Daily Verse 2 Corinthians 12:9
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12:9 grace In this context, the Greek word used here, charis, refers to Christ’s power to help Paul endure hardship, be strengthened when struggling (physically, mentally, or spiritually), or experience forgiveness.
God’s grace enables Paul to participate in Christ’s sufferings for the gospel and the Church and to still demonstrate God’s power despite his weaknesses. Despite Paul’s troubles, God will help him. Paul acknowledges this to set up a contrast between his ministry and that of the so-called super-apostles. Paul does his work because God chose to empower Him. The super-apostles emphasize self-sufficiency (see 2 Cor 11:5).
John D. Barry et al., Faithlife Study Bible (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2012, 2016), 2 Co 12:9.
power is perfected in weakness Weakness provides the opportunity for
John D. Barry et al., Faithlife Study Bible (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2012, 2016), 2 Co 12:9.
God’s grace enables Paul to participate in Christ’s sufferings for the gospel and the Church and to still demonstrate God’s power despite his weaknesses. Despite Paul’s troubles, God will help him. Paul acknowledges this to set up a contrast between his ministry and that of the so-called super-apostles. Paul does his work because God chose to empower Him. The super-apostles emphasize self-sufficiency (see 2 Cor 11:5).
John D. Barry et al., Faithlife Study Bible (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2012, 2016), 2 Co 12:9.
power is perfected in weakness Weakness provides the opportunity for
John D. Barry et al., Faithlife Study Bible (Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2012, 2016), 2 Co 12:9.
Grace
Nearly two-thirds (100 of 154) of the NT occurrences of charis, normally translated “grace,” are found in the Pauline letters. The term is found in all thirteen of the traditional Pauline letters, and is heavily clustered in Romans (twenty-three times) and the Corinthian letters (eighteen times in 2 Cor; ten times in 1 Cor). In Pauline usage the word charis carries the basic sense of “favor” (cf. Heb ḥēn, “favor,” and ḥeseḏ, “loving kindness,” in the OT; see Esser, Conzelmann), and when God or Christ is its subject, acting in grace toward humankind, it is undeserved favor. This is especially apparent in contexts referring to salvation or gifts of the Spirit (where the kindred term charisma overlaps with charis). Paul employs charis as his customary epistolary salutation, but even in that context it appears to carry a theological connotation. With human subjects charis sometimes refers to thanksgiving (to God), to a collection or offering (recalling divine grace), or to gracious or encouraging speech directed toward others.
1. The Grace of God and Christ
2. The Grace of Salvation
3. Gifts of Grace
4. Greetings of Grace
1. The Grace of God and Christ
The Pauline corpus includes numerous mentions of “the grace of God” (or “his grace”) and “the grace of Christ” (or its lengthened version, “the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ”). The last phrase adorns the conclusion of over half of the Pauline letters (e.g., Rom 16:20; 1 Cor 16:23; 2 Cor 13:13[14]), perhaps signaling a climactic summary in linking charis to the full divine-messianic title “the Lord Jesus Christ.” In 2 Thessalonians 1:12 the expression “the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ” (NIV) indicates the inseparable bond between the charis of God and Christ.
F. Fisher goes so far as to assert that Paul understands charis as “God acting in accordance with his own character and being” (Fisher, 86), and that “grace” means not merely a divine attribute or attitude but “God himself” (Fisher, 86). Whether or not Paul intended such an identification, a close correlation between God and his grace may be observed in the extended and rhythmic “blessing” (see Benediction, Blessing, Doxology, Thanksgiving) of Ephesians 1:3–14. There we read that appreciation of “the riches of his grace” in Christ (Eph 1:7) should result in praise of “the glory of his grace” (Eph 1:6). This “praise” apparently entails a “blessing” (Gk eulogētos) of “the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ” who has greatly “blessed” (Gk eulogēsas) believers in Christ (Eph 1:3). Essentially, to offer praise to his glorious grace is to praise God. A number of passages employ charis to express the human response of overwhelming gratefulness translated into thanksgiving to God (e.g., 1 Cor 15:57). Occasionally it is the mention of divine grace in the immediately preceding context that prompts the grateful articulation of human charis (thanks) to God (e.g., Rom 6:14, 15, 17; 2 Cor 9:14, 15). Colossians 3:16 states the ideal, that a song of “gratitude” (NIV; “thankfulness” NASB; Gk en chariti) to God should undergird whatever the Colossians “do in word or deed” (Col 3:17 NASB). The astounding reality of divine charis demands an awed response of human charis to God.
