Homily 5 — Second Corinthians 2, verses 12 to 17

“Now when I came to Troas for the good news of Christ, and a door was opened to me in the Lord, I had no relief for my spirit, because I did not find Titus my brother.” [a]

On the one hand, these words seem unworthy of Paul, if he threw away so great an opportunity of saving people because a brother was absent. On the other hand, they seem to hang apart from the context. What then? Would you have us prove first that they hang together with the context, or that he has said nothing unworthy of himself? The second, I think; for that way the other point will also be easier and clearer.

How, then, do these words hang together with what came before them? Let us call to mind what that was, and so we will see this. What came before, then? What he said at the beginning: “I do not want you,” he says, “to be unaware of the affliction that came upon us in Asia, that we were weighed down exceedingly, beyond our strength” (Second Corinthians 1, verse 8). Now, having shown the way he was rescued, and having put in the matter that comes between, he is of necessity led to teach them once more that he had been afflicted in yet another way. How, and in what way? In not finding Titus (Second Corinthians 7, verse 6; 8, verses 6, 16, 22 and 23; and 12, verse 18).

It is a fearful thing, and enough to lay the soul flat, even to endure trials. But when there is no one to comfort, no one who can help carry the burden, the storm grows greater. Now Titus is the one who, further on, he says came to him from them; the one on whom he heaps many great praises, and whom he says he had sent. So it was to show that in this point too he had been afflicted for their sakes that he said these things.

From all this, then, it is plain that the words in question hang together with what went before. I will also try to prove that they are not unworthy of Paul. For he does not say that the absence of Titus stood in the way of the salvation of those who were about to come over, nor that he neglected those who had believed on this account, but that he had no relief. That is: “I was afflicted, I was distressed at my brother’s absence.” He is showing how great a thing a brother’s absence is; and that is why he left that place. But what does “when I came to Troas for the good news” mean? He does not simply say, “I arrived,” but “so as to preach.” “But even so, though I had come for that, and had found a great deal to do” — for “a door was opened to me in the Lord” — “I had,” he says, “no relief.” Not that he let this hold up the work. How, then, does he say, Verse 13: “Taking my leave of them, I went away from there”?

That is: “I stayed no longer, being hard pressed and distressed.” And perhaps the work was even held back by Titus’s absence. And this was no small comfort to them too. For if, when a door had been opened there, and he had come for this very purpose, he still set off quickly because he did not find his brother, much more, he is saying, ought you to make allowance for the pressure of those affairs that lead us, and lead us around everywhere, and do not let us travel as we wish, or stay longer among those we might wish to remain with. That is why here again he goes on to refer his journeys to God, as he did above to the Spirit, saying, Verse 14: “But thanks be to God, who always makes us triumph in Christ, and makes known through us the aroma of his knowledge in every place.”

For so that he may not seem to be lamenting these things in sorrow, he sends up thanks to God. What he is saying is this: “Everywhere there is trouble, everywhere hardship. I came into Asia; I was weighed down beyond my strength. I came to Troas; I did not find my brother. I did not come to you; and this too bred in me no slight dejection — no, an exceedingly great one — both because many among you had sinned, and because on this account I do not see you.”

For, “To spare you,” he says, “I did not yet come to Corinth.”

So that he may not seem to be complaining in saying this, then, he adds: “Not only do we not grieve in these afflictions; we even rejoice. And, what is greater still, we rejoice not only for the sake of the rewards to come, but for the rewards here and now as well. For even here we are made glorious and conspicuous by these things. So far are we from lamenting that we even call the thing a triumph, and glory in what happens.” That is also why he said, “Now thanks be to God, who always makes us triumph” — that is, “who makes us famous to all. For what seems to be a matter of disgrace — being persecuted on every side — looks to us like a matter of the very highest honor.” That is why he did not say, “who makes us seen by all,” but, “who makes us triumph,” showing that these persecutions set up a whole series of trophies against the devil in every part of the world. Then, having named together with the author of the triumph its subject as well, by this he also lifts up the hearer. “For not only are we made to triumph by God, but also ‘in Christ’” — that is, because of Christ and the good news. “For since there must be a triumph, it is altogether necessary that we who carry the trophy should be seen by all, because we carry him. This is why we become watched and conspicuous.”

