Homily 6 — Second Corinthians 3, verses 1 to 6

“Are we beginning again to commend ourselves? Or do we need, as some do, letters of commendation to you, or letters of commendation from you?” [a]

He anticipates an objection that others would have raised against him, and puts it to himself: “You are boasting about yourself.” And he does this even though he had already used so strong a correction in the words, “Who is sufficient for these things?” and, “Of sincerity … we speak” (Second Corinthians 2, verses 16 and 17). Still, he is not satisfied with these. That is the kind of man he is: he is far from wanting to seem to say anything great about himself, and he avoids it to the point of going well beyond what is needed.

And notice here too, I beg you, how rich his wisdom is. He took a thing grim to look at — I mean distress — and exalted it so highly, and showed it to be so bright and shining, that what he said raised this very objection against him. He does the same toward the end as well. After listing countless dangers, insults, hardships, needs, and every such thing there is, he added, “We are not commending ourselves, but speaking to give you an occasion to boast” (Second Corinthians 5, verse 12).

And there he says it again forcefully, and with more to spur them on. For here the words are those of love: “Do we need, as some do, letters of commendation?” But there what he says is full even of a kind of pride — necessarily and rightly so — of pride, I say, and anger. “For we are not commending ourselves again,” he says, “but speaking to give you an occasion to boast” (Second Corinthians 5, verse 12); and, “Again, do you think that we are excusing ourselves to you? We speak in the sight of God in Christ. For I fear that perhaps when I come I may not find you as I would wish, and that I may be found by you as you would not wish” (Second Corinthians 12, verses 19 and 20). To rule out any appearance of wanting to flatter them, as though he were after honor from them, he speaks this way: “I fear that perhaps when I come I may not find you as I would wish, and that I may be found by you as you would not wish.” This, however, comes after many accusations. At the beginning he does not speak like this, but more gently.

And what is it he says? He had spoken of his trials and his dangers, and of how everywhere he is led in triumphal procession by God in Christ, and of how the whole world knows of these triumphs. Since, then, he has said great things about himself, he raises this objection against himself: “Are we beginning again to commend ourselves?” What he means is this. Perhaps someone will object: “What is this, Paul? Are you saying these things about yourself, and exalting yourself?” To do away with this suspicion, then, he says: “We do not want this — that is, to boast and exalt ourselves. Indeed, we are so far from needing letters of commendation to you that you yourselves are to us in place of a letter.”

“For,” he says, verse 2: “You are our letter.”

What does “you are” mean? “If we needed to be commended to others, we would have brought you forward before them in place of a letter.” He said this in the former letter as well: “For you are the seal of my apostleship” (First Corinthians 9, verse 2). But here he does not say it in that way; he says it with irony, to make his question, “Do we need letters of commendation?” more cutting. And alluding to the false apostles, he added, “as some do, letters of commendation to you, or letters of commendation from you” — to others. Then, because what he had said was severe, he softens it by adding, “You are our letter, written in our hearts, known by all,” and verse 3: “being made manifest that you are a letter of Christ.”

Here he testifies not only to their love but also to their good works, since by their own virtue they are able to show everyone the high worth of their teacher. For this is the meaning of “You are our letter”: “What letters would have done to commend us and win us respect, you do yourselves, through what people see of you and hear of you.” For the virtue of the disciples usually adorns and commends the teacher more than any letter.

Verse 2: “Written in our hearts.”

That is, a letter that everyone knows: “We carry you about with us everywhere and keep you in mind.” It is as though he said: “You are our commendation to others, for we both hold you in our heart continually and proclaim your good works to everyone. Since, then, you yourselves are our commendation even to others, we need no letters from you. And further, since we love you exceedingly, we need no commendation to you. For with strangers one needs letters, but you are in our mind.” Yet he did not say merely, “You are in it,” but “written in it” — that is, you cannot slip out of it. “For just as people learn from a letter by reading it, so all learn from our heart, by seeing into it, the love we bear you. If, then, the purpose of a letter is to certify, ‘So-and-so is my friend; let him have free access to you,’ your love is enough to secure all this. For if we come to you, we need no one else to commend us, since your love gets there first; and if we go to others, again we need no letters, since the same love is enough for us in their place. For we carry the letter about in our hearts.”

