Patience (James 5:7-11)

Have you ever stood in a long line at the grocery store, holding a basket so heavy it feels like your arms will give out? You look around; every other lane is moving faster than yours. You're tempted, oh so tempted, to switch lanes, but what if the moment you do, your original lane speeds up? So, you stay put, waiting, but each passing second feels like an eternity. The weight of your basket, the weight of the 'now,' is unbearable.

That, my friends, is a microscopic glimpse into the topic we're diving into today—patience. But we're not just talking about the "wait five more minutes for your coffee to be ready" kind of patience. No, we're delving deep into the Biblical, soul-stretching, character-building patience that James talks about in chapter 5, verses 7 through 11.

James 5:7–11 (ESV) — 7 Be patient, therefore, brothers, until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient about it, until it receives the early and the late rains. 8 You also, be patient. Establish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is at hand. 9 Do not grumble against one another, brothers, so that you may not be judged; behold, the Judge is standing at the door. 10 As an example of suffering and patience, brothers, take the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord. 11 Behold, we consider those blessed who remained steadfast. You have heard of the steadfastness of Job, and you have seen the purpose of the Lord, how the Lord is compassionate and merciful.

All throughout this book, James has been breaking us down, reminding us of how far we fall short. But as he nears the conclusion, he looks us in the eyes and says, "Be patient." It's like he knows how desperately we need to hear it, how vital it is for us to grasp this aspect of our faith. And he doesn't just say, "Be patient;" he illustrates it.

Today, we'll look at why being patient is such a monumental task. We'll examine what it means to "establish our hearts," why we're prone to grumble, and the exemplary patience displayed by the prophets and Job. We'll confront the uncomfortable question—why do we give up so soon? And finally, what fuels our resolve to continue?

Being Patient is Hard

Being patient is hard. If you don’t believe me, ask my two year old to wait while you open a pack of cookies. Can we just all collectively exhale and admit that being patient is difficult? I mean, you don't need me standing up here telling you that it's hard to wait—you live it. Each day is a crucible of endless waiting. Waiting for that callback after a job interview. Waiting for healing from an illness that's sapped your vitality. Waiting for a rebellious child to come back home. Heck, we can't even stand waiting for our Wi-Fi to load a webpage!

But why? Why is patience so excruciating? You see, it's not just because our culture is wired for instant gratification—though that certainly plays a part. The root of the issue goes far deeper. It's because waiting exposes us. When we wait, we're laid bare, forced to confront our vulnerabilities, our inadequacies, our utter lack of control over circumstances. Waiting puts us in this vulnerable space between our hopes and the harsh reality that we can't dictate outcomes. It's a humbling, grinding place that leaves us feeling uncomfortably powerless.

James knows this. He’s aware that you and I are navigating through trials, through circumstances that make us question whether God is even aware. So, he says, "Be patient, therefore, brothers, until the coming of the Lord." James doesn't make light of our struggles; he acknowledges them. But then he points us beyond our immediate situation to a future hope—the coming of the Lord.

You see, this kind of patience isn't a passive resignation; it's not throwing your hands up and saying, "Well, I guess this is my lot in life." No, Biblical patience is a deliberate, active, focused waiting with the conviction that God is at work, even when we don't see it. Even when it hurts.

Patience isn't just a virtue; it's a crucible where faith is refined, where the authentic is separated from the superficial. So yes, being patient is hard. But as we'll see today, the hardship is not a cosmic joke; it’s a divine setup for something far greater.

Establish Your Hearts

So, you acknowledge that being patient is hard. Good. Now, James says, "Establish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is at hand." Establish your hearts. What does that even mean? This is not about rearranging your emotional furniture, nor is it about whipping up some kind of stoic resilience. To "establish your heart" means to anchor it, to ground it in something so secure, so unshakeable that, come what may, you remain steadfast.

Remember the farmer that James talks about? A farmer doesn’t plant seeds and then hover over them impatiently, yanking them out of the ground every few hours to check if they’re growing. No, he establishes his heart in the natural process, trusting that after the planting, after the watering, and after the seemingly endless waiting, the harvest will come. His heart is fixed on the vision of what will be, not consumed by the tension of what is.

