Lectionary Commentaries for March 5, 2025
Ash Wednesday

One of the things Christians do on Ash Wednesday is to confess sin. We know already that sin motivates our worst actions. The gospel reading for Ash Wednesday reminds us that sin—that is, the power to break faith with God, neighbor, and self—threatens to overtake our best actions as well.

A fake

In Galaxy Quest, a group of actors from a long-canceled Star Trek–like television show are whisked away by aliens (Thurmians from the Klatu nebula) who have seen their show and believe it is real. Jason Nesmith (Tim Allen), who played Commander Taggert, along with the rest of the crew, reprise the roles they played on the show. Now, however, they are doing it in real life on an alien planet, and real lives depend on them.

When the villainous General Sarris (Robin Sachs) boards the Protector, he orders the torture of the Thurmians to gain information about the mysterious Omega 13. In order to stop the torture, the actor Nesmith comes clean. He tells Sarris that the Thurmians do not have the information Sarris wants because they have mistaken a television show for something real. The Omega 13 is a fiction from TV reruns.

Sarris understands the deception that Nesmith is owning up to, but the Thurmians, who have trusted their guests with their lives and who have no concept of “actors” on their planet, cannot fathom what Nesmith is saying. Nesmith explains, “We pretended.” And when Thurmian leader Mathesar (Enrico Colontoni) is still confused, Nesmith says, “We lied.”

“It’s all fake,” he goes on, “just like me.”

Centuries before the writing of the New Testament, the Greek word translated “hypocrite” meant simply “actor.” In New Testament times, the same word had come to connote something more negative: “play-actor,” “pretender,” or, to borrow from Jason Nesmith, “fake.”

No one wants to be fake, but almost no one wants to be rejected by society either. When belonging and honor are at stake, there exists the temptation to make our compromises with authenticity. We may settle for appearing to be what we wish we were.

Shining lights and secret piety

How are would-be pretenders, then, to practice the disciplines of Lent—repentance, prayer, fasting, and works of love—free of that preoccupation with the gaze of others that leads to hypocrisy? The lectionary text suggests a tactic.

For each example of piety, Jesus issues an imperative to secrecy. To ensure that our actions are not aimed at receiving praise from others, we practice righteousness¹ away from their gaze. If no one sees your almsgiving, prayer, and fasting, no one will be able to praise it, and you will not be tempted to engage in further virtuous action for self-serving ends. Notice that Jesus does not say, “Stop giving, praying, and fasting so you do not become ravenous for the praise you receive for these things.” Instead, he says, in effect, “Give, pray, and fast away from witnesses so you do not become ravenous for the praise you receive for these things.”

But wait. In this same sermon, Jesus has just said, “Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven” (Matthew 5:16). How does the advice to “let your light shine” align with the directives to secrecy in our text?

The answer is that it is not our light that is shining when the show overtakes the righteousness. At those times, whether we know it or not, at least some witnesses will see the show for what it is. The play-actor’s need for praise outshines the need to be in solidarity with God, neighbor, and the true self. What is the actor’s witness then? It is not the witness of one who knows the eternal, unearned approval of a loving God who sees in secret, and of one whose acts of devotion flow from trust and joy in that love. The actor’s witness is the witness of one who does not and cannot trust such eternal, unearned approval.

The God-sized problem

In the Crossings Method of Bible study, readers look beyond the presenting symptom or problem in a text to find the “God-sized problem” therein. The problem in this text is that humans are tempted to do good works in order to be seen and honored by others. Human beings are tempted toward hypocrisy. The God-sized problem is bigger: Hypocrisy is born of an inability to trust the mercy of God.

If we identify with such actors, it may be because we know that we, too, look elsewhere—that is, away from the mercy of God—to be assured that we matter and are good, or at least good enough. It is possible to look so often and so fervently elsewhere that even one’s best works on behalf of others are swallowed up by the perpetual pursuit of self-esteem. When that happens, we are left with “treasures on earth” (Matthew 6:19), a cache of rewards as impermanent and insubstantial as the praise of others. Imagine guzzling salt water to quench a thirst.

Praying to trust

Close readers of the lectionary will notice that verses are omitted from the gospel reading for Ash Wednesday. In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus interrupts himself between the words about praying in secret and the words about fasting in secret. Between these two topics, Jesus teaches his hearers the Lord’s Prayer. He tutors those whom he has commanded to pray in secret by offering them words particularly well-suited to the experience of lacking trust in the enduring provision of God.

