Rejoicing in Tribulation?

Peace with God through Justification by Faith (Romans 5:1-2)

St. Paul begins Romans 5 with a triumphal conclusion to the doctrine he has meticulously established: “Therefore, having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ” (v. 1). This peace is not a feeling, nor is it the absence of hardship; it is an objective, forensic status—a holy reconciliation wrought through the blood of Christ. It is the cessation of divine wrath against your sins, for the sinner who trusts in Christ is no longer at enmity with God.

Luther, commenting on this verse, writes: “Faith is a living, daring confidence in God’s grace, so sure and certain that a man would stake his life on it a thousand times” (LW 35:370). This peace, then, is not an inner serenity that ebbs and flows with emotion, but the unwavering certainty that the war is over. The sinner stands before God not as a fugitive but as His dear child.

Paul continues, “through whom also we have access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God” (v. 2). The Greek word for “access” is προσαγωγή (prosagōgē), which is a liturgical term denoting introduction into the presence of a king. We’ve been brought near, no longer as rebels, but as sons and daughters. Faith not only justifies; it opens the door into God’s gracious presence, where we now “stand.” This standing is permanent. It is not a trial period. It is not a negotiation. It is grace. And in this grace, we are already rejoicing, because we know the glory of God is our future.

This is what the Lutheran Confessions describe when they say, “Faith is the divine service (latreia [liturgy]) that receives the benefits offered by God… Faith means not only a knowledge of the history, but the kind of faith that believes in the promise [Romans 4:16]… Whenever we speak of justifying faith, we must keep in mind that these three objects belong together: the promise, grace, and Christ’s merits as the price and atonement. The promise is received through faith. Grace excludes our merits and means that the benefit is offered only through mercy. Christ’s merits are the price, because there must be a certain atonement for our sins” (Ap IV, 49-50, 53).

To be justified by faith is to be planted immovably in grace, and it is this immovable grace that anchors the believer when tribulation comes.

Glorying in Tribulations (Romans 5:3a)

St. Paul makes a shocking turn: “And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations” (v. 3a). This is not stoic detachment, nor masochistic delight in pain. Rather, it is καυχώμεθα (kauchōmetha)—glorying, a confident boast in what tribulation produces in the life of one who’s been justified. The world boasts in strength, success, and health—a theology of glory. The Christian boasts in affliction—the theology of the cross.

Luther understood this paradox intimately. In his Heidelberg Disputation of 1518, he wrote in thesis 18, “It is certain that man must utterly despair of his own ability before he is prepared to receive the grace of Christ” (LW 31:40). Tribulation strips away our illusions of self-sufficiency. It forces the soul to cease clinging to its own righteousness or strength. When everything is taken away, only the promise remains—and that promise is enough.

Paul’s point is not that tribulation itself is glorious. He’s not advocating for masochism. Rather, his point is that God works through it for good. As he writes three chapters later, “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28). The word for “tribulation” here is θλῖψις (thlipsis), which refers to crushing pressure. It’s the same word used for the anguish of childbirth (John 16:21) and for the persecution of the early Church (Acts 14:22). But to the one who has peace with God, even tribulation becomes a tool in the Redeemer’s hand—not a punishment, but a crucible for purifying.

Jesus said, “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me” (Luke 9:23). Crosses are not removed but sanctified and blessed to us by Christ’s merit. The justified sufferer is not forsaken but being sanctified. The cross is not meaningless pain but Christ-shaped formation.

But what does this “glorying in tribulations” look like in the actual life of a Christian? It’s not a plastic smile or shallow denial of the weight of suffering. It is kneeling at the hospital bedside and praying the Lord’s Prayer when words fail. It is singing a hymn at the grave with tear-choked voices. It is singing an Easter hymn at the end of a funeral service. It is the mother who, despite her chronic pain, comforts her child in Christ. It is the widower who still comes to the Lord’s Supper, bearing the ache of absence but clinging to the presence of the Crucified. It is the quiet faith of the unemployed father who entrusts his family to God’s provision.

