The water was cold and his legs were numb. His skin was wrinkled after so many hours of bobbing in the waves, desperately clinging to a beam ripped from the ship as it capsized in the storm. It was dark, and the moon was still hidden by the frightening storm clouds swirling low over the sea.

But St. Paul wasn’t concerned for himself, even though in dire straits. Far be it from this rugged traveler to worry about himself when he had the churches on his mind. God had called, and the apostolic call was more important than his own comfort, even more crucial than his own life.

It was hard work — harder than staying afloat in the waves. Paul was separated from the new believers under his care by miles of mountains and seas, which made his internal struggle acute. The brethren in other cities and lands, exposed to temptations, divisions, pagan cultures, and sin were on his mind. His labor of prayer was intense. At times he longed for them as a parent longs for a lost child. His prayers were agonized — and his prayers were heard.

Writing to one of these churches, the church in Corinth, Paul described his labors, imprisonments, beatings — his sufferings external and internal. He humbly boasted:

Five times I have received at the hands of the Jews the forty lashes less one. Three times I have been beaten with rods; once I was stoned. Three times I have been shipwrecked; a night and a day I have been adrift at sea; on frequent journeys, in danger from rivers, danger from robbers, danger from my own people, danger from Gentiles, danger in the city, danger in the wilderness, danger at sea, danger from false brethren; in toil and hardship, through many a sleepless night, in hunger and thirst, often without food, in cold and exposure. And, apart from other things, there is the daily pressure upon me of my anxiety for all the churches (2 Cor 11:24-28).

In a similar way, Paul informed another church north along the coast of the Aegean Sea, again pouring out his heart, that he was “praying earnestly night and day” for them (1 Thes 3:10).

The apostle began the letter we call Second Corinthians by expressing this concern: “For I wrote you out of much affliction and anguish of heart and with many tears, not to cause you pain but to let you know the abundant love that I have for you” (2 Cor 2:4). This was the life of Paul, former persecutor of the Church, himself now persecuted for their sake. Once a collaborator in taking the life of others, he now laid down his own life for others. Having watched St. Stephen pray while the rocks crushed the young man’s body, Paul now prayed under the crushing weight of his apostolate and concern for the churches. Nowhere in the letters of Paul was he more intimate, more personal, or more vulnerable than in Second Corinthians.

A Follow-Up Letter

This uniquely personal and revealing glimpse into the soul and ministry of the great apostle to the Gentiles — and to the world — was written on something simple like papyrus with a quill pen around a.d. 57, probably in the fall of the year. Timothy collaborated with Paul in its writing, and Titus personally delivered it (see 2 Cor 1:1; 8:16-24). It was written from Macedonia, in the northeastern part of the Greek peninsula, roughly three hundred miles from Corinth as a crow flies.

About six months, or perhaps a year, earlier Paul had written to the Corinthians to correct problems in the church: divisions, liturgical abuses, sexual sins, and more. The letter had much effect, as this follow-up letter demonstrates. After the opening of this epistle, Paul referred to a man who had been chastened for being sexually involved with his father’s wife (see 1 Cor 5:1). The man had repented and experienced great sorrow; he was now in need of forgiveness and restoration to fellowship. Titus, a loyal fellow worker with Paul, had just arrived in Macedonia, and Paul said, “He reported to us your longing, your mourning, your zeal for me; so that I rejoiced even more” (2 Cor 7:7). Writing sternly — causing sorrow — had brought about repentance and healing. Now Paul’s second letter was to be primarily a glad letter.

Wandering a bit, intimately personal, and the least systematic of all Paul’s letters, this epistle nonetheless has a clear structure. After a brief introduction, the apostle gives an account of his spiritual labors, revealing his affection for the believers there and displaying mixed emotions about a mixed response to his early epistle (2 Cor 1-7). In chapters 8 and 9 he gives a detailed explanation for why believers should share their earthly means and asks them to contribute money to the suffering church in Jerusalem. He then becomes impassioned in a defense of his gospel and his credentials as an apostle (2 Cor chapters 10-13), which is followed by a short conclusion.