2. The Grace of Salvation
The Pauline message of grace is neatly summed up in Ephesians 2:8: “by grace you have been saved.” Conzelmann is surely right when he concludes, “In Paul charis is a central concept that most clearly expresses his understanding of the salvation event” (Conzelmann, 393). But for Paul, grace is not a previously undisclosed attitude or characteristic of God, as if he had previously been known only as a wrathful deity. Grace speaks of the “wholly generous act of God” (Dunn, 202; cf. Bultmann, 288–90), which reflects the wholly generous nature of God.
For Paul the grace of God encompasses a broad arena, reaching back to the grace of God’s pretemporal electing purpose (Eph 1:3–6; see Election), including his choice of a Jewish remnant (Rom 11:5–6; see Israel). It embraces the actual offer of the gospel message, which Paul can refer to as charis in place of (2 Cor 4:15), or interchangeably with (Col 1:5–6), the term euangelion (“gospel”). But fundamentally, grace refers to a pivotal event, God’s eschatological deed in Jesus Christ (so Bultmann, 289), as it is experienced in the present gift (dōrea/dōrean) of eschatological justification, which comes by divine grace and is appropriated by faith (Rom 3:24; 4:4–5, 16). Believers continue to experience this grace in the ongoing work of sanctification in their lives (Rom 5:2, 21; 6:1, 14, 15).
Paul himself found a unique personal experience of divine grace in the midst of the weakness of prolonged suffering with his “thorn in the flesh” (2 Cor 12:9). Here, as elsewhere in Paul, grace is used synonymously with, or in place of, divine power (dynamis; cf. Rom 5:20–21), and in certain cases seems to be used as a correlative of God’s Spirit (cf. Rom 6:14 and Gal 5:18; see Bultmann, 290–91; Dunn, 203).
A salvation so gracious from beginning to end might be misconstrued as encouraging the continuance of sin in the Christian’s life (Rom 6:1), a notion the apostle denounces in the most vigorous terms (Gk mē genoito, “By no means!”): those who have died to sin cannot go on living in it (Rom 6:2). Exactly the opposite is true: while works of the Law (Gal 2:16; see Works of the Law) have no part in justification, which is solely of grace (Eph 2:8–9), good works are to be the very centerpiece of the life of gratitude, which is to characterize those who have been saved by God’s grace (Eph 2:10). The charis of God manifested in salvation (Tit 2:11) has the further effect of training (Gk paideuō) believers in a disciplined, godly lifestyle as they await the appearing of their great God and Savior Jesus Christ (Tit 2:12–13). Their gratefulness for the divine charis should motivate a response of zeal for good works (Tit 2:14).
In writing to the Corinthians, Paul can appeal to the grace of God given to the Macedonian churches which, despite their poverty, had been moved by grace to pour out their offerings to the Jerusalem saints (2 Cor 8:1–4). The Corinthians, who had also received the grace of God in their spiritual gifts (their charismata seem to be implied in 2 Cor 8:1) and come to know the supreme model of grace in their Lord Jesus Christ (2 Cor 8:9), are called upon to respond in kind (en tautē tē chariti, “in this grace,” 2 Cor 8:7). They are to make good on an earlier pledge to come to the aid of the church in Jerusalem in its time of need (1 Cor 16:3; see Collection).
3. Gifts of Grace
For the most part, the Pauline literature develops the concept of spiritual gifts around the closely related idea of charisma, meaning “a personal endowment with grace,” always concrete in its expression (Esser, 121; see Gifts of the Spirit). Occasionally, though, charis is also used, probably to emphasize the source of divine grace providing and empowering the gifts.
