The 1960s compilers of our current lectionary offer us a series of readings these Sundays from 2 Corinthians. There are 7 little snippets or extracts, given for the second reading at Mass, for Sundays 7 to 14. We missed the first 3 in the series because of Pentecost, then Trinity Sunday, then Corpus Christi. So we’re starting now today, on the 10th Sunday, with a little passage from the end of 2 Corinthians Chapter 4.
And what we have, in these few lines, is a marvellous snap-shot, or bird’s eye view, or summary, of the Christian life. Or maybe we should say, it’s a snap-shot of the Christian attitude to life, and to the world, and to suffering, and to my death.
Just to fill in a bit of background: St. Paul has been speaking about his Apostolic ministry, which has involved him in very much trouble, persecution, hostility, contradiction and criticism. Some of all that has come, alas! from the Corinthian Christians themselves. Now Paul offers his apologia, or self explanation: not hesitantly, but as it were brimming over with confidence. He has this confidence not just in spite of the extraordinary catalogue of sufferings he has endured in the cause of the Gospel, but almost directly because of it. And his confidence is not at all in himself. Paul well knows his weaknesses and limitations. But he is completely, serenely, immovably confident in the God who commissioned and sent him; in Christ whom he proclaims, and in whom he lives; in the Holy Spirit, who is constantly at work through him in power. Paul here almost sings about the joy of his calling. He knows that what he has brought to these Corinthians is unambiguously, limitlessly good news. What Paul preaches is faith in Christ raised from death to life; and hope that we who believe in Jesus will in our turn be raised to life in him. Why does Paul preach this, in spite of every difficulty and contradiction and persecution? He does it, as he says here (4:15), so that abounding grace may result in ever more abounding thanksgiving , for God’s glory.
Then comes Paul’s line which I want to emphasise now. He says that while our outer man is falling into decay, our inner man is being renewed every day (4:16). So we have two forces at work in our life: and they are going in diametrically opposite directions. There is the external: what we feel and perceive. For those of us approaching the latter part of our life, this is all quite poignant. With the ageing process, as we discover from both observation and experience, there comes a gradual but steady diminishment of our powers, and energies, and abilities, and opportunities. Our lives seem to grow more narrow, and constrained. Our independence begins to slip from our grasp. We become ever more aware of health issues, which often enough involve daily discomfort or pain, or maybe even impending threats to life itself. We see too our friends and companions and acquaintances falling gradually away. Oh dear. But then: there is what is going on inside, by the power of the Holy Spirit. That is: our life in Christ; what flows from our faith and hope and love. And this, says St. Paul, just keeps on getting better and better; stronger; more powerful; surely also more joyful, and more confident, as with ever increasing acceleration we speed on our way towards heaven.
And between these two aspects, says Paul, there is simply no comparison. Having made so much of his own sufferings in a previous passage, Paul now airily brushes them all aside. Who cares about such trivia? Compared to the glory to come, they are less than nothing! He says the same thing in Chapter 8 of Romans (v.18). Here he uses the magnificent phrase kath’ hyperbolen eishyperbolen – “incomparable far beyond all measure”. The glory to come cannot be exaggerated, because our imaginations will always fall short. Paul also plays here on the words “lightness” and “weight”. Afflictions are (at least comparatively) light. As for the glory to come: the root meaning of “glory” is “weight”. Here: it’s an eternal weight! But there’s more. Even better than all this: precisely our present afflictions can be viewed wholly positively, in that they help prepare us, in many ways, for the coming reward.
So, Paul goes on to say (2 Cor 4:18): there is the visible, and there is the invisible. Of the two, the visible is of much less significance. It’s transient, mortal, created; ultimately beneath us. Whereas: what is invisible is of God, is of infinite value, and is eternal.
Our passage today ends with an image of the tent: a very natural one for Paul the tent maker to choose. Our bodies are just temporary tents we inhabit for now. Once they’ve been packed away, we will be ready to enter the proper house, prepared for us by God. Possibly behind this idea is the movable Tabernacle-Tent erected by Moses in the desert, and kept as the shrine of the Ark of the Covenant until Solomon replaced it by his massive and immovable Temple built of stone. But even that image falls down, because Nebuchadnezzar destroyed Solomon’s Temple. Whereas our home in heaven, not made by human hands at all, can never be destroyed.
Now there is a great deal one could say about all this. Perhaps I may be allowed to make just one or two obvious little points now.
This view of life quite sharply distinguishes us Christians from the secular-minded culture we inhabit. Living always in hope of heaven; presuming that the invisible is more real than the visible; counting the eternal as worth more than the temporal: this tends to relativise – in a good way – absolutely everything that belongs to this world. The materialist may say it’s all mere fantasy, or opinion, or just a psychological need grasping on an illusory comfort. With Paul we answer very strongly. No, we say: this is truth, and demonstrably so. Why do we hold these truths? Well, we know they can be well defended by rational or philosophical arguments. Similarly, the choice of a Christian way of life can be well defended with moral or aesthetic arguments. But we hold these truths ultimately by the power of the Holy Spirit, through whom we are able to confess, to belong to, to follow, Jesus Christ, who died for our sins, and was raised to life for our justification (Rm 4:25).
But what about this constant renewal of the inner man? Do we experience it? And if not, why not? Please allow me to leave you with the thought that we should experience this; it’s our right as Christians; it’s a gift which we can assume is given. If we feel we haven’t got it, then we should ask for it. But you have to be open to it; you have to nourish it, protect it; actively refuse the inroads of secular ways of thought, and secular ways of behaviour. To do that there are some daily practices that are strongly recommended, or even necessary. Some daily lectio divina, or careful Bible reading; some daily period of silent prayer; frequent recourse to the sacraments; being careful about even small sins.
And then, daily ever more and more: eager longing; certainty; confidence; joy; power. Paul says here, as elsewhere, that the power at work in us is the very same as that by which Christ was raised from the dead (cf. e.g. Eph 1:20). This is divine, limitless, infallible power. By it, what the world thinks is reversed. As Paul will say just after today’s little passage - not that our life will be swallowed up by death, but precisely the opposite - whatever is mortal in us will be swallowed up by life (5:4).