A rebirth out of spiritual adversity causes us to become new

The noble words of James E. Faust speak like a quiet flame in the darkness of the human heart: “A rebirth out of spiritual adversity causes us to become new creatures.” In this single sentence lies a truth as old as the dawn — that from suffering comes transformation, and that the soul, tested in the fires of despair, emerges not as it was, but as something greater, purer, and more divine. This is no idle comfort, but a declaration of eternal law: that adversity is not meant to destroy us, but to recreate us. It is in the ashes of trial that the seed of renewal takes root, and through that pain, man is born anew.

The origin of this wisdom is both scriptural and experiential. Faust, a servant of faith and a leader among the Latter-day Saints, drew deeply from the teachings of Christ — that man must be born again, not of flesh, but of spirit. This “rebirth” is not a single act, but a journey — a continual rising from the ruins of our former selves. It mirrors the great pattern found throughout creation: the caterpillar that dies to become a butterfly, the barren earth that yields new life after fire, the winter that must pass before spring. So it is with the soul. When spiritual adversity strikes — when loss, doubt, and sorrow strip us bare — we are offered the chance not just to recover, but to become new.

Yet how easily the human heart resists this divine process. We cling to what was, mourning the life we once knew, fearing the unknown that awaits beyond suffering. But Faust’s teaching reminds us that adversity is the midwife of transformation. It is not a punishment, but a passage. To be reborn is to allow our pride, our illusions, our small certainties to die, so that something eternal may live within us. The wise have always known that pain, rightly borne, becomes the sculptor of the soul. It is the chisel that cuts away the stone of self-deception, revealing the living form of faith beneath.

Consider the story of Nelson Mandela, imprisoned for twenty-seven years in a small cell. The world might have expected his spirit to harden in bitterness or despair. Yet when he emerged, he did not come forth as a man seeking vengeance, but as a man reborn — filled with grace, forgiveness, and vision. His adversity, once a cage, became his crucible. It purified him, transmuting anger into wisdom, and transforming a prisoner into a peacemaker. Mandela’s life is proof that spiritual adversity can be the forge of greatness — that the soul, when refined by suffering, shines with a light no darkness can extinguish.

This rebirth is not confined to heroes or saints; it belongs to every soul that suffers and chooses faith instead of despair. Each of us will, at some hour, face the breaking — when the scaffolds of certainty collapse and we are forced to confront our own weakness. In that hour, the question is not “Why must I suffer?” but “What might I become through this?” The old self clings to comfort, but the spirit, like the phoenix, seeks resurrection. To be reborn is to accept the death of the old — of ego, fear, and false control — and to awaken into a new life shaped by humility, strength, and compassion.

Faust’s words remind us that the new creature born from adversity is not merely stronger; it is softer, kinder, wiser. Those who have walked through darkness and emerged again carry within them a quiet radiance — the knowledge that endurance is sacred, that empathy is power, and that every scar is a mark of divine craftsmanship. Adversity does not make us gods; it makes us human in the image of the divine. It teaches us to see others’ pain as our own and to love, not from comfort, but from understanding.

Let this then be the lesson we take to heart: do not flee from the fire that purifies, nor curse the storm that reshapes you. When adversity comes, greet it as the herald of transformation. Ask not for escape, but for enlightenment. Pray not for the past to return, but for the strength to become something new. For as James E. Faust teaches, every soul that endures its trials with faith and courage will one day rise from its ashes — not broken, but reborn — a new creature, radiant with the wisdom of suffering and the glory of survival.