In Romans 12:6 charis is found alongside charisma to highlight the undeservedness of the diverse spiritual gifts God has provided (Rom 12:6–8). This sense of being “graced” by the various charismata (Rom 12:6) was apparently intended to promote the unity of the body of Christ (Rom 12:4–5; see Body of Christ). Following a somewhat different appeal to “the unity of the Spirit” (Eph 4:3) and body (Eph 4:4–6), charis and dōrea, another word for “gift,” introduce (Eph 4:7) the most selective and distinctive of the Pauline passages dealing with spiritual gifts (Eph 4:7–11).
Frequently Paul refers to his own spiritual gift of apostleship (see Apostle) and related functions in connection with the “grace” involved in that calling. Against the backdrop of controversy in Galatia, Paul speaks of “the grace” that has been given to him (Gal 2:9). Elsewhere he uses the same language to refer to his grace-given apostolic role as a priest or liturgical officiant serving the gospel in order that the offering of the Gentiles might be acceptable (Rom 15:15–16). Or he can speak of himself as a master-builder (1 Cor 3:10), as a vehicle of God’s revelation (Eph 3:2) and as a servant and preacher of the gospel to the Gentiles (Eph 3:7–8).
4. Greetings of Grace
Without fail, the Pauline letters all contain charis as an initial salutation and part of the normally formal epistolary prologue (see Letters). Again, without exception, they all have charis as part of their concluding benediction (e.g., Rom 16:20: “The grace of our Lord Jesus be with you”). Such consistent usage has been studied by T. Y. Mullins and others as an element of NT epistolary style. In adopting charis as part of his salutation, Paul seems to have been substituting a word rich in theological significance for the customary Hellenistic greeting, chairein (“greetings”).
The twenty-six instances of this usage are statistically significant enough to be discussed merely as a stylistic feature, but there would appear to be more to it than style. A clue to the significance of this feature may be found in comparing the use of charis in the introductions and in the conclusions: While all the letters yoke “grace” and “peace” (e.g., Rom 1:7; 1 Cor 1:3) in their introductions (although 1 Tim 1:2 and 2 Tim 1:2 insert “mercy” between “grace” and “peace”), only “grace” recurs in the conclusions. This may be simply a feature of Pauline style, but it may also represent a broad inclusio structure. The consistent use of the definite article, “the grace,” in the conclusions (Gk hē charis) may also point toward this intention on Paul’s part. At the very least, in keeping with a keynote of Pauline theology (see above), the Pauline letters all begin and end by sounding a note of grace. It is not unlikely that the apostle intended all of his writings to be viewed within the all-encompassing framework of divine grace, from beginning to end.
Moreover, within the evangelistic context of Colossians 4:6, Paul cautions that the word of the gospel must always be presented sensitively and graciously (Gk en chariti). In Ephesians 4:29 we read that verbal communication between Christians is to focus on edification (Gk oikodomē) and needs, especially by purposefully aiming to “give grace” (i.e., spiritual benefit) to those who hear the words. In both cases, such loving concern may be understood as a reflection of divine grace.
A. Boyd Luter Jr., “Grace,” ed. Gerald F. Hawthorne, Ralph P. Martin, and Daniel G. Reid, Dictionary of Paul and His Letters (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1993), 372–374.
2 CORINTHIANS 12:1–10
The Vision and the Thorn
Daedalus was a legendary Greek sculptor and craftsman, famous throughout the ancient world for his many clever inventions. It’s probable that he really did exist, though many of the stories about him and his work are clearly made up after his time. Some said that the statues he carved could move all by themselves. But the thing for which he’s most famous is flying.
