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Each day this month we’re looking closely at one of the 1:1 verses of the Bible – exploring what we can learn from chapter one / verse one of various Old and New Testament books.
2 Corinthians 1:1
“Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, and Timothy our brother, to the church of God in Corinth, together with all his holy people throughout Achaia.”
Over the centuries, people have been unfailingly impressed with Jesus.
That’s still true today. The vast majority of those who practice non-Christian religions or who identify themselves as Nones (as in, “I believe in None of the Above”) think Jesus was a remarkable human being.
Those same people just aren’t very impressed with Jesus’ followers.
The disconnect between the faith we profess and lives we lead has been a scandal from Day One of the Jesus Movement – something that jumps out in the apostle Paul’s opening sentence of the correspondence we know as 2 Corinthians.
Paul greets the fledgling band of Christians in Corinth, “together with all his holy people throughout Achaia.” The words “holy people” represent the Greek words tois agios, which have traditionally been rendered “saints.” Paul is writing to the saints in Corinth and its surrounding regions.
Who exactly does he have in mind?
The word “saint” has had an interesting history. During Christianity’s early centuries it came to represent a woman or a man of exceptional spiritual maturity. Well into the Middle Ages, in the Roman Catholic, Orthodox, and Anglican traditions, the word “saint” designated a deceased Christian of such purity and virtue that he or she could actually intercede for struggling Christians here on earth.
It seems clear that the apostle Paul has something different in mind. The saints in Corinth were ordinary followers of Jesus. They were rank and file disciples, including beginners, stragglers, and strugglers.
Not only that, they were Grade A sinners. Both of Paul’s surviving letters to the Corinthians are exercises in exasperation. He can hardly fathom the immaturity, recklessness, infighting, sexual immorality, and pettiness of these would-be disciples.
In one regard, they’re blending right in with their environment. Corinth, a bustling seaport, was widely regarded in the ancient world as a moral cesspool. In every surviving Greek play, any characters who hail from Corinth are portrayed as drunk. “To Corinthianize” was slang for sexual line-crossing.
Yet Paul opens his letter by addressing these novice followers of Jesus as saints.
They are not yet living as they should be.
But God says they are already “holy ones” – for the simple reason that they belong to Christ.
It’s worth noting that the word “saint” in the New Testament never applies to someone who is dead, but always to those who are living – and always to a group of living persons at that. On the pages of the Bible, holiness is closely connected with the idea of separation. Someone who follows Jesus is therefore one who is separate, or set apart, from the world with regard to priorities, thinking, and behavior.
So, look around the next time you’re at a gathering of people who have enrolled as lifelong learners of Jesus. Take a deep breath. You are in the company of God’s set-apart ones. We are God’s Plan A to fulfill his mission on earth.
Seriously?
An increasing number of American saints appear to have concluded that it’s not all that crucial to hang around with other saints. More than 40% of self-described Christians report that they seldom, rarely, or never attend church – a trend that was in play even before the pandemic.
So why can’t I simply walk away from the messed-up people and hypocrites who inevitably surround me wherever I go to church?
The simple answer is that the Bible tells me that I am not myself by myself. It pleases God to accomplish my spiritual transformation by means of other broken people – through their partnerships, their prayers, and even (in ways we often cannot foresee) their most grievous failures.
Along the way, most of us will have to address a condition that silently erodes our souls. It’s called At Leastism.
There’s something twisted in fallen human beings – and that would be all of us – that takes great comfort in comparisons.
An alcoholic, for instance – while lamenting the obvious downsides of dependance on drink – looks at a drug addict and thinks, “At least I’m not strung out on crack.” A cocaine addict looks right back and thinks, “At least I’m not a fall-down drunk.” Sex addicts think, “At least I’m not fat.” People who cheat on their taxes think, “At least I don’t cheat on my spouse.”
A church attender shrugs off his imperfections by thinking, “At least I’m not like my neighbor who has no time for God.” The neighbor is thinking, “At least I’m not close-minded and judgmental, like Mr. Religious over there.” Methodists, Baptists, and Lutherans think, “At least I’m not Presbyterian.”
OK, point well taken.
Recall the Pharisee in one of Jesus’ teaching moments who says, “At least I’m not like that tax collector over there.” The tax collector, meanwhile, is crying out to God in desperation: “Have mercy on me, O Lord, a sinner!”
Jesus makes it clear that At Leastism has to die. In all of us.
We are all sinners in desperate need of mercy and forgiveness. Nevertheless, if we are in Christ, we are also saints – not because of personal spiritual performance but because God, according to the sheer wonder of his grace, has given us the gift of that astonishing identity.
Why do we need each other? As many have observed, people generally sin alone. But we heal together.
In the movie Gladiator, the central character Maximus stands in the Colosseum arena surrounded by a small group of frightened men with drawn swords. He says to them, “Whatever comes through those gates, if we stay together, we can survive.”
That is God’s word to all of his set-apart ones.
We cannot stand by ourselves.
But by the power and grace of the God who unites us, we can increasingly become the saints he has called us to be.