A Lack in Christ's Afflictions? Thoughts on Colossians 1:24

J. Neil Daniels

Paul’s words in Colossians 1:24 sound jarring at first glance—almost scandalous, really. “I am filling up what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions.” Lacking? As if the Son of God didn’t suffer enough? That can’t be right, and Paul surely knew it. The entire New Testament rings with the note of completion: “It is finished” (John 19:30). Hebrews insists Christ offered Himself once for all, a perfect sacrifice that doesn’t need supplements or edits. So we’re left scratching our heads—if the cross is complete, what on earth could Paul mean?

The answer seems to lie not in Christ’s redemptive suffering but in the ongoing afflictions faced by His people. Sometimes Paul used “Christ” in a collective sense, embracing the whole body of believers (1 Cor. 12:12). In that light, “Christ’s afflictions” are not Golgotha revisited but the daily bruises and burdens that fall on those who belong to Him. Think less Calvary, more Philippi’s jail cell; less blood atonement, more scars for the gospel. When Paul was lashed, mocked, or driven from towns, those blows were—mysteriously—aimed at Christ Himself, because His people are so closely bound to Him.

There’s also this strange idea of a “quota” of suffering. Paul talks as if the church’s road to glory is measured out in hardship, a fixed amount that must be endured before the end comes. Acts 14:22 is blunt: “We must go through many hardships to enter the kingdom of God.” Not might, must. It’s as if God has woven suffering into the DNA of discipleship—not to atone, but to conform us to Christ. Paul, never one to sidestep affliction, took it as his share of the burden, his piece of the whole grim puzzle.

What’s striking is the way he rejoices in it. You’d expect groaning, maybe even resentment... after all, his résumé of pain in 2 Corinthians reads like a prison diary gone mad: beatings, shipwrecks, sleepless nights, hunger, exposure. And yet he calls it joy. Why? Because he sees it not as random misery but as participation in Christ’s story, even as an offering for the good of the church. His wounds had purpose; they were like letters inked on his body, spelling out the truth that Christ and his people are inseparably linked.

And Paul wasn’t alone. Every believer, from the bruised saints in Thessalonica to modern Christians shunned or persecuted, adds their own fragment to this ongoing story. Social ostracism, sneers, broken friendships, sometimes worse—these are all “Christ’s afflictions” still playing out in time. They don’t diminish the cross but display it, extending its shadow through history until Christ returns. Paul’s point, then, is not that something is missing in Christ’s saving work but that something remains in His people’s walk: the privilege, painful though it is, of suffering with Him and for Him until the tale is complete.