Homilies on 2 Corinthians 1.1–1.6

“Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God, and Timothy our brother, to the church of God that is at Corinth, with all the saints who are in the whole of Achaia: grace to you and peace from God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, through the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

[1.] It is worth asking first why he adds a second letter to the first, and why he begins in this way, from the mercies of God and from comfort. Why, then, does he add a second? In the first letter he had said, “I will come to you, and I will find out not the talk but the power” (of those who were puffed up), and toward the end he again promised this very thing: “For I will come to you,” he says, “when I pass through Macedonia … and perhaps I will stay with you, or even spend the winter.” Yet although much time had passed he had not come; even when the appointed time had gone by he was still delaying and lingering, because the Spirit was holding him back for other matters far more urgent than these. That is why he needed a second letter; he would not have needed one if he had been only a little late. And not for this reason only, but also because they had become better as a result of the first letter. For the man who had committed sexual immorality, whom they had earlier applauded and of whom they were proud, they cut off and wholly excommunicated. He made this plain when he said, “If anyone has caused grief, he has not grieved me, but in some measure, not to burden you all. For such a one this punishment by the majority is enough.” And further on he hints at the same thing again, saying, “For see what earnestness this very thing, your being grieved in a godly way, has produced in you: what eagerness to clear yourselves, what [indignation], what zeal, what punishment! In everything …” And the collection too, which he had ordered, they had gathered with great eagerness; that is why he said, “For I know your readiness, of which I boast about you to the Macedonians.” … And Titus, whom he sent, they received with all goodwill. To show this very thing he said again that “his affection is all the more toward you, as he remembers the obedience of you all, how you received him with fear and trembling.” For all these reasons he writes the second letter. It was right that, as he had rebuked them when they sinned, so when they were corrected he should welcome and praise them. That is why the whole letter is not severe, but only a few parts toward its end. For among them too there were some from the Jews who were proud and who slandered Paul as a braggart worth no account; that is why they said, “His letters are weighty, but his bodily presence is weak and his speech contemptible.” What they meant was this: “When he is present he seems worth nothing” (that is what “his bodily presence is weak” means), “but when he has gone away he boasts of great things in what he writes” (that is what “his letters are weighty” signifies). And to appear to make something grand of themselves, they pretended not to accept support. Hinting at this too he said, “so that in what they boast of they may be found just as we are.” Besides this, they had the power of eloquence there as well, and were greatly elated by it. That is why he calls himself unskilled in speech, showing that he is not ashamed of it and does not count eloquence a great possession, but rather the opposite. Since, then, it was likely that some were being led astray by them, he first pulls down their arrogance about Jewish observances (for they were contending for keeping them out of season), and then, in due measure, he rebukes them on these matters too.

Such, then, as one might put it summarily and in passing, seems to me to be the subject of the letter. Now we must take up the opening of the letter and, after his customary greeting, say why he began in this way, from the mercies of God. First, however, it is necessary to state the opening itself and ask how he joins Timothy with himself here. “Paul,” it says, “an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God, and Timothy our brother.” For in the first letter he promised to send him and gave instructions, saying, “When Timothy comes, see that he is with you without fear.” How then does he join him with himself here in the opening? Timothy had arrived according to his teacher’s promise (“For I have sent you Timothy,” he says, “who will remind you of my ways in Christ”), had set things right, and had gone back. For when he sent him Paul said, “Send him on his way in peace, so that he may come to me; for I am expecting him with the brothers.” [2.] Since, then, Timothy had rejoined his teacher, and … [Paul had stayed] at Ephesus until Pentecost, and again [set out] for Macedonia, he now joins him with himself. For then he wrote from Asia, but now he writes from Macedonia. He joined him with himself both to make him more respected in this way and to show his own great humility; for Timothy was much his inferior, but love brings everything together. That is why everywhere he puts him on a level with himself, now [in one way], now saying, “For he is doing the work of the Lord, as I am”; and here he even calls him brother, by every means making him honored by the Corinthians. For, as I said, he had been there and had given proof of his virtue.

“To the church of God that is at Corinth.” Again he calls them a church, gathering them all into one and binding them together. For there could not be one church if its members were torn apart and standing against one another. “With all the saints who are in [the whole of Achaia].” … and he gathers the whole nation together. He calls them saints, showing that anyone impure is outside this title. But why, writing to the metropolis, does he write through it to all, though he does not do this everywhere? Writing to the Thessalonians he certainly did not write to the Macedonians as well; writing to the Ephesians he likewise did not include all Asia; and the letter to the Romans was not addressed also to those living in Italy. Here, however, he does it, and in the letter to the Galatians. For there too he writes not to one city, or two or three, but to those scattered everywhere, saying, “Paul, an apostle, not from men nor through man, but through Jesus Christ and God the Father, who raised him from the dead, and all the brothers who are with me, to the churches of Galatia: grace to you and peace.” And to the Hebrews too he wrote one letter to them all, not dividing them city by city. What then is the reason? It seems to me that the diseases here were common to all; that is why he makes the letter common too, since they needed a common correction. For all the Galatians were sick, and the Hebrews too, and these as well, I think. So having gathered the whole nation and greeted them as he is accustomed to address everyone (“Grace to you and peace,” he says, “from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ”), hear how fittingly he begins for the subject at hand: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort.”

