The Lutheran Hour
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"From Groans to Glory"
- Full Program MP3 TLH Message (Only)
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Text: Romans 8: 21-27
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In 2014, the congregation my family and I belonged to in St. Louis received a beautiful golden retriever named “Noah Comfort Dog” from Lutheran Church Charities. Since then, he has made thousands of visits bringing his calm and comforting presence in times of heartache and pain. Noah was a little over a year old when he arrived. He had a beautiful golden coat and a regal stance. He could run “zoomies” in our backyard with what seemed like boundless energy. He would go on walks for miles. Vet visits declared him to be in excellent health. Last May, Noah Comfort Dog celebrated his 13th birthday. Now his face and coat are mostly white. And when you rub your hand underneath his fur, small growths can be felt. He lies down most of the time because sitting is uncomfortable for him. He no longer does zoomies. Walks are maybe a half mile.
Oh, he still goes on visits. His tail wags when he puts on his vest and he gets into the car. But age has taken its toll. A recent vet visit simply mentioned “arthritis.” What we see happening to Noah brings the apostle Paul’s words in Romans close to home. Paul was a leader in the early church, started congregations, wrote some of the books of the New Testament. In Romans, he writes, “For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it in hope that the creation itself would be set free from its bondage to decay and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.” These words ring true for us with Noah. If you have had a pet that has grown old or you’ve had to say goodbye, they’ve come home to you as well.
Suffering, groaning, decay, futility. They run throughout all of creation. A wildfire runs through a habitat teeming with life. Plants die and what was living there either dies or is left homeless. Last year in St. Louis, a tornado tore through the city. Those strong winds made the trees groan. Branches fell down, other trees had to be cut down and they began to decay. When I was young, I enjoyed watching Westerns on TV. Occasionally, a rider would be going through a desert area and you would see the skull of a steer horn sticking up from the sandy soil. Drought had claimed it as a victim. It’s not just natural disasters either, like floods and drought and fires and earthquakes, tornadoes. No, creation turns in on itself. Burmese pythons have wiped out most of the small animal life in the Florida Everglades. Insects burrow into trees and soon the leaves fall and decay. A hungry leopard runs down an aging impala.
We as people haven’t done creation much good at times, either. I was driving home one day. I saw along the side of the road a deer had been hit by a car. Blood oozed from its mouth and the body had already stiffened into a grotesque shape. Paul says it well, all creation has been groaning, subject to futility and decay, suffering. But he also says it’s not just creation that’s groaning. We too groan. Listen, Paul writes, “And not only the creation, but we ourselves who have the first fruits of the Spirit grown inwardly.
Now, what makes us grown inwardly is often personal. In 1994, my mother died of complications from Alzheimer’s. That disease stole her mind and her health, piece by piece over a ten-year period. At the end, she could not remember any of her children—she had nine of them—except for one. My sister Joy took care of her day after day. That caregiving brought suffering and a sense of futility to my sister as well. I wonder if the forms of dementia that we see in our country right now haven’t brought fear to our aging population. Now, I have a short list of reasons why people groan. It goes like this: anxiety, broken homes, cancer, debt, fatigue, grief, hate, injustice, MRI reports, PTSD, sexual harassment, abuse, trafficking, watching a loved one die. You can add to that list your own personal times of suffering and groaning.
The apostle Paul names the experience we live that we go through and he uses those words “decay,” “futility,” “suffering,” and “groaning.” Yet that’s not all the apostle Paul writes in this letter to the Romans. He also says this: “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us, for the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God.” We wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies, for in this hope we were saved. Paul doesn’t consider the sufferings to be compared with what’s to come. He talks about the hope in which we are saved. Now, Paul does suffer. He has been run out of town, hunted down, rejected, thrown into prison, beaten up, shipwrecked. So somebody goes through that kind of suffering. How can he say that it’s not worth comparing with what’s to come or that he has hope in the midst of that groaning?
He does so by looking back to Jesus.
In the hallway at our house, I have collected dozens of crosses. I took one of those crosses down and had it before me as I prepared this sermon. It’s a small cross, five inches tall, three inches wide. The edges are beveled and smooth. The surface is colored with happy greens and pinks. A word is printed in the middle of the crossbeam in a joyous font. It says, “hope.” How can Paul talk about hope and what’s to come? By looking at Jesus on the cross. Yes, Jesus hung on a cross, but it was not one with pinks and greens and happy lettering. No, what you would’ve seen on that cross was bloodied wood that reeked of death. You would’ve heard the gasp of those hanging on that means of execution as they groan their last gasp of air. Jesus hung on that cross. And when He did, He spoke a word that took all of the groans of all creation unto Himself. He said, “I thirst.” His very body is groaning with the suffering. And with that, He takes all suffering, every moment of suffering, unto Himself. All the futility, all the decay becomes His so that, as Paul says, to adopt us as His own, to give us the redemption of our bodies to save us. Yet death could not hold Him. On Easter morning, His tomb was empty. He had risen from the dead in a body glorified, with lungs breathing, heart beating, and nail-scarred hands.
