As I continue this series on suffering, today’s reading from the @Logos Bible reading plan is Isaiah 53:1–12. It’s a passage many of us know well. We hear it at Easter. We recognize its descriptions of Jesus’ suffering. But reading it while walking through suffering yourself brings some of those words into sharper focus. “A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.” Acquainted. There’s something deeply comforting about that word. When I started this series, this was the passage I found hardest to engage. The others speak more directly to suffering in our lives. This one focuses on Jesus’ suffering. But that’s essential: Jesus knows suffering firsthand. He experienced pain, rejection, humiliation, and grief. When we bring our suffering to him, we bring it to someone who understands. Over these past few months, I’ve been reminded that understanding what is happening in your body and living with it are two different things. You can know the diagnosis, understand the recovery timeline, and still find yourself asking, “How long, Lord?” I’m grateful we can bring that question to Jesus. And I love coming back to Jesus, over and over. Isaiah 53 takes us further, prophetically pointing to Jesus, who entered our suffering and bore our sins. That is the heart of this passage. The innocent Servant suffers on behalf of the guilty. Our rebellion, our wandering, our iniquity—all of it is laid upon him. His suffering accomplishes our reconciliation with God. That also means we should be careful about how we apply this passage to our own pain. My suffering does not atone for my sins. Jesus has already done that. The gospel rests on what Jesus has done. So I don’t have to wonder whether enduring enough pain will somehow make me right with God. My hope rests in what Christ has accomplished. And the healing promised here should never become a burden we place on someone whose body is still broken. Continuing pain is not evidence of insufficient faith. We pray for healing, pursue treatment, and trust God while we wait. Some of that waiting may last longer than we ever wanted. For those of us walking through a long recovery, that matters. In my case, the suffering may last a year. We don’t know. Some of it could remain for the rest of my life. And for many people, suffering is a lifelong reality. Like many of you, I’ve seen some of the most godly people endure tremendous suffering. Their faithfulness amid pain has encouraged me as we look together to Jesus. Isaiah’s account of the Servant moves through suffering toward vindication. His sacrifice bears fruit. His suffering accomplishes God’s saving purpose. Because of Jesus, we can look toward the day when redemption is fully realized, including the resurrection of our bodies. Until then, we may still hurt. We may still have questions. We may still need help getting through an ordinary day. I know I do. And some of my questions remain unanswered. But I’m trusting Jesus anyway. I’m praying for recovery. I’m praying for relief from neurological pain. And I’m learning to rest in the care of the Savior who is acquainted with grief. He knows what suffering costs. And he has given himself for us.

What will Christian higher education look like ten years from now? That question has implications far beyond our universities and seminaries. The decisions we make today will shape the pastors, scholars, and ministry leaders serving the Church tomorrow. I’m grateful to @Logos for bringing together several important conversations about how we can navigate change while remaining deeply rooted in our mission. Watch the series: Future-Proofing Christian Higher Ed. buff.ly/piHpHwV