Daedalus had gone to Crete, where he worked for the equally famous king Minos, and built for him the great labyrinth which comes into other ancient stories. But when he wanted to leave the island again, Minos wouldn’t let him; so he applied his inventor’s brain to the problem, and figured out a way to fly. He made wings out of birds’ feathers, and attached them to his arms and shoulders with wax. He did the same for his son, Icarus. Off they flew, and were heading back to mainland Greece; but Icarus became too excited by this new form of travel, and wanted to fly, not onwards to their destination, but upwards towards the sun. Daedalus did his best to warn him that this would be dangerous, but the headstrong Icarus didn’t listen. Then, sure enough, as he got closer to the sun, the heat began to melt the wax holding his wings in place. Off came the feathers, and Icarus fell into the sea and was drowned.
The story was often told in the ancient world, and often painted in the Renaissance period. The moral was obvious: don’t fly too high, or you may come to a bad end. Don’t be too proud, or presume too much on the strange things that can happen, or everything may go horribly wrong. This is a well-known moral lesson in many cultures.
What we find in this passage is the more particularly Christian version of the same point. Paul is speaking of the extraordinary and lavish spiritual experiences he has had, but in the same breath he speaks of his ‘thorn in the flesh’. He couldn’t simply enjoy living on a higher plane than everyone else; that might easily have made him too exalted. He might have become proud. He might have thought he could boast …
… Which is of course the point. This is the climax of his own ‘boasting’ list, which he has carefully constructed in such a way as to pull the rug out from under the ‘boasting’ which the rival teachers have been indulging in at Corinth. Not content with the teasing parody of standard social boasting in chapter 11, Paul now comes to the heart of the matter. The other teachers have placed great emphasis on spiritual experiences, on the wonderful things they have seen in visions and revelations, on the divine or angelic words they have heard. ‘Ordinary’ Christians would be in awe of them. Surely they must be super-spiritual, to have that kind of experience! Surely (they will have thought) such people must have been lifted beyond the condition of folk like ourselves! And so Paul takes it upon himself to show how even the most exalted spiritual experiences are to be understood within the framework of the gospel.
The teachers in Corinth would have told stories about themselves: I was transported to another realm, I heard this, I saw that, I met an angel. Paul refuses to do this—though it becomes clear by verse 7 that he is indeed talking about himself. He talks about Someone, someone he knows who is a member of the Messiah’s family.
The teachers would have liked what people today call an ‘up-to-date testimony’. What has been happening in your spiritual life this last week? they might ask. Paul tells them a story about something that happened fourteen years ago. What, Paul, nothing more recent than that? No visions in the last few days?
The teachers would have been delighted to explain in great detail what had happened to them: whether they had been transported bodily to another place (like Ezekiel in the Old Testament), or whether this was some kind of out-of-the-body experience. Paul has no idea what was going on. He has no explanation. Enough to know that God knows.
The teachers would have been eager to come back with news of the wonderful words they had heard. What wisdom, what insight, what truth now to be revealed! Paul declares that this Someone person heard—but he’s not allowed to say the words. Nobody is allowed to speak them.
By now the point is getting across. Visions and revelations do happen. Wonderful, uplifting, exalted spiritual states do occur. They are in a different league altogether from the states of mind and consciousness most of us experience most of the time. They can be real and magnificent gifts of God, marvellously encouraging, a real taste of paradise itself. But they are not given to people in order to make them special. To think like that is to fly too high, to forget that, in this life, the wings are always fastened on with wax.
A Roman general or emperor, parading through the throng of cheering crowds at a great triumphal procession, would have a slave in the chariot with him, whose job it was to whisper in his ear, ‘Remember, you too are mortal.’ The ancients recognized—mostly—that it was dangerous to become too elated; you could become guilty of what they called ‘hubris’, arrogant pride. Paul, too, has something that whispers like that in his ear: ‘a thorn in my flesh’.
There has been endless speculation about what this was. A recurrent disease is the most likely guess, but we have no idea what sort. Or it might simply be the regular persecution which Paul always suffered, as he said in the previous chapter. But the point is not just that it happened, and niggled away at him so that he couldn’t simply enjoy his wonderful spiritual experiences for their own sake. The point is that he prayed hard and long for God to take it away, and God said ‘No’. That is the ultimate answer to the boasting of the Corinthian teachers.