Now, my little cross shows it beautifully. Out of death comes new life, comes the promise of the redemption of our bodies. Hope springs forth when Jesus walks out of the grave. You can hear it in a locked room filled with frightened disciples. Jesus appears to them on that first Easter and He speaks a different word this time. He says, “Peace be with you.” And those frightened disciples breathe in the new life of the Holy Spirit. Color that little cross with beautiful colors because it is empty. The tomb is empty, and it has brought the hope of what is to come.
In another one of Paul’s letters, this time to the church in Corinth, he writes a long chapter about Jesus’ resurrection. When he comes to the end of that chapter, he speaks a clear affirmation and belief of Christ’s resurrection from the dead and he taunts sin and death. It’s like he ridicules all the groaning and futility with a confident refrain of hope. Listen: “Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? Oh death, where is your sting? The sting of death is sin and the power of sin is the Law, but thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” Because of Jesus, our groans will be as nothing to what will be revealed on the last day of all history. On that day, Jesus will return. One day He will come back for us. One day He will destroy all the decay and groaning and futility of creation. One day He will restore all of creation to its beauty and wonder. Oh, it’ll be a new creation, and we will experience the redemption of our bodies. We in the church have been confessing this confident hope for centuries in the words of the Apostles’ Creed: “I believe in the resurrection of the body and life everlasting.” Of course, it hasn’t happened yet, but I believe we get glimpses of that glory to be revealed even now.
In our home, we have a two-year-old golden retriever named Luke. He’s been trained to bring a calm and comforting presence to times of heartache and pain, too. Luke’s coat is a beautiful golden brown. You should see him run zoomies in our backyard and he can walk miles with me in the morning. And when we go on that walk in the spring, I hear the birds singing. Trees and grass are colored in a bright green. Flowers bloom with the shrubs with shades of pink and red and purple. Creation arises to new life once again. Oh, it’s just a glimpse of the glory that is to come that will last forever, but still we see it a little bit already. And so we groan, but we groan with hope for the glory to come.
My wife Sue and I lost our older son, Matthew, in 2017, suddenly at the age of 33, to a pulmonary embolism. We groaned often without words, and the Holy Spirit took those sighs and tears of deep grief to the Heavenly Father for us. Years later, those groans may be less intense and not as frequent, but they have not disappeared. They are buried deep within us and they arise on days when we remember. Matthew was cremated, but not before each one of our family said goodbye to him. His body was on a gurney covered with a coarse hospital blanket. Each one of the family went up to him to say their goodbye. I came. The body had already started to decay. I remember saying to him, “Rest in peace, Matthew.”
A few days later was the funeral service. God’s word of comfort was read to us and a sermon was spoken that was wonderfully personal. The church was filled with people who gathered together to support us and to console us. His cremains are buried in the church’s peace garden where Sue and I can go and sit whenever we decide to do so. But when we do, the groans are accompanied by hope. Yes, a day will come when the grief will end. The groans will be silenced. Jesus will return and the dead in Christ will arise with bodies glorified. Those we love will be reunited. Creation will be new and filled with beauty and wonder. When you look back at Jesus going from “I thirst” to “Peace be with you,” when you look ahead with hope to His return on the Last Day, then you can say with the apostle Paul these words: “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing to the glory that will be revealed to us.” Amen.
Reflections for July 19, 2026
Title: From Groans to GloryNo reflection segment this week.
Music Selections for this program:
“A Mighty Fortress” arr. Peter Prochnow. Used by permission.
“Crucifer” by Sydney H. Nicholson, arr. Peter Prochnow. Used by permission.
“Sing with All the Saints in Glory” by William J. Irons & William B. Roberts. (Tune © 1995 Augsburg Fortress)
“To Thee, O Lord, Do I Lift Up My Soul” by Victor Kalinnikov, arr. by Henry Gerike. From Safe in God’s Faithfulness by the Concordia Seminary Chorus (© 2007 Concordia Seminary Chorus)
“When I Suffer Pains and Losses” arr. by Henry Gerike. Used by permission.
“In Holy Conversation” From The Concordia Organist (© 2009 Concordia Publishing House) Used by permission.