Over ten years ago, after concluding a Catholic radio program at a non-denominational station, I encountered a pastor as I exited the studio. He posed a straightforward question: “Why don’t you ever discuss the prosperity gospel?” The ensuing dialogue remains vivid in my memory, reinforcing my commitment to the core of the gospel message.
What is the prosperity gospel?
To engage with his perspective, I inquired, “Could you elaborate on what you mean by the ‘prosperity gospel’?”
He summarized that it’s a theological stance asserting that financial abundance and physical well-being are consistently God’s will for believers. It advocates that faith, positive affirmations, and donations to religious causes can lead to increased material wealth. Essentially, it’s the conviction that God rewards believers with prosperity and health in response to their faith and actions.
Seeking to get straight to the point, I questioned the pastor on how he ministers to those enduring suffering beyond their control, such as prolonged illness, financial difficulties, and general persecution.
He explained that while he offers compassion, he also makes sure to inform them that their struggles are connected to either hidden sin or a lack of faith.
Setting aside the discussion of sin and its repercussions, I inquired, “Do you experience suffering?”
He affirmed, “Yes.”
I gently probed further, “Do you see yourself as a man of faith who doesn’t conceal his sin from God?”
Again, he affirmed, “Yes.”
Continuing, I asked, “As a servant of God, who believes he is committed to a gospel that ‘promises’ prosperity, how do you reconcile your own suffering?”
Confronted with his silence, I recommended that we read Colossians 1:24 together, which he did, flipping through his well-worn Bible with a look of bewilderment.
He read aloud, “Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh, I complete what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the church” (Col.1:24). He reread the passage, more deliberately, as though the words were new to him. Upon completion, he inquired, “What do you think Paul means by ‘what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions?'” Redirecting the question to him, he confessed his uncertainty. I proposed that the ‘lacking’ might not pertain to Christ’s sufferings but to the Church’s afflictions, which Saint Paul supplements. “What is lacking, therefore, is our unification with God in harmonizing our sufferings with Christ’s Passion for the redemption of souls,” I elaborated. I expounded that Christ’s wounds have, in some manner, become a portal to further engage in the Church’s mission of salvation and redemption. At this juncture, the pastor objected, “I cannot concede that we share in Christ’s redemptive work.” Gently, I probed again, “What, then, does Saint Paul signify by ‘what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions?'” Again, silence ensued. He eventually proposed postponing our dialogue, to which I agreed. I did not want to overwhelm him.
Redemptive Suffering
As I moved from the couch to the door, a candid moment unfolded. The pastor confided, “In truth, I endure suffering, and I frequently contemplate its purpose when it contrasts with the life I endeavor to lead.” His admission resonated with profound sincerity. In response, I requested his permission to explore Aquinas’s insights on redemptive suffering.
He responded, “please share.”
I explained that Objective redemption is the historical work of the Cross, the graces obtained by the merits of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of sins, a once-and-for-all work. Subjective redemption is how those graces are released upon every person in every generation, including our own life and current age. In other words, when we talk about uniting our suffering with Christ’s suffering, we do not obtain graces for the soul we are praying for – that has already been accomplished – but we help release the graces already merited by Jesus Christ.
During our discussion, I explained to my devoted friend, who was slowly accepting the idea of redemptive suffering, that God does not remove suffering but gives it purpose. His reaction was notable: “I guess this challenges the prosperity gospel, doesn’t it?” In response to his question, I posed another, “Can the prosperity gospel transform our grief, anxiety, and feelings of betrayal into joy, hope, and loyalty?” He simply shrugged, “Probably not.”
As time went by, more discussions followed on redemptive suffering and various other popular topics related to the Catholic faith. Three years ago, my pastor friend was welcomed into the Catholic Church. He reached out to me during Easter week when he joined the Church, and he passionately expressed his newfound understanding and acceptance of the gospel of suffering, which he described as “most prosperous.”