“And how is this fitting to the subject at hand?” someone asks. Very fitting indeed. Consider: it grieved and troubled them greatly that the apostle had not come, and that after promising to, but had spent the whole time in Macedonia and seemed to have preferred others to them. So, setting himself against what troubled them, he gives the reason why he did not come. Yet he does not state it directly or say, “I know that I promised to come, but since I was hindered by afflictions, forgive me, and do not condemn me for contempt or carelessness.” He presents it otherwise, more grandly and more convincingly, raising the matter by the consolation he gives, so that they will no longer even ask the reason for his delay. He does what someone does who has promised to come to a person he longs for and then, arriving after countless dangers, says, “Glory to you, O God, that you have shown me the face I longed for! Blessed be God, from what dangers he has delivered me!” For such a doxology becomes a defense against anyone who would accuse him, and does not even allow him to find fault with the delay. One would blush to drag into court a man who is giving thanks to God for his deliverance from such great evils, and to demand an account of his slowness. That is why he begins thus: “Blessed be the God of mercies,” hinting by it at the onset of great dangers and the deliverance from them. For David too does not name God everywhere in the same way or from the same things. When he speaks of war and victory he says, “I will love you, O Lord, my strength; the Lord is my defender”; when he speaks of deliverance from affliction and from the darkness that had held him, “The Lord is my light and my savior”; and he names him now from his love for humankind, now from his justice, now from his impartial judgment, as suits the occasions at hand. So too Paul, beginning here, names him from his love for humankind, saying, “the God of mercies,” that is, he who showed such great mercies as to bring us back from the very gates of death.

[3.] For this is above all God’s own and peculiar to him, allotted to his very nature: to have mercy in this way. That is why he calls him the God of mercies. But notice here too Paul’s humility. Though he was in danger for the preaching, he does not say that he was saved because of his own worth, but because of God’s mercies. That he says more clearly later; now he goes on: “who comforts us in all affliction.” He did not say, “who does not let us be afflicted,” but, “who comforts us while we are afflicted.” For this both shows God’s power and increases the endurance of the afflicted: “For affliction,” it says, “produces endurance.” The prophet said this too: “In affliction you enlarged me.” He did not say, “You did not let me fall into affliction,” nor, “You quickly took the affliction away,” but, “While it remained you enlarged me,” that is, you gave me much room and relief. This is what happened with the three youths. God neither prevented them from falling into the furnace nor, when they had fallen in, quenched the flame; but while the furnace was burning he gave them room. God is always accustomed to do this, and Paul was hinting at it when he said, “who comforts us in all affliction.” By these words he shows something else too. What is it? That God does this not once or twice but continually. He does not comfort at one time and abandon at another, but always and constantly does it. That is why he said “who comforts,” not “who comforted,” and “in all affliction,” not “in this one or that,” but “in all”: “so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, through the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” Do you see how he prepares his defense in advance and gives the hearer a suggestion of great affliction? And through these same words he again speaks modestly of the apostles, saying that this mercy came about not because of their worth but because of those who were to be helped by them. “For this is why he comforted us,” he says, “so that we may comfort one another.” By this he also shows the dignity of the apostles, making it clear that once comforted and refreshed, the apostle does not fall back as we do, but goes on to anoint others, to brace them and rouse them. Some say he also means this: “Our comfort is the comfort of others too.” It seems to me that by this opening he is also aiming at the false apostles who boasted idly and sat at home in luxury. But that is said obscurely and by the way; his main purpose was to defend himself for his delay. “For if we are comforted so that we may comfort others, do not accuse us for not coming. All our time was spent on this: on plots, on attacks, on breaking up the dangers that came upon us.”