Then, raising them still higher, he even calls them the letter of Christ, saying, verse 3: “Being made manifest that you are a letter of Christ.” [c]

And having said this, he takes from it the ground and occasion for a discussion of the law. There is also another purpose in his calling them Christ’s letter here. Above, as commending him, he called them a letter; but here he calls them a letter of Christ, as having the law of God written in them. “For what God wished to declare to all, and to you, is written in your hearts. But it was we who prepared you to receive the writing. Just as Moses cut the stones and the tablets, so we cut your souls.” That is why he says, “ministered by us.”

Yet in this the two were on an equal footing, for the former were written on by God, and these by the Spirit. Where, then, is the difference?

“Written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not on tablets of stone, but on tablets that are hearts of flesh.”

As wide as the difference is between the Spirit and ink, and between a stone tablet and one of flesh, so wide is the difference between these and those — and so, too, between the men who did the ministering here and the one who ministered to those of old. Yet because what he had said was a great thing, he quickly checks himself, saying, verse 4: “And such confidence we have through Christ toward God.”

And again he refers everything to God. For it is Christ, he says, who is the author of these things for us.

Verse 5: “Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to reckon anything as coming from ourselves.”

See, here is yet another correction. For he possesses this virtue — humility, I mean — in singular perfection. That is why, whenever he says anything great about himself, he takes every care to soften what he has said, as far as he can and by every means. And so he does here too, saying, “Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to reckon anything as coming from ourselves.” That is: “When I said, ‘We have confidence,’ I did not mean that part of it was ours and part God’s. I refer and ascribe the whole to him.”

Verses 5 and 6: “For our sufficiency is from God, who also made us sufficient as ministers of a new covenant.”

What does “made us sufficient” mean? He made us able and fit. And it is no small thing to be the bearer to the world of such tablets and letters, far greater than the former ones. That is why he also added, “not of the letter, but of the spirit.” See, here is another difference. What then? Was that law not spiritual? How, then, does he say, “We know that the law is spiritual” (Romans 7, verse 14)? It was spiritual, indeed, but it did not bestow a spirit. For Moses did not bring a spirit, but letters; whereas we have been entrusted with the giving of a spirit. That is why, completing this contrast, he says, “For the letter kills, but the spirit gives life.”

Yet he does not say these things absolutely, but with an eye to those who prided themselves on the things of Judaism. By “letter” here he means the law that punishes those who break it; by “spirit,” the grace that through baptism gives life to those who had been made dead by their sins. Having mentioned the difference that arises from the nature of the tablets, he does not dwell on it, but passes it by quickly and spends more labor on this point, which best enabled him to win his hearer by showing what was profitable and easy. For this, he is saying, costs no toil, and the gift it offers is greater. For if, when he speaks of Christ, he puts forward above all the things that belong to his love for humankind rather than to our deserving, and that are bound up with one another, there is much greater need for him to do so when he is treating of the covenant.

What, then, is the meaning of “the letter kills”? He had said “tablets of stone” and “hearts of flesh”; so far he seemed to mention no great difference. He added that the former covenant was written with letters, or ink, but this one with the Spirit. Nor did this thoroughly rouse them. At last he says what is truly enough to give them wings: the one “kills,” the other “gives life.”

And what does this mean? Under the law, whoever has sinned is punished. Here, whoever has sins comes and is baptized and is made righteous, and being made righteous, he lives, set free from the death of sin. If the law lays hold of a murderer, it puts him to death; if the good news lays hold of a murderer, it enlightens him and gives him life. And why do I take a murderer as my example? The law laid hold of a man who gathered sticks on a Sabbath day, and stoned him (Numbers 15, verses 32 and 36). This is the meaning of “the letter kills.” The good news takes hold of thousands of killers and robbers and, by baptizing them, sets them free from their former vices. This is the meaning of “the Spirit gives life.” The one makes its captive dead instead of alive; the other makes the man it has convicted alive instead of dead. For he says, “Come to me, you who labor and are heavy laden” (Matthew 11, verse 28); and he did not say, “I will punish you,” but, “I will give you rest.”