“Give us this day our daily bread,” says the prayer. “Forgive us our sins” is there as well. Those praying also ask, “Deliver us from evil” (see also Matthew 6:6–15). The Lord’s Prayer offers words that ask for what is needed to solve the problem of the text that surrounds it.²

As God answers the prayer that Jesus teaches his hearers, those hearers have what they need to let their light shine before others so that God is glorified. While it is not always true with respect to human communication, in communication with God there is no shame in appearing needy rather than generous. The secrecy Jesus commends gives prayer the freedom to be real rather than fake. God’s response to such a prayer is to answer it, and to keep answering it, so that the provision God offers inspires the awareness that God’s mercy is worthy of our trust.

Notes

1. The Greek word translated with the English word “piety,” in Matthew 6:1 (New Revised Standard Version), is dikaiosúnē, translated elsewhere in the New Testament as “righteousness.” Pious actions are those that embody righteousness.
2. See also Mary E. Hinkle, “The Lord’s Prayer: Empowerment for Living the Sermon on the Mount,” Word & World 22 (2002), no. 1: 9–17.

“Who knows? God may turn and change their mind, and leave behind a blessing….” (Joel 2:14a; translation mine)¹

For the past several years, churches have been faced with uncertainties on many fronts—uncertainty of whether to be open in-person or to be online due to continued effects of COVID-19; uncertainty about how the many social and political shifts in the world should be addressed in the pulpit; uncertainty about war, famine, and natural disaster. This and so much more has us asking: How should we remain faithful to God and community in such a tumultuous and uncertain world? 

This Ash Wednesday, Joel offers us a reflection on living life in uncertain times.

The specific date for the composition of the book is difficult to discern, but recent scholarship sets it primarily in the Persian period, circa 400 BCE. For one thing, Joel’s use of inner-biblical exegesis (in other words, interpretation of scripture, within scripture) indicates a later date. Like many other postexilic writers, Joel makes use of the Exodus and wilderness narratives, but also refers to other prophetic material.² This implicit theological work marks Joel as particularly unique in the prophetic corpus. In fact, Joel differs from other prophetic material in a number of ways that are relevant to the notion of living with uncertainty. 

As with the date for the book, the historical context or specific circumstances are unclear. Chapters 1 and 2 both describe incursions of locusts, and scholarship has debated whether or not these should be read literally (in other words, pestilence) or figuratively (in other words, as an invading foreign enemy or even an eschatological army), and whether or not they are the same or separate events. An eschatological tone in Joel doesn’t really take hold until the 2:28, and the use of comparison 2:5 (“like a powerful army drawn up for battle”) suggests that there is not presently a military threat. Indeed, a biological threat in a largely agrarian economy could prove to be just as dangerous as an invading army—the imagery in the verses not read in this lectionary selection (2:3–11) make clear just how devastating such a threat can be. 

In any case, what is notable about the descriptions of the event(s) is that Joel does not seek to accuse anyone, either God or the people. The references to the “Day of YHWH” (2:1; 11) do not carry the eschatological fervor that is seen in other prophets; here, it indicates a time or occasion in which God will intervene in history. There is no blame named for the calamity, no mention of the people’s sins. Other prophets like Amos, Hosea, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel attempted to make sense of community traumas (for example, destruction and exile) by justifying the events as divine punishments for idolatry or social injustice. These issues of theodicy are of no concern for Joel. The devastation is not attributed to divine punishment, and Joel does not seem concerned with questions of “why?” 

Instead, Joel focuses attention on the “so what?”—What do we do when our community faces threats? To whom do we “turn”? The pivot from internal discernment to external action is seen in other postexilic biblical material, such as Ruth, Esther, and Daniel—the focus here is on living, on forward momentum, even in uncertain times. 

It is God first who speaks in 2:12–13a, calling the people to “turn” or “return,” followed by the prophet’s own call for “return” in verse 13b. In these instances, the Hebrew term shub does not speak to repentance from sin since no particular transgression has been mentioned. God and Joel call the people to turn to God in supplication, and to stand together in lament. 