“For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so through Christ our comfort also abounds.” So as not to cast down the disciples by greatly magnifying the calamities, he shows again that the abundance of comfort is great too, and lifts up their minds, not only in this way but also by reminding them of Christ and saying that the sufferings are his; and even before the comfort he brings in consolation from the afflictions themselves. For what is sweeter than for me to become a partner of Christ and to suffer these things for his sake? What comfort is equal to this? And not from this only, but from elsewhere too he raises the spirits of the afflicted. From where? From saying, “abound.” For he did not say, “As the sufferings of Christ come upon us,” but, “as they abound,” showing that they endure not only his sufferings but more than these. “For we have suffered,” he says, “not only as many sufferings as he suffered, but more.” Consider: Christ was driven out, persecuted, scourged, put to death. “But we,” he says, “more than these”; and this alone would suffice for consolation. But let no one condemn the statement as rash; for elsewhere too he says, “Now I rejoice in my sufferings, and fill up what is lacking of the afflictions of Christ in my flesh.” Neither statement comes from rashness or from any arrogance. For just as they worked greater signs than he (“He who believes in me,” he says, “will do greater works than these”), yet the whole belongs to him who works in them, so too they suffered more than he; but again the whole belongs to him who comforts them and prepares them to bear the dreadful things that befall them.

That is why Paul, perceiving how great a thing he had uttered, see how he tones it down again, saying, “So through Christ our comfort also abounds,” attributing the whole to him and proclaiming his love for humankind from this too. “For we are comforted not only as much as we are afflicted,” he says, “but much more.” For he did not say, “The comfort is equal to the sufferings,” but, “The comfort abounds,” so that the season of contests is again a season of other crowns. For what, tell me, is equal to being scourged for Christ, and conversing with God, and being stronger than all, and overcoming one’s persecutors, and being unconquerable by the world, and from this expecting such good things as “eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man”? What is equal to being afflicted for godliness, and enjoying countless comforts from God, and being freed from so many sins, and being counted worthy of the Spirit and of sanctification and righteousness, and fearing and trembling before no one, and appearing more splendid than all in the very midst of danger? Let us not, then, lose heart in temptations. For no one shares with Christ who lives in luxury and sleeps and lolls at ease, none of those who live this soft and dissolute life; but the one in affliction and temptation, the one who walks the narrow way, stands near him. For he himself walked it; that is why he said, “The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” So do not be pained when you are afflicted, considering whose partner you are, and how you are cleansed through temptations, and how much you gain. For nothing is grievous except offending God. When that is absent, neither afflictions nor plots nor anything else can grieve a right-minded soul. As when you throw a little spark into a great deep you quench it at once, so every excess of dejection, falling into a good conscience, perishes and vanishes easily. That is why Paul always rejoiced: because he had confidence in what concerned God, and did not even feel such great evils; he grieved as a man, but did not collapse. So too that patriarch was in gladness, though he suffered much that was painful. Consider: he was driven from his homeland; he underwent long and hard journeys; coming into a foreign land he did not have so much as a foot’s breadth. Next famine took him in turn and made him a migrant; and after the famine came the seizing of his wife, and fear of death, and childlessness, and war, and dangers and plots, and last, the crown of his trials, the slaughter of his only and true-born son, that painful and unbearable ordeal. Do not think, because he obeyed readily, that he underwent all those things without feeling. For even if he was ten thousand times righteous, as indeed he was, he was still a man and felt what nature feels. Yet none of these things overthrew him; he stood like a noble athlete, proclaimed a crowned victor in each of them. So too blessed Paul, seeing snowstorms of temptations coming upon him every day, rejoiced and exulted as if he were living in luxury in the middle of paradise. As one who rejoices with this joy cannot be captured by dejection, so one who has not chosen it is an easy prey to everything, and suffers like someone with rotten armor who is wounded by any chance blow. Not so the one who is well fenced on every side: he shatters every javelin that comes at him. For pleasure in God is stronger than any armor, and nothing can make such a man downcast and gloomy; he bears everything nobly. For what is worse than fire? What is more painful than continual tortures? Even if someone loses countless possessions, or children, or anything at all, bodily torment is, in terms of pain, more tyrannical than all of these: “Skin for skin, and all that a man has he will give for his life.” Nothing could be harder than bodily pains. Yet even things that are unbearable to hear of become bearable and desirable through pleasure in God. If you take the martyr from the rack or from the frying pans while he still breathes a little, you will find such joy stored up in him as cannot be told.

“And what am I to do,” someone says, “since now is not the time for martyrdom?” What are you saying? Not a time for martyrdom? It is never absent, but always before our eyes, if we are sober. For it is not only hanging on the rack that makes a martyr; if that were so, Job would be outside these crowns. He neither stood before a court, nor heard a judge’s voice, nor saw an executioner; he was not hung up on a rack and raised aloft to have his sides torn; yet he suffered harder things than many martyrs. The voices of those messengers, coming one after another, struck him more sharply than any blow and pierced him on every side, and the mouths of those worms devoured him on every side more bitterly than countless executioners.