Similarly, to establish your heart is to anchor it in the ultimate reality of God’s promises, especially the promise that the Lord is coming. Oh, church, if we could get a glimpse, just a tiny glimpse, of the glory that awaits us, how it would shift our perspective! Suddenly, that job you’re waiting for, that reconciliation you’re aching for, even the healing you're desperate for—they all pale in comparison to the incomparable worth of knowing Christ and being known by Him.

But establishing your heart isn’t a one-time event; it's a daily, sometimes hourly, even minute-by-minute recommitment to shift your focus from the temporary to the eternal. It’s a constant realignment, pulling your wandering heart back to its true North—Jesus Christ.

So, when patience wears thin, remember to establish your hearts, because our Lord is coming. And that's not just a future event to look forward to; it's a present reality to live by.

Do Not Grumble

Now that we've wrestled with the hard truth about patience and the need to ground our hearts firmly in the Lord, James brings up another issue that tends to surface when we’re stuck in the waiting room of life: grumbling. He states clearly, "Do not grumble against one another, brothers, so that you may not be judged."

Isn't it fascinating that when we're pressed, when the heat is on, one of the first things to slip out of our mouths is complaint? We grumble about our circumstances. We grumble about the people around us. Heck, let's be honest, we even grumble about God. That tongue, once again, has reared its ugly head. But before we justify our discontent, let's pause and consider what grumbling really is.

Grumbling is the outward manifestation of an inward condition—it reveals a heart that’s unwilling to submit to God’s wisdom and control. It says, "I know better," or "I deserve better," or maybe even, "God, you're doing your job wrong.” Grumbling is, in essence, a subtle form of rebellion against God’s appointed order and timing.

Now, I’m not saying we put on a plastic smile and pretend everything’s peachy when it’s not. Authenticity matters. What I am saying is that there's a stark difference between venting to God in raw, honest prayer—like many of the psalmists did—and nurturing a spirit of perpetual discontent.

You see, grumbling doesn’t just affect you; it’s contagious. It creates a toxic atmosphere that can spread like wildfire in a dry field, consuming everyone in its path. James warns us not to grumble "against one another," highlighting the communal impact of our personal discontent. The stakes are high, church. Our grumbling doesn’t just put us under judgment; it can lead others astray.

And let’s not miss the gravity of James’ warning. He says, "so that you may not be judged." There’s an accountability here that we can’t shrug off. God takes our words seriously, even the ones muttered under our breath in moments of frustration.

So what's the antidote to grumbling? First, iIt’s a grateful heart. It's choosing, even in the midst of adversity, to count your blessings. It’s choosing to say, “God, I may not understand why this is happening, but I trust you enough to thank you for being with me in it.” Replace grumbling with gratitude, and watch how it transforms not just your heart but also your environment.

The antidote to grumbling extends beyond mere gratitude; it also encompasses humility. When we grumble, especially against others, we’re often assuming a posture of superiority, as if we alone hold the standard for how things should be. But let's pause and consider: Have we walked in their shoes? Have we borne their burdens, fought their battles, or faced their struggles? The reality is, we haven't. Yet here we are, quick to judge, quick to set standards that we ourselves can hardly meet.

Grumbling reveals not just a heart of discontent but also a heart lacking in mercy. You see, humility shifts our focus away from ourselves and our expectations, allowing us to extend grace to others. It compels us to be slower in judgment and quicker in understanding. When we adopt a humble posture, recognizing our own fallibility and limitations, our tendency to grumble diminishes.

So, as James warns us about grumbling "against one another," let's heed the unspoken call to humble ourselves. Let's re-examine our standards, our expectations, and most importantly, the lens through which we view others. We are all works in progress, all under the same merciful gaze of a God who is patient with us. Shouldn't we extend that same patience to others?

In summary, grumbling isn’t just a bad habit; it's a spiritual issue. And as people waiting for the coming of the Lord, we are called to replace our grumbling with trust, our complaints with prayers, and our discontent with a spirit of thankfulness. Do not grumble. The Judge is standing at the door.

Remember the Prophets

I want you to imagine something for a moment. Picture Isaiah, a prophet called by God, standing alone in the temple, uttering words of judgment and hope to a people who weren’t just deaf to his message—they were hostile. Or consider Elijah, running for his life, isolated and despondent, feeling like he was the last one left who still worshipped God. These men weren’t just waiting for a breakthrough; they were waiting to see if their lives, their sacrifices, their tears had any value at all.

