Homily 25 — Second Corinthians 11, verses 21 to 33

“Yet in whatever anyone is bold — I am speaking in foolishness — I am bold also.” [a]

Look at him drawing back again, belittling himself and putting his corrections in ahead of time, even though he has already said many things of this kind: “I wish you would bear with me in a little foolishness” (verse 1); and again, “Let no one think me foolish; but if you do, then receive me as a fool” (verse 16); “What I am saying I am not saying as the Lord would, but as in foolishness” (verse 17); “Since many boast according to the flesh, I will boast too” (verse 18); and here once more, “In whatever anyone is bold — I am speaking in foolishness — I am bold also.”

He calls it boldness and folly to say anything great about himself, even when there was a real need to say it. He is teaching us to avoid anything of the kind, even to an extreme. For if, after we have done everything, we ought to call ourselves unprofitable, what forgiveness can a man deserve who exalts himself and boasts when nothing forces him to? That is why the Pharisee met the fate he did: he struck on this rock, and was shipwrecked even in the harbor. That is why Paul too, though he sees a very ample need for it, still draws back, and keeps pointing out that talk like this is a mark of foolishness. Then at last he ventures it, putting forward the plea of necessity, and says:

Verse 22: “Are they Hebrews? So am I. Are they Israelites? So am I.” Not all Hebrews were Israelites, since the Ammonites and the Moabites were Hebrews too. So he added something more to make his noble descent plain, and says, verses 22 and 23: “Are they the offspring of Abraham? So am I. Are they servants of Christ? — I am speaking as one out of his mind — I am more.”

He is not content with the disclaimer he made before, but uses it again here as well.

“I am speaking as one out of his mind — I am more.” That is, I am their superior and their better. And he certainly had clear proofs of his superiority, but even so he calls the thing a folly. Yet if they were false apostles, he had no need to bring in his own superiority by way of comparison, but only to demolish their claim to be “servants” at all. Well, he did demolish it, when he said, “false apostles, deceitful workers, disguising themselves as apostles of Christ” (verse 13). But he does not go about it that way now, because his speech was about to turn to a strict examination, and no one who has an examination in hand simply makes assertions. Instead, he first sets out the case by way of comparison, and then shows that the facts deny their claim — and that is the strongest denial there is. Besides, when he says, “Are they servants of Christ?” he is giving their opinion, not stating his own.

And having said, “I am more,” he carries on with his comparison, and shows that he holds the stamp of apostleship not by bare assertion but by the proof that facts supply. He leaves all his miracles aside and begins with his trials, saying, “In labors more abundantly, in beatings beyond measure.” The second is greater than the first: to be beaten as well as flogged.

“In prisons more abundantly.” Here too there is an increase. “In deaths often.” Elsewhere he says, “I die daily” (First Corinthians 15, verse 31). But here he means it in actual fact: ‘For I have often been handed over to deadly dangers.’ [c]

Verse 24: “From the Jews five times I received forty lashes less one.” Why “less one”? There was an ancient law that a man who received more than forty should be held disgraced among them. So that the violence and hot temper of the man laying on the lashes should not disgrace anyone by going beyond the number, they decreed that the lashes should be given “less one.” Then, even if the executioner overstepped, he would not pass forty, but would stay within the prescribed number and would not bring disgrace on the man being flogged.

Verse 25: “Three times I was beaten with rods, once I was stoned, three times I was shipwrecked.” And what has this to do with the good news? It happened because he went out on long journeys, and journeys by sea.

“A night and a day I have spent in the deep.” Some say this means out on the open sea; others, swimming in it, and that is the truer interpretation. At any rate, there is nothing remarkable about the first, and he would not have placed it as something greater than his shipwrecks.

Verse 26: “In dangers from rivers.” For he was forced to cross rivers as well. “In dangers from robbers, in dangers in the city, in dangers in the wilderness.” ‘Everywhere contests were set before me: in places, in countries, in cities, in deserts.’ “In dangers from the Gentiles, in dangers among false brothers.” Here is another kind of warfare. It was not only open enemies who struck at him, but also those who played the hypocrite; and he needed great firmness and great prudence. [e]

Verse 27: “In labor and hardship.” Dangers follow labors, and labors dangers, one upon another without a break, and they did not let him catch his breath even for a little while.