You can feel their expectations building up as Paul tells the story of this satanic ‘messenger’ that has come to trouble him. Surely, Paul, the teachers would have said, it can’t be God’s will for you to suffer such a thing? Claim the victory of Jesus over the satan, and you’ll get rid of it! Yes, says Paul, three times I prayed to the Lord about it … (and the Corinthians, listening, will be thinking: And on the third time the Lord took it away …) and God said—something quite different from what anyone had been expecting. Now at last Paul is allowed, it seems, to reveal a direct word that he has received from God, but it isn’t a word that will let him or anyone else become puffed up in their own self-importance. Instead, it is one of the most comforting, reassuring, healing and steadying ‘words of the Lord’ ever recorded: ‘My grace is enough for you; my power comes to perfection in weakness.’ This is, after all, the same lesson he was trying to teach the Corinthians at the beginning of the first letter. In a sense, it is the underlying lesson he has been trying to teach them all through. ‘When I am weak, then I am strong.’ God’s power and human power are not only not the same thing; often the second has to be knocked out of the way altogether for the first to shine through as God desires and intends.
Paul knew all about rich and varied spiritual experiences, visions and revelations. Just as he spoke in tongues more than all the Corinthians (1 Corinthians 14:18), but chose to speak ordinary human languages in church so that others would be built up in faith, so he has spiritual experiences of all sorts, but knows that the important point is not his spirituality—let alone any ‘power’ that that might give him—but God’s grace. He has discovered that there is a different kind of strength, the kind that’s really worth having, and that to possess it you have to be weak. And he’s discovered that that is part of what the gospel of the crucified Messiah is all about.
Tom Wright, Paul for Everyone: 2 Corinthians (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 2004), 129–133.
The Vision and the Thorn
Daedalus was a legendary Greek sculptor and craftsman, famous throughout the ancient world for his many clever inventions. It’s probable that he really did exist, though many of the stories about him and his work are clearly made up after his time. Some said that the statues he carved could move all by themselves. But the thing for which he’s most famous is flying.
Daedalus had gone to Crete, where he worked for the equally famous king Minos, and built for him the great labyrinth which comes into other ancient stories. But when he wanted to leave the island again, Minos wouldn’t let him; so he applied his inventor’s brain to the problem, and figured out a way to fly. He made wings out of birds’ feathers, and attached them to his arms and shoulders with wax. He did the same for his son, Icarus. Off they flew, and were heading back to mainland Greece; but Icarus became too excited by this new form of travel, and wanted to fly, not onwards to their destination, but upwards towards the sun. Daedalus did his best to warn him that this would be dangerous, but the headstrong Icarus didn’t listen. Then, sure enough, as he got closer to the sun, the heat began to melt the wax holding his wings in place. Off came the feathers, and Icarus fell into the sea and was drowned.
The story was often told in the ancient world, and often painted in the Renaissance period. The moral was obvious: don’t fly too high, or you may come to a bad end. Don’t be too proud, or presume too much on the strange things that can happen, or everything may go horribly wrong. This is a well-known moral lesson in many cultures.
What we find in this passage is the more particularly Christian version of the same point. Paul is speaking of the extraordinary and lavish spiritual experiences he has had, but in the same breath he speaks of his ‘thorn in the flesh’. He couldn’t simply enjoy living on a higher plane than everyone else; that might easily have made him too exalted. He might have become proud. He might have thought he could boast …
… Which is of course the point. This is the climax of his own ‘boasting’ list, which he has carefully constructed in such a way as to pull the rug out from under the ‘boasting’ which the rival teachers have been indulging in at Corinth. Not content with the teasing parody of standard social boasting in chapter 11, Paul now comes to the heart of the matter. The other teachers have placed great emphasis on spiritual experiences, on the wonderful things they have seen in visions and revelations, on the divine or angelic words they have heard. ‘Ordinary’ Christians would be in awe of them. Surely they must be super-spiritual, to have that kind of experience! Surely (they will have thought) such people must have been lifted beyond the condition of folk like ourselves! And so Paul takes it upon himself to show how even the most exalted spiritual experiences are to be understood within the framework of the gospel.