The completeness of this “return” is made evident in the reference to the “heart,” which in Hebrew is not so much the seat of emotion as the place of thought and reflection. The “return” therefore is a conscious choice and action that humans take. Moreover, the invocation of the whole community speaks to the solemnity with which our “turning” should occur. Joel uses merisms to signify: elder and infant, bridegroom and bride, layperson and priest (verses 16–17a). This inclusivity is notable in light of other postexilic literature that favors certain groups over others, and this totality serves as a balance to the totality of the devastation itself. Finally, the call for fasting and prayer was believed to be a way in which humans could potentially influence the Deity through performance and petition (see also Jonah 3:5; Esther 4:1–3, 16; Judith 4:9–11).³

This call and these instructions imply that Joel is certain that human action matters, that humans can connect directly with God. Indeed, the recitation of divine characteristics in verse 13b adds to this suggestion. As a direct allusion to Exodus 34:6–7, this statement recurs throughout biblical material, notably in other postexilic texts (see also Nehemiah 9:17; Psalm 86:15; 145:8; Lamentations 3:22, 32; Nahum 1:3; Jonah 4:2), indicating that it had achieved some sort of authority as a creedal text. 

Yet even now, couched within these certainties, Joel leaves us with a burning question: “who knows?” The calls to return, to fast, to pray, are shaded by this uncertainty. This question is asked in other postexilic material as well (Jonah 3:9; Esther 4:14), and highlights the tumult and dynamism present in the ancient world. Such questions and theological reflections were occurring then, even as they are today. That in itself can be a comfort for modern readers, struggling with living faithful lives when doubts and questions arise. 

For Joel, though, the uncertainty isn’t the end of the story. The call for fasting, for gathering in lament comes in spite of any uncertainty. And yet, the question remains. This Ash Wednesday, may we enter into a space that allows for life amidst uncertainty, a space that doesn’t seek to explain or justify but simply gives the community a chance to gather, to lament, to turn, and to be with God.

Notes 

1. Commentary adapted from the version first published on February 22, 2023.
2. In the lectionary passage, the following inner-biblical allusions have been detected: Joel 2:2/Zephaniah 1:14–15; Joel 2:3/Isaiah 51:3/Ezekiel 36:35; Joel 2:13/Exodus 34:6/Jonah 4:2; Joel 2:14/Jonah 3:9/Esther 4:14; Joel 2:17/Psalm 79:10.
3. On fasting as “performance” in prophetic material, see David Lambert, How Repentance Became Biblical: Judaism, Christianity & The Interpretation of Scripture (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016).

This is a clarion call to an (outwardly) pious and religious community who fasted and prayed, sought the Lord, and seemingly delighted in God’s ways (Isaiah 58:2). Despite their religious observances, the Lord calls them out on their rebellion and sin. 

“Rebellion” and “sins” (verse 1) are shocking words with which to address the community described in verse 2. After all, they delight in their religious practices. But the prophetic voice indicts them for merely keeping up appearances: day after day, they sought the Lord “as if they were a nation who practiced righteousness [ṣĕdāqâ] and did not forsake the ordinance [mišpaṭ] of the Lord.”

The terms ṣĕdāqâ and mišpaṭ (here translated as “ordinance,” but often translated as “justice”) are main concerns in the Isaianic tradition. The book of Isaiah opens with a lament over Jerusalem, lamenting that once upon a time Jerusalem was faithful, full of justice and righteousness, mišpaṭ and ṣĕdāqâ (1:21). The prophetic book also looks forward to promises of a king who will rule with mišpaṭ and ṣĕdāqâ (for example, Isaiah 9:7; 32:1; 33:5). Indeed, these are the marks of the kingdom of God in the book of Isaiah. Thus, it remains the prophet’s concern that the people of God continue to seek and put in practice the ṣĕdāqâ and mišpaṭ of the Lord. 

Returning to the text and the community’s religiosity, the people beseech God to notice their piety (58:3). They say: “Why, O Lord, have you not noticed that we are (outwardly) righteous and humble?” (my paraphrase). Almost as if to suggest they were only conforming so that the Lord would notice. As it turns out, the Lord had long noticed! 

They have perfected the motions of a fast day: to bow down the head like a bulrush and to lie in sackcloth and ashes (58:5). Yet they oppress their workers, and the community is rife with social and economic issues. People are looking out for their own interests while practicing their religion with fervor, hoping for God to notice their religiosity and bestow blessings or favor. They exhibit a form of godliness that is lacking in substance and transformation, and God is not impressed.

They want God to notice (literally, to see) their worship, yet they do not notice what is wrong before their very eyes. Economic disparity and unequal opportunities stemming from the period of exile have progressively polarized the community, creating strife, exploitation, abuse, and oppression.

This text is assigned to Ash Wednesday, a day we traditionally place the sign of the cross on our foreheads by an imposition of ash. It is a visible reminder of our human frailty and our mortal need for God. Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of the season of Lent, a season of self-denial and repentance. It is widely accepted that Lent commemorates Jesus’ time in the wilderness for 40 days and 40 nights. More significantly, therefore, Lent is a season during which we imitate Christ. 