Verses 27 and 28: “In journeys often, in hunger and thirst and nakedness, besides the things that are outside.” What he leaves out is more than what he lists. Or rather, one cannot even count the things he does list. He has not set them all down in detail. He gives numbers only for those that were few and easy to take in, saying “three times” and “three times” (verse 25), and again “once”; but for the rest he gives no number, because he had endured them often. And he does not recount their results — that he had converted so many here and so many there — but only what he suffered for the sake of the preaching. He does this out of modesty, and also to show that even if nothing had been gained but the labor, his claim to his wages would still have been made good.

“That which presses on me daily.” The riots, the disturbances, the attacks of mobs, the onslaughts of whole cities. For the Jews made war on this man more than on anyone, because he confounded them more than anyone, and his changing sides all at once was the strongest refutation of their madness. A great war blew up against him — from his own people, from outsiders, from false brothers. Everywhere there were billows and cliffs: in the inhabited world and in the uninhabited, by land, by sea, outside and inside. He did not even have enough of the food he needed, not even a thin garment. The champion of the world wrestled naked and fought hungry, so far was he from making himself rich. Yet he did not grumble, but gave thanks for these things to the one who presided over the contest.

“Anxiety for all the churches.” This was the chief thing of all: his soul too was pulled in every direction and his thoughts were divided. Even if nothing had attacked him from outside, the war within was enough — those waves upon waves, that sleet of cares, that war of thoughts. A man who has charge of a single household, with servants and supervisors and stewards, often cannot catch his breath for worries, even when no one is troubling him. Now take a man who has charge not of one household but of cities and peoples and nations and the whole world; who has such great concerns, with so many treating him spitefully; who is alone, suffering so much, and caring for them more tenderly than even a father cares for his children — consider what he endured. And so that you may not say, “What if he was anxious? The anxiety was slight,” he went on to add how intense the care was, saying, verse 29: “Who is weak, and I am not weak?” He did not say, ‘and I do not share his dejection,’ but rather: ‘I am troubled and disturbed as though I myself were laboring under that very ailment, that very weakness.’

“Who is made to stumble, and I do not burn?” See again how he sets before us the excess of his grief by calling it “burning.” ‘I am on fire, I am in flames,’ he says; and this is surely greater than anything he has said. For those other things, violent as they were, both passed quickly and brought with them a pleasure that does not fade. But this is what afflicted him, hemmed him in, and pierced his mind through and through: suffering like this for each one of the weak, whoever he might be. He did not feel pain for the more important people only and look down on the lesser ones; he counted even the lowliest among his close friends. That is why he said, “Who is weak?” — whoever he may be. And as though he himself were the church throughout the world, he was distressed for every member. [f]

Verse 30: “If I must boast, I will boast of the things that concern my weakness.” Do you see that nowhere does he boast of miracles, but of his persecutions and his trials? That is what he means by “weaknesses.” And he shows that his warfare took many forms. The Jews made war on him, the Gentiles stood against him, the false brothers fought him, and the brothers caused him sorrow through their weakness and by stumbling. On every side he met trouble and disturbance, from friends and from strangers. This is the special mark of an apostle; it is from these things that the good news is woven.

Verses 31 and 32: “The God and Father of the Lord Jesus knows that I am not lying. The governor under Aretas the king guarded the city of the Damascenes, wanting to arrest me.” [g]

Why does he strongly confirm and vouch for the truth of what he says here, when he did not do so for any of the earlier things? Perhaps because this happened long before and was not so well known, whereas they knew for themselves about those other facts — his care for the churches and all the rest. See, then, how great the war against him was, since the city was “guarded” on his account. And when I say this about the war, I am saying it about Paul’s zeal; for unless his zeal had blown with great force, it would not have stirred the governor to such madness.

This belongs to an apostolic soul: to suffer such great things and yet not to change course in anything, but to bear nobly whatever comes — and yet not to go out to meet dangers or rush at them. See, for example, how here he was content to escape the siege by being “let down through a window in a basket.” For though he even longed “to depart,” he still passionately desired people’s salvation. That is why he often turned even to devices like this one, keeping himself alive for the preaching; and he did not refuse to use even human contrivances when the occasion called for them, so sober and watchful was he. Where the evils could not be escaped, he needed grace alone; but where the trial was a measured one, he thinks up many things even on his own — and here again he ascribes the whole to God.

Think of a spark of unquenchable fire that fell into the sea: it would be buried as wave after wave swept over it, and yet it would rise shining to the surface again. In just the same way the blessed Paul would at one moment be overwhelmed by dangers, and at the next, having dived through them, would come up more radiant than before, conquering by suffering evil.