Verse 14: “And makes known through us the aroma of his knowledge in every place.” [c]

Above he said, “who always makes us triumph”; here he says “in every place,” showing that every place and every time is full of the apostles’ labors. And he uses yet another metaphor, that of the sweet aroma. “For like those who carry perfumed ointment,” he says, “so are we known to all.” He is calling the knowledge a very precious ointment. Moreover, he did not say “the knowledge,” but “the aroma of the knowledge”; for such is the nature of our present knowledge: not very clear, and not uncovered. That is why in the former letter too he said, “For now we see in a mirror, dimly” (First Corinthians 13, verse 12).

And here he calls knowledge of that kind an “aroma.” Now whoever catches the aroma knows that there is ointment lying somewhere; but what kind it is he does not yet know, unless he happens to have seen it before. “So it is with us too. That God is, we know; but what he is in his essence, we do not yet know. We are, then, a kind of royal censer, breathing out wherever we go the heavenly ointment and the spiritual sweet aroma.” He said this for two reasons at once. The first was to set forth the power of the preaching: through the very plots laid against them, the apostles shine more brightly than those who persecute them, and who make the whole world know both their trophies and their sweet aroma. The second was to urge the Corinthians to bear all their afflictions and trials nobly, seeing that even before the reward they reap this glory beyond words.

Verse 15: “For we are a sweet aroma of Christ to God, in those who are being saved and in those who are perishing.”

Whether someone is saved or lost, he says, the good news keeps its own power. Light, even though it blinds the weak, is still light, though it causes blindness; and honey, though it is bitter to the sick, is sweet by nature. In the same way the good news too has its sweet aroma, even if some who do not believe it should be lost. For it is not the good news, but their own perversity, that works their destruction. And its sweet aroma is shown most of all by this very thing, that the corrupt and the vicious perish by it; so that its excellence is declared not only by the salvation of the good, but also by the destruction of the wicked.

So too the sun wounds the eyes of the weak most of all for this reason, that it is exceedingly bright. And the Savior is “for the fall and rising again of many” (Luke 2, verse 34), yet he remains a Savior, though ten thousand fall; and his coming brought a heavier punishment on those who do not believe, yet it remains full of healing. That is why he says, “We are a sweet aroma to God” — that is, “even if some are lost, we remain what we are.” Moreover, he did not simply say “a sweet aroma,” but “to God.” And when we are a sweet aroma to God, and he decrees these things, who will speak against it after that?

The expression “sweet aroma of Christ” also seems to me to allow a double interpretation. For he means either that in dying they offered themselves as a sacrifice, or that they were a sweet aroma of the death of Christ — as if someone were to say, “This incense is the sweet aroma of this victim.” So the expression “sweet aroma” means either this, or, as I said first, that they are sacrificed daily for Christ’s sake.

Do you see to what a height he has raised the trials, calling them a triumph, and a sweet aroma, and a sacrifice offered to God? Then, since he had said, “we are a sweet aroma even in those who are perishing,” so that you would not think these too are acceptable, he added, Verse 16: “To the one an aroma from death to death, to the other an aroma from life to life.” [f]

For some receive this sweet aroma in such a way that they are saved, and others in such a way that they perish. So if anyone is lost, the fault comes from himself. For perfumed ointment is said to suffocate pigs, and light, as I observed before, to blind the weak. And such is the nature of good things: they not only set right what is akin to them, but also destroy what is opposed to them; and it is in this way that their power is most displayed. So fire too displays its own power most fully, and shows itself to be fire, not only when it gives light and when it purifies gold, but even when it consumes thorns. And Christ too reveals his own majesty in this as well, when he “will consume” the Antichrist “with the breath of his mouth, and bring him to nothing by the appearing of his coming” (Second Thessalonians 2, verse 8).

