Reading: 2 Corinthians 5-6, Psalm 1

Far too often, I hear or read about the passing of a great human. I don’t mean famous or well known people. I mean people who have spent their lives in the pursuit of something more important than fame and more impressive than wealth. I currently work at a camp that is over a century old. Since I am a nerd, I of course read all the history available and looked through all the pictures I could find. Camps of this age have some interesting continuity. Generations of families that have attended; people who attended as children who ensure all their progeny do the same, up to three and four generations down the line. When one of these great men or women “fall asleep,” as Paul would have it, it is a reminder that we indeed have this treasure in jars of clay. I am also of the age when friends are seeing their parents age, fall ill, and die. It is never an easy thing to watch those strong people upon whom you depended all your life come to an end of their strength.

The Story of Scripture leaves us no doubt that death is a vile wrong. An enemy to be opposed, and ultimately to be defeated by the King of God’s Kingdom. Still, death gives us a marker in time in order to remember the greatness of life. In the best circumstances, the end of life is marked by a celebration of life. Mourning in the face of death is correct, but so is joy. They do not have to be mutually exclusive.

Here in his second letter to the Corinthians, Paul is in the middle of addressing their problem with his own poverty, dangerous activities, and very real possibility of death. He has made the point that his suffering, far from marking him as unworthy of the message he brings, is a marker of his service. The message of the gospel is too good to be carried by those who are shiny and perfect. It must come through jars of clay, breakable vessels of common use. If one is not careful, what Paul is saying here can be taken to mean that either death is good (because it takes us away from suffering) or that the physical world is bad (because it is the place of our suffering.) In reality, Paul is saying neither of these things. He addresses the possibility of death without fear, while maintaining that death itself is wholly evil. Paul looks beyond death to the promise of God for all who believe: a life that is both unending and qualitatively superior to the one we experience now. He speaks of it as a building or a garment to be put on. It is not the elimination of our physical lives, but the expansion of them. Not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up in life. God’s promise is one of completion, not elimination or even replacement.

Paul takes this argument and once again stakes his reputation on it. From now on, therefore, we regard no one according to the flesh. Paul does not take a person’s physical appearance, abilities, intelligence, or strength as the whole picture. That is merely what we see. What will they be when they have put on our heavenly dwelling? We do not know, and we cannot judge anyone’s right or ability to carry the message of the gospel based on what we do not know. Paul applies this argument to himself as he says we are ambassadors for Christ. God is making his appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. Paul’s appeal is not from a place of power, authority, or strength as the world might see it, but from a place of hardship, suffering, and poverty. He is counting on the Corinthians to understand that this is more authority than any shiny “super apostle” might be able to muster.

One of the great arguments of our present age is to “live your best life.” From religious leaders, political leaders, cultural leaders- this message about being true to your authentic self and living the most meaningful life one can for oneself is the best thing we can do. Paul has no use for this philosophy, and neither do I. I have observed it ending in misery. It is wholly in opposition to the great Story that the Scriptures are telling. The Scriptures expound a philosophy of selflessness. Of powerlessness. Of understanding that our knowledge of ourselves is strictly limited. Given this, we are to throw ourselves into the mission of the one person who has power, knowledge of himself, and knowledge of us: our creator God. And he has declared that we are to live our lives bringing the best news anyone could ever imagine to those we come in contact with. The gospel of repentance and life in the name of Jesus. Unfortunately, the “best life” message is invasive and contagious. It has the ability to worm into even the best intentions. We might say, “I will proclaim the gospel later, after I achieve thus and so.” Paul heads this argument off right at it’s core. Behold! Now is the favorable time. Behold! Now is the day of salvation. God’s charge to live what is really our best life is not for later. It is for now. At the moment of decision. Paul puts the Corinthian church to a choice. Who will you listen to, and who will you trust. Paul has made his argument, and presents as evidence that though treated as impostors, yet always true; as unknown, yet well known; as dying, yet behold, we live! As punished, yet not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything. At the end of life, for Paul and for the followers of Jesus today, there is no other standard for the best life that can be lived.