Opposing the “Different Gospel”

While writing primarily a glad letter, commending those in Corinth, Paul also faced new problems that had cropped up in this Greek city. It appears that some preachers had slipped in among the believers with a dangerous gospel and a challenge to Paul’s apostleship (see 2 Cor 11:3-4; 11:5, 13, 23). Like wolves they followed Paul around the empire, poisoning the sheep Paul had gathered into flocks — local churches.

What was this “different gospel,” as he called it, preached by Paul’s foes? Most probably the same legalistic gospel so aggressively counteracted in his letters to the Romans and Galatians. Did these Greeks and Romans need circumcision and a strict adherence to all the 613 laws of Moses before they could be Christians? Did the “simplicity of Christ” require obedience to the multitude of Jewish ceremonies and sacrifices?

Ah, said Paul, heaven forbid. Those who teach such things were “false apostles, deceitful workmen, disguising themselves as apostles of Christ.” Paul compared them to Satan and said, “Their end will correspond to their deeds” (2 Cor 11:13-14). Ouch!

To promote their twisted proclamation of Christ and bring the Corinthian church under their yoke, the enemies of the true gospel first, of necessity, had to discredit Paul. Unhappily, it’s a sad fact of history that true authority is often challenged with no shortage of naïve followers ready to jump on the bandwagon shouting slogans and waving banners. It happens today, as it did in Paul’s day, with those who break with the Church, spurn her authority, start their own groups, or — just as egregiously or even more so — work their corruption and corrosion from within.

Paul had no patience for such evil. His deep love and intense concern for the flock required action, stern words, and discipline. Any father would understand.

Challenges to Paul’s Authority

Paul found himself defending by letter those who corrupted the gospel and challenged his authority in person. He wasn’t one of the original Twelve, was he? He hadn’t walked with Jesus, hadn’t eaten the last Passover with the Messiah. He hadn’t witnessed the resurrected Christ on Easter Sunday, nor had he been baptized with the Holy Spirit on Pentecost with the others. He’d persecuted the first Jewish converts, even dragging them to prison and participating in their murder.
How could he be equated with the other apostles? How could he claim apostolic authority from Christ? What were his credentials?

And if that weren’t enough, let the ad hominem arguments fly! His opponents chided: “His bodily presence is weak, and his speech contemptible” (2 Cor 10:10).

Paul was at a disadvantage, but such was never a problem for Paul. He ably defended his special call as an apostle, the truth of his gospel, and his singular authority over the church in Corinth.

Paradoxes of the Faith

In the midst of his defense we have a remarkable passage, possibly the pinnacle of the epistle, in which Paul opened his soul and even gave us a fleeting glimpse behind the curtain of time, recalling his sublime experience of being caught up into the third heaven, to Paradise. How many have wished he had told more — or at least tried to describe the indescribable!

But alas, as we hold our breath waiting for Paul to expand on this ecstasy, instead he brings us crashing back to earth with the reality of the body and suffering. Paul had been given a thorn in his side, possibly an eye ailment, to keep him from exalting himself — the grace of suffering that brings about an inner and spiritual strength. His Lord had told him, “My grace is perfected in suffering”; you are strongest when you are the weakest. The frequent paradoxes of the Faith! Paul knew them all.

The humble and rugged yet mighty apostle looked beyond what the eyes could see — he had seen beyond what the eyes can see! — and he knew that “momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal” (2 Cor 4:17-18). It’s important — no, crucial — to “walk by faith, not by sight” and to keep our eye on the prize: to “be away from the body and at home with the Lord” (2 Cor 5:8).

An Intimate Self-Portait

It’s a heart-felt and heart-torn letter. We learn things about Paul here that we discover nowhere else, such as the multitude of sufferings, the thorn in his flesh, his vision of heaven. He gives an intimate portrayal of himself, and his rich humanity is quite evident.

It’s the last we hear of the Corinthians until St. Clement of Rome follows up with them in the year a.d. 96. They were embroiled in new troubles then, but still strong in the faith — no doubt a result of the firm foundation and labor of prayers selflessly expended by the rugged traveler and apostle from Tarsus.

Steve Ray can be contacted at www.catholic-convert.com