It is every Christian who does not curse God in affliction, but cries to Him, “How long, O Lord?”—and then keeps praying (cf. Psalms 10; 13). It is the martyr who shouts with the martyred Romanus whose teeth were knocked out, his eyelids torn off, his cheeks cut with knives, and his beard pulled out with chunks of flesh: “I thank thee, O captain, that thou hast opened unto me many mouths, whereby I may preach my Lord and Savior Christ. Look how many wounds I have, so many mouths I have, lauding and praising God” (Wolfmueller, 138-139).

This glorying is not strength the world recognizes; it is Christ’s strength made perfect in weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). It is the victory of faith that knows the cross is not the end but merely a seed planted into the ground that will bear the fruit of everlasting life (John 12:23-24).

Tribulation Produces Perseverance (Romans 5:3b)

Paul writes, “tribulation produces perseverance” (v. 3b). The word translated as “perseverance” is ὑπομονή (hupomonē), which means patient endurance under trial—a Spirit-wrought resolve not to abandon faith even when every earthly reason to believe is stripped away (see the Book of Job). He’s not suggesting a linear formula, as though affliction automatically results in steadfastness. Rather, he points to the Spirit’s mysterious work in the crucible of suffering. The Greek word for “perseverance” carries the idea of staying power, remaining under pressure without fleeing. It’s not a virtue we generate within ourselves but one the Holy Spirit forges in us as we cling to Christ in the fire.

Luther makes this point in the Heidelberg Disputation when he writes thesis 28, “The love of God does not find, but creates, that which is pleasing to it. The love of man comes into being through that which is pleasing to it” (LW 31:57). The Spirit does not look for strong people to endure tribulation; He takes weak, weary, frightened sinners and teaches them to stay. He does not demand spiritual stamina from us—He supplies it.

Perseverance is thus the long obedience in the same direction. It is the Christian who keeps attending Divine Service even when their heart feels numb. It is the widow who prays even when every petition feels unanswered, like the persistent widow knocking on the unjust judge’s door (Luke 18:1-8). It is the father who still teaches his children the catechism even while walking through depression. It is the woman battling cancer who brings her body to the altar for Christ’s body, or allows it to be brought to her if she’s incapable of moving, because she knows the One who endured the cross for her has not abandoned her.

This kind of perseverance is not visible in a single moment but becomes evident over time. It’s not impressive by the world’s standards. It rarely feels like progress. It may involve stumbling, tears, silence, and struggle. But the Spirit is at work, holding the believer in Christ even when they feel like letting go. And in this divine holding, a deeper endurance is formed—not self-reliance but a learned dependency on the mercy of God.

This is why the justified can glory in tribulation, because the tribulation itself becomes the classroom in which Christ tutors us in endurance. And the more we endure, the more we learn to say with Paul, “I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content” (Philippians 4:11). Perseverance is the grit of grace with a stubborn pulse.

Perseverance Produces Character (Romans 5:4a)

This perseverance refines the believer’s δοκιμή (dokimē), which means “proven character.” I can’t help but remember something my dad used to say whenever my siblings and I would grumble about chores, bad weather, or any task we didn’t want to do. With a grin and a glint in his eye, he’d say, “It builds character!”—as if that somehow explained everything. At the time, it felt like a joke at our expense. But as an adult, I now understand: character is built in the doing, the enduring, the carrying on—not because the task is glorious, but because it is faithfully borne. That phrase, said with humor, hinted at a deeper truth: the daily crosses we carry, though ordinary or even ridiculous in the moment, shape whom we’re becoming under grace.

This biblical character is not merely moral improvement, but tested faithfulness—the kind of inner fortitude that cannot be faked. It’s the difference between soft metal and steel forged in fire. Luther teaches this truth quite pastorally: “For as soon as God’s Word takes root and grows in you, the devil will plague you and make a real doctor of you, and by his attacks will teach you to seek and love God’s Word” (LW 54:50). Perseverance, then, is not passive suffering but Spirit-enabled clinging to the Word in the midst of suffering. It forms character—not the kind that earns salvation, but the kind that bears witness to it.