Our impatience, friends, becomes profoundly shameful when we consider the suffering and endurance of the prophets. These were people who had received direct mandates from God and yet found themselves often at the margins, despised, ignored, or even hunted down. They were entrusted with words of eternal weight, yet they lived lives pockmarked by suffering and delay. Many of them never saw the ultimate fruit of their labor in their lifetimes.

James tells us to "take the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord" as our example of suffering and patience. Why? Because they show us that the true measure of our work, our faith, our very lives, often isn't realized until long after we've left this earth. Think about that. These prophets serve as a testimony that our waiting, our enduring, is not in vain. God often tells His servants to do things knowing they won't see immediate success, or even any success at all in earthly terms. Isaiah was told he would speak to a people who wouldn’t listen. Jeremiah lamented his trials and the hardness of the people's hearts. Ezekiel was asked to perform baffling acts of prophetic symbolism for a nation that had turned its back on God. Moses led a people who continually doubted God's providence.

You see, hope is hard. That's the lesson the prophets and Job offer us. They had every earthly reason to abandon their calling, to forsake their God, to give in to despair. But they didn't. They endured. They held fast. And James assures us, "We consider those blessed who remained steadfast."

Why did they endure? Because their hope was anchored in something—or rather Someone—greater than their immediate circumstances. They had faith that God was still writing their stories, that the last chapter hadn’t been penned yet, and that their earthly trials were merely a prelude to an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.

So, church, when you feel like giving up, when patience seems unbearable, remember the prophets. Remember that true blessing comes when we remain steadfast in the Lord. And know this: our endurance in this life is not the end but the beginning of an eternal story, one penned by the compassionate and merciful God in whom we place our hope.

How Does Impatience Hurt Us?

In an age of immediate gratification, where a two-day shipping guarantee feels like an eternity, we've become addicts of the immediate, haven't we? Now, this isn't just about the Amazon packages on your doorstep. This is about the soul-deep craving for instant results, the insidious lie that tells us our value is tied to our productivity or immediate impact. It’s the voice in the back of our heads saying, “If it hasn’t happened by now, it’s never going to happen.”

So, let's get real about what that impatience does to us. When we are waiting—waiting for change, waiting for answers, waiting for relief—we're vulnerable. Picture yourself waiting for test results from the doctor. In that moment, aren’t you a cocktail of fear, hope, doubt, and desire? Your mind races to the worst-case scenarios while your heart clings to the hope of a clean bill of health. It’s in that waiting room of vulnerability that we’re often tempted to take matters into our own hands, to give up on God because we can’t see what He's doing.

Imagine planting a seed in a garden. You water it, you tend to the soil, and then you wait. After a week, you see nothing and think, "Well, this is a waste. The seed must be bad." So you dig it up, thereby killing any potential life the seed had. What you didn't know was that, beneath the soil, that seed had germinated and was just about to break ground. You gave up too soon.

In our impatience, we become our own worst enemies. We become agents of sabotage, interrupting the very miracles God is working in our lives. We pull the seed out of the ground before it has a chance to grow. Why? Because we don’t trust the process. Worse yet, we don't trust the Gardener. The seed is germinated, friends; it’s just that we give up before it breaks through the soil.

And here’s the tragic irony: We give up precisely when God is at work. When the soil of our lives is being tilled, when the roots are taking hold, when the first green shoots are preparing to burst forth—that’s when we throw in the towel.

We give up on marriages because healing didn't come fast enough. We give up on callings because they weren't immediately fruitful. We give up on communities because change was too slow. And in doing so, we miss out on the profound ways God is shaping us, refining us, preparing us for the long haul.

What's beneath this impulsive surrender? It's not just impatience; it's a lack of trust in God's timing and a failure to believe in His goodness. And every time we dig up that seed prematurely, we’re essentially saying to God, "I don’t believe you can bring life out of this situation."

So, if you’re on the brink of giving up today, hear this: Don't disrupt the divine work being done in the waiting. The seed is germinated; give it time to break ground. Hold fast and trust the Gardener, for He makes all things beautiful in His time.

The Purpose of The Lord

At the heart of it all, when the nights are long and the path is treacherous, what keeps us from faltering? What fuels our perseverance when every fiber of our being screams, "I can't do this anymore"? It's the unwavering promises of God found in the prophets, but it’s also something else. James tells us to look at his boundless compassion towards us.

