I have a friend, Bryan Duncan, who played in a Christian Rock Band in the 70’s called The Sweet Comfort Band. They came to be in the second wave of the Jesus Revolution that started in the hippie world of Riverside, California with Chuck Smith and Lonnie Frisbee. Out of that movement Greg Laurie came to know Christ and started Calvary Chapel, and out of Calvary Chapel, The Sweet Comfort Band.

They were one of the first rock Christian bands, moving past the softer, easier folk kind of sound of early contemporary Christian music to shredding electric guitar, driving bass, and unbelievable vocals featuring Bryan. I listened to early songs like “I Should Have Never Left,” and “Get Ready” in my canary yellow Pinto with the windows down and the smoke rolling out of the tailpipe. I was preaching Jesus and polluting the environment all at the same time.

I met Bryan for the first time many years later. I was speaking for a conference in Dallas, Texas and he was doing the music. We were both there because of our stories of addiction recovery. I remember standing out behind the auditorium while he finished off one last cigarette (sorry Bryan. He was preaching Jesus and polluting the environment at the same time) and having a really deep conversation about the place of pain and suffering in our spiritual journey.

That same spirit lives in Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 1:3–11—a passage that doesn’t deny pain but experiences it through the lens of divine comfort. It is the reading for today from my “Guide to Prayer For Ministers and Other Servants.”

Paul begins with a declaration: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort.” And then he talks about affliction—real pain, the kind that pushes a person beyond their own strength. In fact, he says they were burdened “beyond measure,” even to the point of despairing of life itself. This is not surface-level struggle; this is deep, soul-level suffering. And yet, in that place, something powerful happens: we learn not to rely on ourselves, but on God who raises the dead. One of my worn out sayings is, “The only problem with pain is that it hurts.” The best things I know about God I learned in my suffering and His comfort. Comfort is not just something God gives—it is who He is.

That’s the turning point. That’s the key. In the middle of pain I find His presence. Comfort is not the removal of trouble—it is the presence of God in the trouble. It is the strengthening of the soul when circumstances remain hard. It is the quiet assurance that you are not abandoned, even when you feel overwhelmed. Other people are praying for you. He is there with you.

And He comforts us with His presence for a reason. God comforts us so that we can comfort others. (Vs 4) Our pain is not wasted. The comfort we receive becomes a ministry we give. The very places where we have been wounded become the places from which we can bring healing to someone else. When you’ve walked through sorrow and found God faithful, you carry a credibility that no textbook can provide. As we say at Celebrate Recovery meetings, “God never wastes a hurt.”

So what does this mean for us today?

It means that whatever pressure you are under right now is not the end of your story.

It means that the weight you feel may actually be teaching you to lean more deeply into God.

It means that one day, someone else will sit across from you in their pain—and you will have something real to offer them. God does not waste suffering. He redeems it with comfort so that you can comfort other people.

And that’s not always pretty. Bryan and I were standing out back talking about suffering and comfort. We were also talking about the place we were in. This conference was one of those deals that some guy got excited about, talked some church into hosting, found some speaker and singer that would be willing to come, and then…had no idea what he was doing. The auditorium would hold a couple thousand people. There were about 75 there. The guy (whose name I can’t remember) decided to share his own testimony, for about an hour, and then have his family sing. They sounded a lot like my canary yellow Pinto, with smoke rolling from the tailpipe.

Bryan and I were outback asking how in the world we came to be at that place. He was no longer a famous rockstar and I was no longer pastoring a great church. Shoot, I was about ready to ask for another cigarette.

Then it dawned on me. We were right where God wanted us. He had a plan all along, even in our suffering. (Most of it self-inflicted.) This was sweet comfort, not some big name band or highfalutin (is that a word) preacher. This was the answer to a lot of people praying for both of us. This was the favor of God to let us start again. This was sweet comfort. Small beginning. Two guys sharing the grace of God they had received in there darkest days. And it’s still there for me and you and Bryan Duncan today.

Sweet comfort is God, picking you up from your mess, giving you a message that is not the one you wanted, putting you in a ministry that is about Him and not you, and making you an object lesson for the Messiah. “Then,” Paul says, “Many will give thanks…for the gracious favor granted us in answer to the prayers of many. “