This tested character is no self-help virtue. It is cruciform. It is shaped by Christ and conforms to Christ. “He learned obedience by the things which He suffered” (Hebrews 5:8), and so do we. Through trial, we are not being abandoned but drawn into the likeness of Christ, conformed to His image, molded by grace. This proven character is not the shallow moralism of mere self-improvement. Paul is not advocating that suffering automatically makes you a better person. The world says, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” But the Christian confession is deeper: What breaks you is used by Christ to shape you. The result is not hard-heartedness but humility. It is not self-glorification but a character formed by the grace that sustained you.

In the Christian life, this character forged by perseverance is not a résumé of moral strength but a testimony of God’s faithfulness. It is the depth of compassion gained by the one who has suffered. It is the steady kindness of a Christian who has learned through affliction how to listen, pray, and hope. It is not show or loud, but real and weighty. And above all, it is cruciform—marked by Christ.

Character Produces Hope (Romans 5:4b)

The chain does not stop with character: “and character, hope” (v. 4b). But what kind of hope? Not wishful thinking or optimism that relies on a coin flip. The hope of Romans 5—indeed, of all Scripture—is rooted in the reality of justification. It is the confidence that the one who has begun a good work in us will bring it to completion (Philippians 1:6). This is eschatological hope—the certainty that glory is coming not because of our endurance, but because Christ has overcome the world (John 16:33).

As Hebrews 11:1 says, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” The Confessions echo this: “We believe, teach, and confess that this faith is not a bare knowledge of Christ’s history, but it is God’s gift [Ephesians 2:8]. By this gift we come to the right knowledge of Christ as our Redeemer in the Word of the Gospel” (FC Ep III, 6). This trust yields hope—a hope born in affliction, proven in character, and anchored in Christ.

Hope grows in the soil of suffering. This is why the justified can rejoice even in sorrow. Each trial, borne in faith, points us again to Christ who bore all trials for us. And since He is risen, our hope is not in vain.

Why This Hope Does Not Disappoint (Romans 5:5)

“Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who has been given to us” (v. 5). This is not theoretical love or abstract doctrine. It is a divine outpouring—a baptismal flood over body and soul.

The Greek verb for “poured out” is ἐκκέχυται (ekkechutai), which evokes an image of abundance—more than we could ask, and more than we can contain. “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows” (Psalm 23:5). And this love, Paul says, is not earned but given by the Holy Spirit. The same Spirit who brought us to faith now sustains us in hope. As we confess in the Small Catechism, it is not by our own reason or strength that we believe in Jesus Christ or come to Him, “but the Holy Spirit has called me by the Gospel, enlightened me with His gifts, sanctified, and kept me in the true faith” (SC II, The Third Article). It’s not our perseverance that guarantees hope, but God’s love and Spirit who do not fail.

This is why the hope of the Christian never ends in shame. It may be misunderstood. It may be mocked. But it will not be disappointed. For “in the same way [the Holy Spirit] calls, gathers, enlightens, and sanctifies the whole Christian church on Earth, and keeps it with Jesus Christ in the one true faith. In this Christian church He daily and richly forgives all my sins and the sins of all believers. On the Last Day He will raise me and all the dead, and give eternal life to me and to all believers in Christ” (SC II, The Third Article).

The Theology of the Cross in the Crucible of Affliction

Romans 5:1-5 is not trite encouragement to look on the bright side of life, much as Monty Python’s Life of Brian would like us to believe about the cross. Rather, it is a theology of the cross. Peace with God does not exempt us from suffering; it transforms it. Tribulation is no longer a sign of God’s wrath but the workshop of His love. Perseverance, character, and hope are not badges of moral achievement but gifts of grace wrought in the crucible of affliction, the pressure and fire removing the impurities of our faith (cf. 1 Peter 1:6-9). And the love of God, poured out into our hearts by the Spirit, ensures this hope is never in vain.

We glory in our sufferings not because we are strong, but because Christ is. Not because we enjoy pain, but because we know that in Christ, no pain is wasted. To paraphrase from Luther: The cross, suffering, and temptation are the true school of the Christian. In that school, hope is not extinguished. It is refined.

Works Cited

Wolfmueller, Bryan. A Martyr’s Faith in a Faithless World. Saint Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 2019.