Promises

Let's take a moment to reflect on the prophets once more. These were not mere forecasters predicting the next turn of events; they were the mouthpieces of God's eternal promises. They spoke of a Messiah hundreds of years before the star shone over Bethlehem, before a carpenter's son walked the shores of Galilee, before a Savior was raised on a cross and overcame the grave. And every single promise they uttered was fulfilled in Jesus Christ. The prophets remind us: God always fulfills His promises. Always.

Purpose

But it's not just the fulfillment of promises that keeps us going; it's also the profound understanding of God's purpose in our waiting. Take Job, for instance. James points us to him as an example of steadfastness. Why? Because Job's story is a powerful narrative about God using waiting to reveal to us the parts of our hearts we can't see—the pride, the arrogance, the hidden places where we subtly demand that God must make sense according to our logic.

Job was a great man, blameless and upright. Yet, in the cauldron of his suffering, he came to recognize something astonishing: that God is good, even in the trial. That God's ways are higher, His wisdom deeper, and His purposes more profound than Job could ever comprehend. There was beauty in this great man bowing in the dust, acknowledging that he had spoken of things he did not understand.

God's response to Job wasn't condemnation; it was compassion. When Job repented, when he realized his mistake in challenging God's goodness, God was merciful. He restored Job, blessed him even more than before. Why? Because God's heart is not to crush us in our suffering but to bring us closer to Him, to refine us, to show us His love and mercy.

James wants us to grasp this truth: Our waiting, our trials, our moments of impatience—none of them are without purpose. God uses them to draw out of us the things that hinder our intimacy with Him. He uses them to teach us trust, to show us that His promises are sure, and to reveal His compassion even when we falter.

Trust Makes Hope Possible

We've established that hope is hard, right? It's easy to proclaim hope when the sun is shining, when the path ahead looks clear and smooth. But in the darkness, when the journey feels unending and the obstacles insurmountable—that's when hope becomes a labor, almost a heroic act of the will.

So, the antidote to grumbling is gratitude and humility. What's the antidote to this difficulty with patience? Trust. Trust turns hope from a grueling challenge into a restful assurance. Trust simplifies the equation. When we truly trust God, hope doesn't feel like a burdensome weight; it becomes more like a lifeline thrown to us in turbulent waters.

Now, Romans 5 says that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope. If you notice, the sequence ends in hope, but it doesn’t start there. It starts with suffering, with difficulty, with trials. Through these hardships, character is refined, but here's the catch: that refining process is made more bearable, more fruitful, even more transformational, when it is steeped in trust.

You see, waiting isn't a passive act of resignation; it's an active posture of trust. Just like the farmer who doesn’t merely wait but prepares the ground, trusts in the coming rain, and expects a harvest, we too should use the waiting season as a fertile ground for trust to grow.

What are you doing while you wait? Are you nurturing the soil of your life with acts of trust? Are you keeping the weeds of doubt at bay? Are you leaning into God’s promises, watering your days with prayer and Scripture, fertilizing your hours with acts of service and love? When you trust God, the work you do in the waiting doesn’t feel like a burden; it feels like preparation for the victory to come.

In a world addicted to immediate results and instant success, trust in God’s perfect timing is a revolutionary act. And when we engage in it, we're not merely waiting; we’re declaring to the world that we serve a God who is trustworthy, even when the seed hasn’t yet broken the surface of the soil.

So, it's not just about how long can you wait; it's about what you become in that waiting. And let me tell you, when trust is the fertile soil in which your waiting takes root, hope doesn’t just survive; it thrives. Because trust makes hope easier, not just for you but for everyone who witnesses your steadfast faith in a God who never fails.

Conclusion

We have to keep going. We know that the same God who made promises through the prophets and fulfilled them in Christ, the same God who was compassionate to Job in his suffering, is the God who walks with us today. His promises are our anchor, and His compassion is our comfort.

As we wait, let's hold tightly to this truth. Let's remember that God's timing is perfect, His promises are sure, and His compassion never fails. This is what keeps us steadfast. This is what keeps us fighting the good fight, running the race, and keeping the faith, even when everything within us wants to give up.

In the end, we are sustained not by our own strength, not by the illusions of control, but by the faithfulness of God—who was, who is, and who always will be our refuge, our strength, and our ever-present help in times of need. In him we trust. In him our hearts are established. In him we find the courage to endure to the very end.