The Other Side of the Scale
The Other Side of the Scale
The sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us (Romans 8:18, KJV).
When someone first showed me that verse in the hospital many years ago, I thought, Great. What’s the Bible doing? Telling me my problems with paralysis are featherweight?
At first I thought the writer was making light of my suffering, telling me to “cheer up and not be depressed.” I thought this verse was dismissing my troubles casually, and that my load, from a biblical perspective, should be considered no big deal. Instead of being comforted, I felt choked with resentment.
That may have been a young, stubborn teenager’s way of looking at that verse, but the Bible doesn’t speak carelessly or flippantly when it says today’s sufferings aren’t worthy to be compared with the glory yet to be. Nor is it trying to make molehills out of our mountainous problems.
What could be more cruel than making light of someone’s anguish? The disappointments and grief we sometimes experience are painfully real, and it is a false comforter who says, “What are you complaining about? Buck up, it’ll all work out.”
But God’s Word is no false comforter. To help us gain perspective on this verse, Martyn Lloyd-Jones offered a simple word picture. Imagine, he said, a man sitting at a table with a pair of scales before him. On one side of the scales are his sufferings. The man looks at them and sees they are very heavy. But then he looks on the other side of the scale, filling his vision with the much heavier weight of the glory yet to be. And what seemed so heavy before appears now to be as light as a feather. It’s not that his sufferings are light in themselves, they only become light in contrast to the far greater weight on the other side of the scale.
All this sounded like nice theory as I lay on my back in that hospital bed. The wonder of Romans 8:18 came only after I forced myself to be realistic and face my troubles as they were—at their worst. Then, when I felt I could no longer bear the pressure, I looked at the other side. I took a long, hard look at the glory yet to be revealed.
And what will this glory be? C. S. Lewis probably came as close as anyone to putting it into words:
We are to shine as the sun, we are to be given the Morning Star … in one way, of course, God has given us the Morning Star already: You can go and enjoy the gift on many fine mornings if you get up early enough. What more, you may ask, do we want? … We want something else which can hardly be put into words—to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it unto ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it … Yet, at present we are on the outside of the world, the wrong side of the door. We discern the freshness and purity of morning, but they do not make us fresh and pure. We cannot mingle with the splendors we see. But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumor that it will not always be so. Someday, God willing, we shall get in. When human souls have become as perfect in voluntary obedience, then they will put on its glory, or rather that greater glory of which Nature is only the first sketch. Nature is mortal; we shall outlive her. When all the suns and nebulae have passed away, each one of you will still be alive. Nature is only the image, the symbol; but it is the symbol Scripture invites me to use. We are summoned to pass in through Nature, beyond her, into that splendor which she fitfully reflects.
For me, an artist who loves sunsets and moonrises and cold starlight between pine trees in the high Sierras, this language offers a glimpse, a passing glance, at the weight of glory which will far outweigh today’s heartaches.
In the very next verse, Paul seems to speak of a craning-your-neck, standing-on-tip-toe way of peering through the mists at the wonders to come.
The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed (v. 19).
The best we can hope for in this life is a knothole peek at the shining realities ahead. Yet a glimpse is enough. It’s enough to convince our hearts that whatever sufferings and sorrows currently assail us aren’t worthy of comparison to that which waits over the horizon.
Yes, there are those times when you can’t help but consider your present circumstances; when, with a sigh, you find yourself gazing at the heavy load on your side of the scale. Go ahead and look.
But don’t leave your eyes there too long. There’s another side to that scale. Fill the eyes of your heart with what’s waiting on the other side of eternity.
You’ll find there is no comparison.