“And who is sufficient for these things?”

Since he had said great things — that “we are a sacrifice of Christ and a sweet aroma, and are made to triumph everywhere” — he again thinks modestly of himself, and refers everything to God. That is why he says, “And who is sufficient for these things?” “For everything,” he says, “is Christ’s; nothing is our own.” Do you see how opposite his language is to that of the false apostles? For they glory as though they contributed something of their own to the message. He, on the contrary, says that he glories for this very reason, that he claims nothing as his own. “For our glorying is this, the testimony of our conscience, that not by fleshly wisdom but by the grace of God we have conducted ourselves in the world.” And the thing they thought it a glory to acquire — I mean the wisdom from outside — he makes it his business to take away. That is why here too he says, “And who is sufficient for these things?” But if no one is sufficient, what is done is the work of grace.

Verse 17: “For we are not like the rest, who corrupt the word of God.” “For even if we use grand words, we have declared nothing we achieved to be our own; it is all Christ’s. For we will not imitate the false apostles, the men who say that most of it comes from themselves.” For this is what “to corrupt” means: when someone adulterates the wine; when someone sells for money what he ought to give freely. He seems to me here both to be taunting them over money, and also to be hinting at the very thing I have said, that they mix their own things with God’s. This is the charge Isaiah brings when he says, “Your wine dealers mix the wine with water” (Isaiah 1, verse 22, in the Greek Old Testament). For even if this was said of wine, no one would go wrong in explaining it of doctrine too. “But we,” he says, “do not do so. What we have been entrusted with, that we offer you, pouring out the word undiluted.” That is why he added, “But as from sincerity, but as from God, in the sight of God we speak in Christ.” “We do not,” he says, “deceive you, and preach in that way, as though we were conferring a gift on you, or as though we were bringing in and mixing in something of our own, ‘but as from God.’ That is, we do not say that we confer anything of our own, but that God has given everything.”

For “from God” means this: to glory in nothing as though we had it of our own, but to refer everything to him. “We speak in Christ”: not by our own wisdom, but taught by the power that comes from him. Those who glory do not speak in this way, but as though they were bringing in something of their own. That is why elsewhere too he makes fun of them, saying, “For what do you have that you did not receive? And if you did receive it, why do you glory as if you had not received it?” (First Corinthians 4, verse 7).

This is the highest virtue: to refer everything to God, to consider nothing our own, to do nothing out of regard for people’s opinion, but only for what God wills. For he is the one who demands the account. But now this order is turned upside down. Of him who will sit on the judgment seat and demand the account we have no great fear, and yet we tremble before those who stand beside us and are judged with us.

Where, then, does this disease come from? From where has it broken out in our souls? From not meditating continually on the things of that world, but being riveted to the things of the present. That is why we fall easily into wicked deeds; and even if we do something good, we do it for show, so that from there too loss comes to us. [k]

For example, someone has often looked at a woman with unbridled eyes, unseen by her or by those walking with her; yet he was not unseen by the Eye that never sleeps. For even before the sin was committed, that Eye saw the unbridled soul, and the madness within, and the thoughts whirled about in storm and surge; for he who knows all things has no need of witnesses and proofs. So do not look to your fellow servants. For though a human being praises you, it does you no good if God does not accept you; and though a human being condemns you, it does you no harm if God does not condemn you. Oh, do not provoke your Judge in this way, making much of your fellow servants, yet not in fear and trembling before him when he himself is angry!

Let us, then, despise the praise that comes from people. How long will we be low-minded and groveling? How long, when God lifts us to heaven, will we take pains to be dragged along the ground? Joseph’s brothers, if they had had the fear of God before their eyes as people ought to, would not have taken their brother in a lonely place and killed him (Genesis 37). Cain again, if he had feared that sentence as he should have, would not have said, “Come, let us go out into the field” (Genesis 4, verse 8, in the Greek Old Testament). For why, you miserable wretch, do you take him away from the one who fathered him and lead him out into a lonely place? Does God not see the daring deed even in the field? Were you not taught by what happened to your father that he knows all things, and is present at everything that is done? And why, when Cain denied it, did God not say to him, “Are you hiding from me, who am present everywhere and know what is secret?”

