This is gloriously counter-intuitive. Why? Because these sufferings have earned him the opportunity for the preaching of the gospel, the preaching of the Word. He understands himself as a Servant of the Word, and he sees his purpose on earth as one of preaching this Word and proclaiming Jesus Christ.

This passage does not represent superficial triumphalism, but genuine Gospel triumph. It is a sober triumph because Paul acknowledges the sufferings he is currently enduring, but he also understands the victory that is assured in Christ. It is not Paul's triumph. It is Christ in Paul, the hope of glory.

In contrast, we look at the contemporary church. We notice the exhaustion of preaching that has taken place in so many pulpits. Rarely do we hear these days that a church is distinguished primarily by its preaching. When we hear persons speak about their own congregation, or when they make comparative remarks about other congregations, generally they speak about something other than preaching.

They speak of its "ministry." They speak, perhaps, of its specialized ministry to senior adults, children, or young people. They speak of its music. They speak of its ministries of one sort or another. Sometimes they speak of things far more superficial than those. Or perhaps they speak of the church's Great Commission vigor and commitment, and for that we are certainly thankful. But rarely do you hear a church described, first and foremost, by the character, power, and content of its preaching.

Speaking to pastors, I want to acknowledge that we have a certain product envy. We envy those who build houses or sell cars or build great corporations or assemble automobiles, or merely those who cut the grass. Why? It is because they have something tangible to show for their labor at the end of the day. They may be fastening widgets and assembling automobiles, or they may be putting things in boxes and sealing them up and sending them out, or they may be cutting the grass. They can see the product of their hands. A carpenter or an artist or a building contractor has something to which he can point. What about the preacher?

The preacher is robbed of that satisfaction. We are not given the sight to see what we would like to see. As a matter of fact, it seems like we stand up and throw out words and wonder, "What in the world becomes of them? What happens from it? What after all, is our product, and where in the world can you see it?" Words, words, and more words.

And then, we sometimes feel like we are flattering ourselves that people even remember what it was we had to say. We are chastened from even asking our own church members and fellow believers for the identity of our text halfway through the next week. Why? Because we are afraid that we will get that shocked look of anticipated response when a person of good intentions simply says, "That was a fine message. I don't remember exactly what it was about, and I have a very vague recollection of something you may have said, but I want you to know it was powerful."