TD Jakes - Greatness Produces Its Own Pain
And sometimes you find yourself in situations that don’t make any sense, and he’s trying to get them there. They get on one boat and go as far as they can, and then they have to hop onto another boat. Now they’re on a cargo ship with all kinds of seed, meal, and wheat, along with 276 people trying to make it to the other side. I thought maybe it would be appropriate to use Julius to tell the story since he is a Roman aristocrat, a centurion of the highest order. Maybe protocol necessitates that we use him to share the narrative.
Bear with me just a moment, if you will, as I go a little bit further. Then I thought maybe we should not use Julius. Perhaps we shouldn’t use Luke; maybe we should use Paul because Paul has already been through hell and high water. When I considered Paul, I thought about Bishop Ellis, who has lived a life that has not always been easy. It has not always been grandiose; it has not always been special. You saw the robes, the finery, the charisma, and the articulation, but you didn’t see the suffering he endured from his youth onward that produced the kind of anointing that made him who he was.
People always want your anointing, but they don’t want your story. They want the finished product; they want to pick and choose which part of your life they take. But through many dangerous toils and snares, you don’t get to be a J. Delano Ellis just because you carried his briefcase. You don’t get to be Bishop Ellis just because you can wear his shoes. You don’t get to be Bishop Ellis because you can put on all the garb, go through all the ceremony, and be in full choir—not until you’ve been in full tears, not until you’ve been battered and forsaken.
Paul went through hell when he was called on the road to Damascus. I don’t have to tell the whole story; he comes on the road to Damascus sighted, and he leaves blind. He loses his eyesight so that he might gain his insight. Helen Keller said there are worse things than being blind. She said she’d rather be blind than have eyes and no vision. Paul gave up his eyesight, but he gained his insight, and God began to use him in a spectacular way. He preached with such power and clarity that the anointing was so strong on him that one time, he preached, and a man fell out of the window and died.
Paul went down, raised him from the dead, and kept on preaching. He was powerful, articulate, intelligent, and multilingual. He was flexible enough like a bishop; he could be used in different settings and areas because the broader you are in your mindset, the more adaptable you are in God’s service. Thank you for your adaptability, sir. Thank you for being able to ascend and descend. Thank you for your ability to go in and out from this place to that place and hold your head up with integrity. Not everybody who’s got on a collar can walk from a Jewish synagogue to a Catholic cathedral and still be accepted in all places.
Paul was that kind of man; he was an Ellis kind of man. He was gifted and profound. You would think that if you were that valuable to God, you would not have to go through storms, but Paul had been beaten; he had been stoned at Lystra; he had been left for dead outside the city; he had been laughed at by his peers and the scholars of his period. But nothing is like this moment because now the great apostle is a prisoner. When I first heard about Bishop’s first bout with cancer, I thought of how cancer is a prison; it’s a shackle. It’s not just a term; it’s nausea, sickness, and afflictions that people don’t see. They see you after you wash up, clean up, and come out and dance over it, but the people who live with you know how you suffer.
You suffer your way to the stage, suffer your way to a stage where people stayed at home because they had a cold. I just want you to understand who we’re talking about. The kind of toughness he brings to the table means that you are who you are, chains or not, and as the story reads, I thought maybe we should let Paul tell it because even though he is a prisoner, the text does not read like that of a prisoner. Before the storm was through with him, the owner of the ship and the centurion were looking to Paul for answers. He might have been in chains in his body, but he was free in his spirit. He said, «I heard from God!»
Every Sunday morning that Bishop stood in this pulpit, he stood because he had heard from God. That does not mean that he did not have chains around his ankles while he preached. That does not mean that he did not suffer in his body, heart, and mind over and over again. Even though he came into the church dancing, that does not mean it didn’t hurt because greatness brings its own pain. Y’all don’t hear what I’m saying: greatness produces its own pain. Even though there are some preachers trying to act like they don’t know what I’m talking about, I don’t want to blow your cover, but it has to be you.
You go through hell being you. You shout in church and cry all night because greatness produces its own pain. I thought maybe Paul had earned the right to tell the story. He becomes a perfect depiction of who Bishop J. Delano Ellis is—diverse in his ability to communicate with all types of people in all types of settings and situations, yet true to who he is. He is able to be respected even when not in positions of power; he is still recognized for his influence with God and able to move Christ, without being subservient to his ministry because of his integrity. That’s who Mr. Ellis is. That’s what put T.D. Jakes on a plane after not being on one since February, because I wanted to see my amen and salute this general with your amazing self and your ability to do incredible things while still knowing who you are.
Most people, if they’re adaptable, are so impressionable that they lose sight of who they are. The Bishop could go in and out without losing sight of who he was, and Paul knew that the chains did not define him. The weather did not define him; the storm did not define him. The glory defined him; the power of God defined him; the spirit of the living God defined him. In fact, what they called incarceration, Paul saw as transportation. Y’all missed that. What they called incarceration, Paul saw as transportation because he had to get to Rome, and he thought he might as well hop a ride. The chains didn’t bother him because he was free in places that man could never tie you up.
Are there any free people in the room? Is there anybody left in the church who has not succumbed to the shackles that men try to put on you? You have made up your mind: «I’m going to be free, come hell or high water; whether you like me or not; whether I’m preaching in a crowd or preaching in a room by myself; whether I’m streaming online or I’m down to ten folks. I am who I am; I can do what I can do; I’m going to say what I’m going to say because I have not lost sight of myself. For these light afflictions, which are but for a moment, work for us a far more exceeding weight of glory. For we look not at the things that are seen, for the things that are seen are temporal, but the things that are not seen are eternal.»