The Future Kingdom
When I was young, I couldn’t wait to grow up. Like many kids, I marked time by milestones—first staying up past 9:00 p.m., then high school, then getting a driver’s license. It was always about what was next. But now, inching closer to 50, I find myself looking back almost as often as I look ahead. And when I do look ahead, it’s not to promotions or possessions. It’s to things that matter more deeply: What will my kids say about me when I’m gone? Will they remember me as someone who pointed others to Jesus?
What do you hope for when you think of the future?
This past Sunday, we explored Romans 8:18–27 as part of our When in Rome series. It’s a passage that speaks directly into our longing, our struggles, and—most importantly—our hope. Paul doesn’t pretend life is easy. He doesn’t dismiss suffering. But he gives us a powerful reframing of pain through the lens of eternity:
“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”
— Romans 8:18 (NIV)
That’s not a denial of difficulty. It’s a declaration of hope.
Pain With a Purpose
Paul uses a vivid metaphor—creation itself is groaning, like a woman in labor. And anyone who has been through labor knows: the pain is intense, but it has purpose. There’s a new life on the other side.
This world, Paul says, isn’t just suffering randomly or decaying beyond repair. It’s pregnant with possibility. Something better is coming. Creation is “on tiptoe,” eagerly awaiting the moment when God’s children are revealed and restoration begins (Romans 8:19).
Maybe you’ve felt that longing in your own way—a beautiful sunset that made you ache, or a news story that left you saying, this isn’t how things are supposed to be. That ache is real. And Paul tells us: it’s not just you. All of creation feels it too.
Hope Changes How We Wait
Paul reminds us that we live in the space between what is and what will be. Between Eden lost and Eden restored. Between Jesus’ resurrection and His return.
We are people of the already and not yet—already adopted into God’s family, already given the Spirit, already saved… but not yet home, not yet whole.
“But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.”
— Romans 8:25 (NIV)
This is not passive waiting. This is the kind of waiting a child does before Christmas—counting the days, wide-eyed and eager. It’s the kind of waiting a parent does in the delivery room—not knowing when the baby will come, but knowing they will.
It’s hope with expectancy. Hope that keeps working, serving, and praying—even in the pain.
God in Our Groaning
One of the most beautiful truths in this passage is that we’re not alone in the waiting. We’re not left to pray perfect prayers or carry our burdens in silence.
“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness… the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”
— Romans 8:26 (NIV)
If you’ve ever been too overwhelmed to pray—if your prayers have ever been just sighs or sobs—know this: the Spirit of God is praying for you. When words fail, God still hears. When your faith falters, the Spirit is faithful. He intercedes according to God’s will, not your eloquence.
This is not a God who watches from a distance. This is a God who steps into the mess, who groans with us and for us, and who never leaves us alone.
So What Now?
The passage ends in hope, but not in passivity. Hope is not a reason to withdraw—it’s a reason to engage. Paul’s vision is not of an escape pod that whisks us away from a burning earth. It’s of a redeemed people, restored by grace, stepping into creation’s ache and living out the kingdom of God.
We are not called to ignore the groaning of the world—poverty, injustice, pollution, despair—but to respond with Christlike compassion. To plant seeds of hope. To embody the love of Jesus.
“The Spirit helps us in our weakness.”
— Romans 8:26 (NIV)
So whether you’re grieving or groaning, doubting or delighting—know that God is with you. He is not waiting at the finish line; He is walking with you in the waiting.
So here’s the invitation this week: Wait well.
Not with resignation, but with resolve. Not with despair, but with expectation. The glory that’s coming will far outweigh the sorrow we feel now. One day, you’ll see it with your own eyes. One day, your groans will give way to glory.
In the meantime, keep hoping. Keep praying—even when you don’t have the words. Keep showing up for the world God so loves.
And may the Spirit strengthen you to wait, to work, and to worship—until the day when all things are made new.