Because Cain did not yet know how to grasp these high truths properly. But what does God say? “The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to me.” Not as though blood had a voice; but just as, when things are plain and clear, we say, “The matter speaks for itself.”

So surely we must keep God’s sentence before our eyes, and then every terror is put out. In the same way we can stay awake in our prayers, if we bear in mind with whom we are speaking; if we reflect that we are offering sacrifice, and have in our hands a knife and fire and wood; if in thought we throw open the gates of heaven, carry ourselves up there, and, taking the sword of the Spirit, plunge it into the throat of the victim. Make watchfulness the sacrifice, and tears the drink offering to him. For such is the blood of this victim; such is the slaughter that reddens that altar.

So do not let any worldly thoughts take hold of your soul at that time. Remember that Abraham too, when he was offering sacrifice, let neither wife nor servant nor anyone else be present. So you too must not let any of the slavish and low passions be present with you. Go up alone onto the mountain where he went up, where no second person is allowed to go up. And if any such thoughts try to go up with you, command them with authority and say, “Sit here, and I and the boy will worship and come back to you” (Genesis 22, verse 5, in the Greek Old Testament). And leaving below the donkey and the servants, and whatever lacks reason and sense, go up, taking with you whatever is rational, as he took Isaac. And build your altar as he did, as one who has nothing human about him, but has stepped beyond nature. For he too, had he not stepped beyond nature, would not have slain his child.

And let nothing disturb you then, but be lifted up above the very heavens. Groan bitterly; offer confession as a sacrifice — for, he says, “Declare your transgressions first, that you may be shown to be in the right” (Isaiah 43, verse 26, in the Greek Old Testament) — offer a crushed heart as a sacrifice. These victims do not turn to ashes, or dissolve into smoke, or melt into air; they need neither wood nor fire, but only a heart deeply pierced. This is the wood, this is the fire, that burns them and yet does not consume them. For whoever prays with warmth is burned, yet not consumed, but like gold tried by fire becomes brighter.

And along with this, pay careful attention to one thing more: when you pray, say none of the things that provoke your Master, and do not come near to pray against your enemies. For if having enemies is a disgrace, consider how great an evil it is to pray against them. You ought to defend yourself, and show why you have enemies; but you even accuse them! And what forgiveness will you obtain, when you speak abuse, and that at the very time when you yourself need much mercy? For you came near to plead for your own sins; so do not mention those of others, or you will bring back the memory of your own. For if you say, “Strike down my enemy,” you have stopped your own mouth; you have cut off your tongue’s boldness. First, because you have angered the Judge at the very beginning; next, because what you ask is at odds with the character of your prayer. [n]

For if you come near for the forgiveness of sins, how can you talk of punishment? Surely we needed to do the opposite, and pray for them, so that we too might ask this boldly for ourselves.

But as it is, you have got in ahead of the Judge’s sentence with your own, demanding that he punish those who sin; and this deprives you of all pardon. But if you pray for them, even if you say nothing on behalf of your own sins, you have achieved everything. Consider how many sacrifices there are in the law: a sacrifice of praise, a sacrifice of acknowledgment, a sacrifice of peace, a sacrifice of purification, and countless others — and not one of them against enemies, but all on behalf either of one’s own sins or of one’s own successes. Are you coming to some other God? You are coming to him who said, “Pray for your enemies” (Luke 6, verses 27 and 35; Romans 12, verse 14). How then can you cry out against them? How can you beg God to break his own law? This is not the manner of one who pleads. No one pleads for the destruction of another, but for his own safety. Why then do you wear the dress of one who pleads, yet speak the words of an accuser?