For this is the brilliant victory, this is the church’s trophy, this is how the devil is overthrown: when we suffer wrong. When we suffer, he is taken captive; and when he wants to do us harm, he is harmed himself. That is what happened in Paul’s case too: the more the devil pressed him with dangers, the worse he was beaten. And he did not raise just one kind of trial against him, but many different kinds. Some brought labor, others sorrow, others fear, others pain, others care, others shame, others all of these at once; yet in all of them Paul was victorious. [i]

Picture a single soldier with the whole world fighting against him, moving through the middle of the enemy’s ranks and coming to no harm. So it was with Paul: appearing alone among barbarians, among Greeks, on every land, on every sea, he remained unconquered. And as a spark falling on reeds and hay turns everything it kindles into its own nature, so this man fell upon everything and made it change over to the truth — like a torrent in winter flood, sweeping over everything and overturning every obstacle. Like a champion who wrestles and runs and boxes as well, or a soldier who by turns storms walls, fights on foot, and fights from shipboard, he tried every form of combat in turn. He breathed out fire, and no one could come near him. With his one body he took possession of the world; with his one tongue he put everyone to flight. Those many trumpets did not fall with such force on the stones of Jericho and throw them down as the sound of this man’s voice both dashed the devil’s strongholds to the ground and brought over to his side those who were against him. And when he had gathered a multitude of captives, he armed them, made them his own army in turn, and conquered through them.

David was wonderful when he laid Goliath low with a single stone. But if you examine Paul’s achievements, that is a child’s exploit; and as great as the difference between a shepherd and a general, so great is the difference you will see here. For this man brought down no Goliath by throwing a stone; by speaking alone he scattered the whole battle line of the devil. Like a lion roaring and darting flame from his tongue, he proved irresistible to all. He leaped from place to place continually: he ran to these, he came to those, he turned back to these, he bounded off to others, swifter in attack than the wind. He governed the whole world as though it were a single house or a single ship: rescuing those who were sinking, steadying the dizzy, cheering on the sailors, sitting at the tiller, keeping an eye on the bow, tightening the yards, working an oar, hauling at the mast, watching the sky. He was everything in himself — sailor and helmsman and helmsman’s mate, sail and ship — and he suffered everything in order to relieve the evils of others.

Just consider. He endured shipwreck to stop the shipwreck of the world. “A day and a night he spent in the deep,” to draw the world up out of the deep of error. He was “in weariness” to refresh the weary. He endured beatings to heal those whom the devil had beaten. He spent his time in prisons to lead out into the light those who sat in prison and in darkness. He was “in deaths often” to deliver them from grievous deaths. “Five times he received forty lashes less one,” to free the very men who laid them on from the devil’s whip. He was “beaten with rods” to bring them under “the rod and the staff” of Christ (Psalm 23, verse 4). He “was stoned” to deliver them from the senseless stones. He was “in the wilderness” to take them out of the wilderness; “in journeys,” to stop their wanderings and open the road that leads to heaven. He was “in dangers in the cities” to show them the city that is above; “in hunger and thirst,” to deliver them from a more grievous hunger; “in nakedness,” to clothe their shame with the robe of Christ. He was set upon by the mob, to rescue them from the siege of the demons. He burned, to quench the burning arrows of the devil. He was “let down through a window from the wall,” to raise up from below those who lay flat on the ground.

Can we still talk, then, when we do not so much as know what Paul suffered? Shall we still speak of our possessions, or even of a wife, or a city, or our freedom, when we have seen him despise even life itself ten thousand times? The martyr dies once for all; but that blessed holy man, in his one body and one soul, endured dangers enough to shake even a soul of diamond. All that the saints together have suffered in so many bodies, he endured all of it himself in one. He entered the world as though it were a racecourse, stripped himself of everything, and so took a noble stand; for he knew the demons who were wrestling with him. That is why he shone out brightly right from the beginning, from the very starting line, and stayed the same to the end — or rather, he even pressed on harder as he came nearer to the prize.

And what is truly wonderful is that, while suffering and doing such great things, he knew how to keep an exceptional modesty. When he was driven by necessity to tell of his own good deeds, he ran quickly over them all. Yet he could have filled countless books, had he wished to set out in detail everything he mentioned — had he named the churches he cared for, his imprisonments and what he achieved in them, and the other things one by one, the harassments, the attacks. But he would not.

Knowing these things, then, let us too learn to be modest. Let us never boast of wealth or any other worldly thing, but of the insults we suffer for Christ’s sake — and of these only when need compels us. If nothing presses us to it, let us not mention even these, so that we are not puffed up, but mention only our sins. For in this way we will easily be set free from them, and will have God gracious to us, and will attain the life to come. May we all attain it, through the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom, to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, might and honor, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.