For in baptism the sins are buried, the former things are blotted out, the man is made alive, and the whole of grace is written on his heart as on a tablet. Consider, then, how high the dignity of the Spirit is, seeing that the Spirit’s tablets are better than those former ones, and seeing that something even greater than the resurrection itself is shown here. For the death from which the Spirit sets us free is more beyond remedy than that other death — as much more as the soul is worth more than the body. And it is this life that the Spirit confers. But if the Spirit is able to bestow this, much more can it bestow what is less. For the prophets did that, but this they could not do, for no one can forgive sins but God alone. Nor did the prophets bestow even that life without the Spirit.

Yet the wonder is not only that the Spirit gives life, but that the Spirit enabled others to do this as well. For he says, “Receive the Holy Spirit” (John 20, verse 22). Why? Because without the Spirit it could not be done? Yes; but God says this too to show that the Spirit has supreme authority, is of that kingly being, and has the same power as he. That is why he also adds, “Whose sins you forgive, they are forgiven; and whose sins you retain, they are retained” (John 20, verse 23).

Since, then, the Spirit has given us life, let us remain living and not go back again to our former deadness. For “Christ dies no more; for the death he died, he died to sin once” (Romans 6, verses 9 and 10). And he does not want us to be saved by grace all the time, for then we will be empty of everything. That is why he wants us to contribute something of our own as well. So let us contribute, and keep the soul’s life in it. [h]

And what life in a soul is, learn from the body. We say that the body too is alive when it moves with a healthy kind of motion. But when it lies flat and powerless, or its motions are disordered, then even if it keeps the appearance of life or motion, such a life is more grievous than any death. And if it utters nothing sane, only the words of the deranged, and sees one thing in place of another, such a man is more pitiable than the dead. So too the soul: when it has no health, even if it keeps an appearance of life, it is dead — when it does not see gold as gold, but as something great and precious; when it gives no thought to the future but crawls on the ground; when it does one thing in place of another.

For how is it clear that we have a soul? Is it not from what it does? When, then, it does not perform the things proper to it, is it not dead? When, for instance, it has no care for virtue, but is grasping and breaks the law, how can I tell that you have a soul? Because you walk? But the animals without reason do that too. Because you eat and drink? But wild beasts do that too. Well, then, because you stand upright on two feet? That rather convinces me that you are a beast in human shape. For when you resemble a beast in every other respect, but not in the way it carries itself, you disturb and frighten me all the more, and I think all the more that what I see is a monster. If I saw a beast speaking with a human voice, I would not say for that reason that it was a man; I would say that for that very reason it was a beast more monstrous than a beast. How, then, can I learn that you have the soul of a human being, when you kick like the donkey, bear a grudge like the camel, bite like the bear, tear your prey like the wolf, steal like the fox, are crafty as the serpent, and shameless as the dog? How can I learn that you have the soul of a human being?

Would you like me to show you a dead soul and a living one? Let us turn the discussion back to those men of old. If you like, let us set before us the rich man in the story of Lazarus, and we will know what death in a soul is. For he had a dead soul, and that is plain from what he did. Of the works of the soul he did not one; he only ate and drank and lived in pleasure. Such are the unmerciful and cruel even now, for they too have a dead soul, as he had. All the warmth that flows from love of our neighbor has been spent in it, and it is deader than a lifeless body. But the poor man was not like that. Standing on the very summit of heavenly wisdom, he shone out. Though he wrestled with continual hunger, and was not even supplied with the food he needed, even so he spoke no word of blasphemy against God, but bore it all nobly. Now this is no small work of the soul; it is a very high proof that the soul is well strung and healthy. And where these qualities are absent, it is plainly because the soul is dead that they have perished.