The teachers in Corinth would have told stories about themselves: I was transported to another realm, I heard this, I saw that, I met an angel. Paul refuses to do this—though it becomes clear by verse 7 that he is indeed talking about himself. He talks about Someone, someone he knows who is a member of the Messiah’s family.
The teachers would have liked what people today call an ‘up-to-date testimony’. What has been happening in your spiritual life this last week? they might ask. Paul tells them a story about something that happened fourteen years ago. What, Paul, nothing more recent than that? No visions in the last few days?
The teachers would have been delighted to explain in great detail what had happened to them: whether they had been transported bodily to another place (like Ezekiel in the Old Testament), or whether this was some kind of out-of-the-body experience. Paul has no idea what was going on. He has no explanation. Enough to know that God knows.
The teachers would have been eager to come back with news of the wonderful words they had heard. What wisdom, what insight, what truth now to be revealed! Paul declares that this Someone person heard—but he’s not allowed to say the words. Nobody is allowed to speak them.
By now the point is getting across. Visions and revelations do happen. Wonderful, uplifting, exalted spiritual states do occur. They are in a different league altogether from the states of mind and consciousness most of us experience most of the time. They can be real and magnificent gifts of God, marvellously encouraging, a real taste of paradise itself. But they are not given to people in order to make them special. To think like that is to fly too high, to forget that, in this life, the wings are always fastened on with wax.
A Roman general or emperor, parading through the throng of cheering crowds at a great triumphal procession, would have a slave in the chariot with him, whose job it was to whisper in his ear, ‘Remember, you too are mortal.’ The ancients recognized—mostly—that it was dangerous to become too elated; you could become guilty of what they called ‘hubris’, arrogant pride. Paul, too, has something that whispers like that in his ear: ‘a thorn in my flesh’.
There has been endless speculation about what this was. A recurrent disease is the most likely guess, but we have no idea what sort. Or it might simply be the regular persecution which Paul always suffered, as he said in the previous chapter. But the point is not just that it happened, and niggled away at him so that he couldn’t simply enjoy his wonderful spiritual experiences for their own sake. The point is that he prayed hard and long for God to take it away, and God said ‘No’. That is the ultimate answer to the boasting of the Corinthian teachers.
You can feel their expectations building up as Paul tells the story of this satanic ‘messenger’ that has come to trouble him. Surely, Paul, the teachers would have said, it can’t be God’s will for you to suffer such a thing? Claim the victory of Jesus over the satan, and you’ll get rid of it! Yes, says Paul, three times I prayed to the Lord about it … (and the Corinthians, listening, will be thinking: And on the third time the Lord took it away …) and God said—something quite different from what anyone had been expecting. Now at last Paul is allowed, it seems, to reveal a direct word that he has received from God, but it isn’t a word that will let him or anyone else become puffed up in their own self-importance. Instead, it is one of the most comforting, reassuring, healing and steadying ‘words of the Lord’ ever recorded: ‘My grace is enough for you; my power comes to perfection in weakness.’ This is, after all, the same lesson he was trying to teach the Corinthians at the beginning of the first letter. In a sense, it is the underlying lesson he has been trying to teach them all through. ‘When I am weak, then I am strong.’ God’s power and human power are not only not the same thing; often the second has to be knocked out of the way altogether for the first to shine through as God desires and intends.
Paul knew all about rich and varied spiritual experiences, visions and revelations. Just as he spoke in tongues more than all the Corinthians (1 Corinthians 14:18), but chose to speak ordinary human languages in church so that others would be built up in faith, so he has spiritual experiences of all sorts, but knows that the important point is not his spirituality—let alone any ‘power’ that that might give him—but God’s grace. He has discovered that there is a different kind of strength, the kind that’s really worth having, and that to possess it you have to be weak. And he’s discovered that that is part of what the gospel of the crucified Messiah is all about.
Tom Wright, Paul for Everyone: 2 Corinthians (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 2004), 129–133.