And yet when we pray for ourselves, we scratch ourselves and yawn, and drift into ten thousand thoughts; but when we pray against our enemies, we do it wide awake. For the devil knows that we are then thrusting the sword into ourselves, and so he does not distract us or call us away at that time, so that he may do us the greater harm. “But I have been wronged, and I am suffering.” Then why not pray against the devil, who harms us most of all? You have been commanded to say this too: “Deliver us from the evil one.” He is your irreconcilable enemy; but a human being, whatever he may do, is a friend and a brother. With the devil, then, let us all be angry; against him let us plead with God, saying, “Crush Satan under our feet” (Romans 16, verse 20); for he is the one who breeds the enemies we have too. But if you pray against your enemies, you are praying just as he would have you pray; just as, if you pray for your enemies, you are praying against him. Why then do you let go the one who is really your enemy, and tear your own members, more cruel in this than wild beasts? “But he insulted me, and robbed me of money.” And which one needs to grieve — the one who suffered the wrong, or the one who did it? Plainly the one who did it, since while he gained money he cast himself out of God’s favor, and lost more than he gained; so that he is the injured party. Surely, then, we should pray not against him but for him, that God would be merciful to him.

See how much the three young men suffered, though they had done no harm. They lost their country and their freedom; they were taken captive and made slaves; and when they had been carried off into a foreign and barbarous land, they were even on the point of being put to death because of the dream, without cause or reason (Daniel 2, verse 13). What then? When they had gone in with Daniel, what did they pray? What did they say? “Dash Nebuchadnezzar down, tear off his crown, hurl him from the throne”?

Nothing of the sort. They asked for “mercies from God” (Daniel 2, verse 18, in the Greek Old Testament). And when they were in the furnace, it was the same. But not you! When you suffer far less than they did, and often deservedly, you do not stop pouring out ten thousand curses. One says, “Strike down my enemy, as you overwhelmed Pharaoh’s chariot”; another, “Wither his flesh”; another again, “Pay it back on his children.” Do you not recognize these words? Then why are you laughing? Do you see how laughable this is, when it is spoken without passion?

And so every sin shows how vile it is when you strip it of the frame of mind of the one who commits it. If you remind a man who has been angry of the words he said in his passion, he will sink with shame, and despise himself, and wish he had suffered a thousand punishments rather than have those words be his. And if, once the embrace is over, you bring the unchaste man to the woman he sinned with, he too will turn away from her in disgust. So you too, because you are not under the power of the passion, are laughing now. For such words deserve to be laughed at; they are the words of drunken old gossips, and they spring from a womanish smallness of soul.

And yet Joseph, though he had been sold and made a slave, and had lived in a prison, did not utter even then one bitter word against those who caused his sorrows. What does he say? “Indeed I was stolen away out of the land of the Hebrews” (Genesis 40, verse 15); and he does not add by whom. For he feels more ashamed of his brothers’ wickedness than those who did it. Such too ought to be our disposition: to grieve for those who wrong us more than they grieve for themselves. For the harm passes over to them. Those who kick against nails and are proud of it are fit objects of pity and lament for this madness. In the same way, those who wrong people who have done them no evil, since they wound their own souls, deserve many groans and laments, not curses.

For nothing is more polluted than a soul that curses, and nothing more impure than a tongue that offers such sacrifices. You are a human being; do not spew out the venom of asps. You are a human being; do not become a wild beast. Your mouth was made for this: not to bite, but to heal the wounds of others. “Remember the charge I have given you,” says God, “to pardon and forgive. But you beg me to join in overthrowing my own commandments, and you devour your brother, and redden your tongue, as madmen redden their teeth on their own limbs.” How pleased do you think the devil is, and how he laughs, when he hears such a prayer? And how provoked do you think God is, how he turns away from you and loathes you, when you beg for things like these?

What could be more dangerous than this? For if no one who has enemies should approach the mysteries, then surely the one who not only has enemies but also prays against them must be shut out even from the outer courts themselves.

So let us think on these things, and consider who is offered in the sacrifice: that he was sacrificed for enemies. Let us not have an enemy; and if we have one, let us pray for him, so that we too, having obtained forgiveness for the sins we have committed, may stand with boldness at the judgment seat of Christ; to whom be glory forever. Amen.