[5.] Of what martyr, then, would he not be the equal? Of countless. For he wrestled and was crowned through everything: through his possessions, through his children, through his body, through his wife, through friends, through enemies, through servants (for they too spat in his face), through hunger, through dreams, through pains, through stench. That is why I said that he would be the equal not of one or two or three martyrs but of countless. For besides what has been said, the time too adds much to his crowns: that he suffered these things before the Law, before grace, and for many months, and all to excess, and that all the dreadful things fell on him at once; though each of them by itself is unbearable, even the one that seems more bearable, the loss of money. Many indeed have borne blows but have not borne the loss of money; they chose rather to be scourged for it and to suffer countless dreadful things than to give up any of it, and this blow, the loss of money, seemed to them the greater. So this too is another kind of martyrdom, for one who bears the loss of them nobly.

“And how shall we bear it nobly?” someone says. When you learn that you will gain more than you have lost by a single word, the word of thanksgiving. For if, when we hear of the loss, we are not troubled but say, “Blessed be God,” we have found far greater wealth. You will not reap as much by spending your wealth on the needy, going about and seeking out the poor and scattering your goods among the hungry, as you will gain by this word. Indeed, I do not so much admire Job for opening his house to the needy as I am amazed at him, and proclaim him, for bearing the plundering of his goods with thanksgiving. The same can be seen in the loss of children. Here too you will receive no less, if, seeing your son dead, you give thanks to God, the lover of humankind. For in what will such a man be inferior to Abraham? Abraham did not see his son lying dead, but only expected to. So if he has the advantage in being about to sacrifice him, and in stretching out his hand and seizing the knife, he is at a disadvantage in that here the child lies dead. And in another way too: the hope of the achievement brought Abraham consolation, as did the fact that the great deed was the work of his own courage, and hearing a voice from above made him more ready; but here there is nothing of the sort. So one needs a soul of adamant, seeing an only son, raised in wealth and showing good hopes, lying stretched out by the grave, to bear what has happened meekly. Such a man, if he can calm the waves of nature and say without a tear the words of Job, “The Lord gave, the Lord has taken away,” will stand with Abraham himself and be proclaimed with Job, by this word alone. And if he stops the wailing of the women and breaks up the choirs of mourners and rouses everyone to praise God, he will receive countless prizes from above and countless from below, as people admire him …

“And how is it possible,” someone says, “for one who is human not to mourn?” It is possible, if you consider how the patriarch and how Job, both of them men, suffered nothing of the kind, and that each of them lived before the Law and grace and the great wisdom of the commandments; if you reckon that the one who has died has moved to a better place and has leapt away to a better lot, and that you have not lost your son but have laid him up from now on in a place safe from harm. So do not say, “I am no longer called father.” Why are you no longer called so, when your son remains? Have you cast off your child? Have you lost your son? Rather you have gained him, and you hold him more securely. That is why you are called father no longer here only but in heaven too; so you have not lost being called father, but have gained being called so in a greater way. For you will be called the father no longer of a mortal child but of an immortal one, of a noble soldier who stands continually within the palace. Do not think that because he is not present he has perished. For if he had happened to be abroad, the name of kinship would not have left you along with his body. Do not then fix your eyes on the sight of the one lying there, for you fan the passion; but lead your mind away from the one lying there to heaven. That is not your child, the one lying there; your child is the one who has flown away and run up to an infinite height. So when you see the eyes closed and the mouth shut and the body motionless, do not think, “This mouth no longer speaks, these eyes no longer see, these feet no longer walk, but everything goes to corruption.” Do not say this, but the opposite: “This mouth will speak better, and the eyes will see greater things, and the feet will be lifted up on the clouds, and this body that is decaying will put on immortality, and I shall receive my son back more splendid.” But if what you see grieves you, say meanwhile to yourself, “This is a garment, and he has taken it off so as to receive it back more costly; this is a house, and it has been pulled down so as to become more splendid.” For just as we, when we are about to pull down houses, do not let those who live inside remain, but, so that they may escape the dust and the noise, tell them to move out for a short while, and when we have made the dwelling secure we bring them back in without fear, so God does too: having pulled down his decaying tent, he has taken him meanwhile into his Father’s house and to himself, so that when this tent has been pulled down and rebuilt he may give it back to him more splendid. So do not say, “He has perished and will be no more,” for these are the words of unbelievers; but say, “He sleeps and will rise; he has gone abroad and will come with the King.” Who says this? The one who has Christ speaking in him: “For if we believe,” he says, “that Jesus died and rose and lived, so too God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep through Jesus.” If then you seek your son, seek him there where the King is, where the army of angels is; not in the tomb nor in the earth, lest, while he has been so exalted, you remain dragging along the ground. If, then, we think in this wise way, we shall easily beat off every such pain. And may the God of mercies and Father of all comfort comfort the hearts of all of us, both of those pained by such things and of those held by some other grief, and grant them to be freed from all dejection, to reap spiritual joy, and to obtain the good things to come; which may we all obtain, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom be glory, might, and honor to the Father together with the Holy Spirit, now and always and to the ages of ages.