Similarly, our text calls us to imitate a just and righteous God. It sets out what the Lord desires of us. Spiritual practices, traditions, liturgy, and rituals—these are immediate, visible, and outward signs of our religiosity and spirituality. However, true faith demands that we practice and observe God’s ṣĕdāqâ and God’s mišpaṭ. This text asserts that true worship is closely tied to justice and an ethical life. It is the way of life that imitates a holy God.

This Lent, are we paying attention to our liturgy and spiritual practices to the exclusion of what goes on in our own communities? This text does not ask us to throw out our rituals and traditions, for these are rich in meaning and should continue to edify us inwardly. However, our spirituality should not only be a matter of the heart. It should also translate to active practice of ṣĕdāqâ and mišpaṭ as outlined in verses 6 and 7. 

The fast that the Lord desires for us is to put right the injustices we witness in our communities, to respond to the needs of others, to restore to those who suffer what is rightfully theirs, to include in our fellowship and homes those who are homeless or lonely or grieving, to empower and advocate for those who are oppressed, and to look out for the interests of others. It is also to be reconciled to one another and to end hostilities within the community (“the pointing of the finger” and “the speaking of evil” in verse 9). 

A truly godly and righteous community recognizes the humanity of one’s neighbor even as it pays attention to the liturgy in church. It is marked by solidarity with a fellow kinsperson. It cares deeply and actively notices when things are wrong within the community, when God’s justice and righteousness are not in place, causing another to suffer. This Lent might be a time to notice and see, to pay attention to specific issues within our own communities. 

Interestingly, if we preached from the prophetic text on the First Sunday of Advent of this liturgical year (Year C, first reading), we would have read that “a righteous Branch will spring up for David, who will execute justice and righteousness in the land” (Jeremiah 33:15).

Just as we began the season of Advent holding on to the promise of justice and righteousness, here and now as we begin Lent, the prophetic tradition reminds us that we are the people of God and partners in God’s kingdom. Therefore, the prophetic voice calls us to boldly practice justice and righteousness if we are to be true adherents of any form of spirituality that seeks to honor the Lord.

The outcome of justice and righteousness is described by the prophet in imagery that depicts salvation, well-being, and restoration. Then, your light shall break forth like dawn. Then, the Lord will guide you continually, you shall be a watered garden, a spring of water. The figurative imagery ends with the promise of rebuilding the people’s ancient ruins. 

This psalm is a prayer of penitence, confession, remorse, owning mistakes made, and seeking a fresh start of new life with a restored soul upon receiving God’s forgiveness.¹ 

Psalm 51 is traditionally attributed to David, who offered this prayer of repentance after Nathan the prophet confronted David about his affair with Bathsheba. David abused his power as king to sexually exploit Bathsheba, reassign her husband to ensure his death in order to cover his impregnation of Bathsheba, and then take Bathsheba as a wife. Nathan used an allegory of stealing sheep to help David recognize the depth of his sin, and upon understanding, David reportedly authored this prayer of contrition.

Though himself a king and a well-established beacon of faith in God’s power, David was a mere human, standing in shame before God for his sin, and in need of God’s forgiveness. To be clear, his sin was not just adultery; it was rape. His sin was not just abuse of power; it was murder. Whatever the innocence of his legacy as the boy who defeated Goliath, companion to Jonathan, or unlikely military successor to Saul, David was now a corrupt monarch.

In verses 1–9, David repeats the phrases “blot out” and “wash” to point to God’s forgiveness as a cleansing, a spiritual rinsing of sin from his person. David’s sin makes him dirty, from which God’s forgiveness would clean him. David certainly notes the cleansing properties of water and the association of God’s presence with the people through water. 

In verses 6, 10, and 17, David emphasizes his heart as the center of his being, the nexus of a pure spirit, changed by God’s forgiveness. Alongside allegorical understandings of being cleansed of sin, David also has an embodied understanding of holiness, in his heart and in his bones, evident through a joyful and willing spirit.

David anticipates, even expects, that God will forgive him, because David believes God is faithful. God’s forgiveness will help David to renew and recover from the inside out, which will help him to become a better person as well as improve his ability to be an example for others. Though a king, David seems intent on setting a moral, and not just a militaristic, example for Israel. 

In the absence of a physical temple, which David’s son Solomon will build, David offers a sacrifice of repentance, a sacrifice of contrition, a sacrifice of transformational grief, which he believes will be more pleasing to God than a physical sacrifice or religious ritual.

