those who have received the Spirit of adoption. 

Groaning for redemption

In 8:18 Paul turns his gaze from “the sufferings of the present time” as he casts his eye toward the eschatological horizon and anchors his hope in “the glory about to be revealed to us.” However, having set his sights on God’s act of final redemption, Paul immediately becomes aware that the groans of the children of God are joined with the groans of all of creation. Those who are led by the Spirit ought to be attuned to the plight of creation. In this era of climate crisis, the leading of God’s Spirit calls the children of God to bear witness to creation’s plight because our redemption is inextricably tied to the redemption of the whole creation (8:21–23).

Paul uses the language of “groaning in childbirth” to describe the groans of creation and our creaturely groans of redemption. Many male commentators on Romans think that Paul is emphasizing the pain and futility of labor pain in childbirth, but I am convinced that Paul uses this language to underscore the visceral, powerful connection between creation and the Spirit-filled believers as they groan in solidarity, and to highlight the sense of expectation that God will bring redemption. 

In childbirth, labor pain is productive pain, after all. In labor, a woman’s mind and body work together, looking ahead to an end goal. Labor pain points beyond itself. Those who groan in labor for God’s redemption are not suffering in agonizing futility; they are laboring in the Spirit, straining their eyes toward the horizon for signs of God’s final redemption. 

We ought to notice Paul’s jarring juxtaposition of images in 8:22–23. Creation is laboring in childbirth, but creation’s laboring is not what secures redemption. Instead, redemption comes through God’s act of powerful grace and adoption. This paradoxical picture ought to caution us against triumphally interpreting technological, economic, or national progress as signs of God’s blessing or redemption. Instead, groaning in solidarity with creation necessitates that those who have the Spirit testify prophetically against the forces of death, slavery, and decay that are at work in the world. 

This is not to say that Christians may absolve themselves from working toward justice for those affected by climate catastrophe, by modern forms of slavery, or by the myriad kinds of violence that are increasingly enabled by modern weapons technology. Christians must continue to stand against these works of the flesh, but we do so because our faithful witness to God’s justice points forward to God’s act of redemption. For Paul, redemption comes only from the God who gives life to the dead, so those with the Spirit wait with patience for God to act decisively to bring life from death.