Or tell me: shall we not call that soul dead which the devil falls on, striking it, biting it, kicking it, while it has no sense of any of this, but lies there deadened, and does not grieve when it is robbed of its wealth? He even leaps on it, and still it stays unmoved, like a body when the soul has left it, and does not even feel it. For when the fear of God is not present in full strength, the soul must be like this — and more wretched than the dead. For the soul does not dissolve into decay and ashes and dust, but into things that smell fouler than these: into drunkenness and anger and greed, into improper loves and ill-timed desires.

But if you want to know more exactly how foul its smell is, give me a soul that is pure, and then you will see clearly how foul the smell of this filthy and impure one is. As things are, you will not be able to perceive it; for as long as we are habitually around a foul smell, we do not notice it. But when we are fed on spiritual words, then we will be aware of that evil. And yet to many this seems of no importance.

And I say nothing yet of hell. But if you like, let us examine what is here and now, and how ridiculous a man is — not the one who practices filthiness, but the one who only speaks it. First of all, he loads himself with disgrace; like someone who spits some filth out of his mouth, he defiles himself. For if the stream is so impure, think what the fountain of this filth must be! “For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks” (Matthew 12, verse 34). Yet it is not only this that grieves me, but that to some people this does not even seem to count among improper things. That is why all the evils are made worse: when we sin, and do not even think we are doing wrong.

Do you want to learn, then, how great an evil filthy talk is? See how your hearers blush at your indecency. For what is viler than a filthy talker? What is more disgraceful? Such men thrust themselves into the ranks of clowns and prostitutes — or rather, those have more shame than you. How can you teach your wife to be modest when with talk like this you are training her to go on to lewdness? It would be better to breathe out rot from your mouth than a filthy word. [j]

Now if your mouth smells bad, you do not even share in the common table. When, then, you have so foul a stink in your soul, tell me, do you dare to share in the mysteries? If someone took a dirty dish and set it on the table, you would beat him with clubs and drive him out. Yet at God’s own table — for our mouth is his table when it is filled with thanksgiving — when you pour out words more disgusting than any unclean vessel, tell me, do you think you are not provoking him? How could that be? For nothing so exasperates the holy and pure as such words do; nothing makes people so impudent and shameless as saying and listening to such things; nothing so loosens the sinews of modesty as the flame these words kindle.

God has set perfumes in your mouth, but you store up words that smell fouler than a corpse, and you destroy the soul itself and make it incapable of movement. For when you insult someone, that is not the voice of the soul, but of anger. When you talk filth, it is lewdness that spoke, and not the soul. When you slander, it is envy; when you scheme, it is greed. These are not the soul’s works, but the works of the passions and diseases that belong to it. Just as decay does not come simply from the body, but from death and what death has done to the body, so too, in truth, these things come from the passions that grow on the soul.

If you want to hear a voice from a living soul, hear Paul saying, “Having food and covering, with these we will be content” (First Timothy 6, verse 8); and, “Godliness is great gain” (First Timothy 6, verse 6); and, “The world has been crucified to me, and I to the world” (Galatians 6, verse 14). Hear Peter saying, “Silver and gold I have none, but what I have, I give you” (Acts 3, verse 6). Hear Job giving thanks and saying, “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away” (Job 1, verse 21). These are the words of a living soul, of a soul carrying out the tasks proper to it. So too Jacob said, “If the Lord will give me bread to eat and clothing to put on” (Genesis 28, verse 20). So too Joseph: “How can I do this wickedness, and sin before God?” (Genesis 39, verse 9). But not so that barbarian woman. Like someone drunk and out of her mind, she spoke, saying, “Lie with me” (Genesis 39, verse 7).

Knowing these things, then, let us earnestly desire the living soul and flee the dead one, so that we may also obtain the life to come. May we all share in it, through the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom and with whom, to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, might, and honor, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.