As I imagine this scene taking place, I picture David on his knees, perhaps hiding in a closet or a storage room, or kneeling in the rain. I see him somewhere where he believes he is alone, in a posture of self-acknowledged shame, in a Romans 8—“groans which words cannot express”—kind of sorrow.

Not only had he betrayed his calling as king, not only had he betrayed his calling as God’s chosen, but he had betrayed the trust of a nation. He had surrendered his identity, and for what? For sex? To exercise power he already possessed? To cover his tracks from the people who followed him?

David cries out in self-defamation, convicted by Nathan’s confrontation. Yet even in this prostration, David still may not realize the severity of his sin. Is he penitent for his sin? Is he ashamed of being confronted by a prophet? His prayer focuses on his personal sin and spirit, as in verse 4 when he claims that he has only sinned against God. One could argue, though, that he has also sinned against Uriah, Bathsheba, and his nation—past, present, and future. 

Though he committed sinful acts as an individual, there were real effects of David’s actions on other people, as well as collective consequences. David’s sin impacted people and systems beyond his own personal morality scorecard. And as the Deuteronomistic narrative would suggest, his sin undermined the stability and future peace of the entire Jewish people. 

David may be performing repentance, likely genuinely, even if he has additional steps to take in his journey to understanding that leads to sanctification. Our spiritual journeys often take place in such steps, peeling layer by layer. This isn’t dishonesty. To the contrary, it’s a very genuine expression of where we are in that moment, starting from within ourselves and turning outward by the leading of God’s Spirit over time. 

In David’s case, the sensitivity to the Spirit’s leading did not progress as we would hope. David did not become more alert to avoiding temptation, more vigilant in protecting his family, or more self-aware. Though this prayer shows a strong desire to recover from this tipping-point moment, to those of us who know the rest of the story, it reads like unrealized potential, eventually abandoned in the disgrace with which the prayer begins. 

Are we misguided to resonate with this prayer? It is certainly a staple of Christian worship practice, because it has been meaningful to millions of people worldwide who find aid for their own prayers by beginning with David’s words found here.

David is right that a contrite heart is more precious than burnt offerings; Jesus will echo this clearly when calling us to worship God in spirit and in truth (John 4:23–24). David is right that water is a powerful cleanser, literally and metaphorically, and certainly has a significant place in spirituality, indicating God’s presence with the people (John 4:10). David is right that repentance must take place from the inside out, as a total transformation of our hearts and spirits. 

David failed at living as he hoped in this prayer. We know more about David’s expectation that God would deliver military victory than transformed character and redeemed societal infrastructures. But to his people, his reign was the apex of history. There are some modern world leaders about whom we could say the same.

What is it about their story that remains so inspirational in spite of their multitudinous and egregious transgressions? Perhaps it is those parts of the narrative we have in common with them that give us hope for what God might yet do in and through us. 

But will we follow God’s Spirit?

Notes

1. This commentary was previously published on this website for March 2, 2022.

This short passage from Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians features Paul’s urgent plea for the Corinthians to make their salvation count. He entreats them to be reconciled to God (5:20) and to not accept God’s grace in vain (6:1). In other words, Paul is arguing that the Corinthians should allow themselves to be changed and transformed by God and their work together, and to do something, to take action, with that transformation.

Be reconciled to God (5:20b)

What is reconciliation? The word “reconciliation” comes from the Greek kata + allasso, related to the term allos, or “other.” The kata prefix is often used to intensify the root word it is paired with—in this instance allasso, or change, as in changing from one thing to another. Thus, we might translate katallasso as “radical change.” It also has the connotation of changing enmity to friendship, hostility to favor. When Paul is arguing for people to be reconciled to God, he is arguing that they remove any barriers to their radical change and restoration of a favorable relationship with God.

Throughout 2 Corinthians and multiple times in this passage, Paul uses the verb parakaleó, translated here as “urge” or “appeal.” It is helpful to think of this word’s connections to ideas of calling and to the figure of the Paraclete, who comforts and guides people. Accepting God’s grace in fullness (rather than in emptiness or in vain) involves responding to a call forward to change and be changed, to work together to become God’s justice-workers.

God’s compassion and Paul’s apocalyptic urgency

Paul quotes Isaiah 49:8 (2 Corinthians 6:2) to argue that God has listened to God’s people and helped them. These are radical acts of God’s love for the people. In this same chapter of Isaiah, God is said to free the captives, comfort the people, and show compassion, even when God’s servant is concerned about having worked in vain (49:4) or having been forgotten (49:14). The heavens, the earth, and the mountains are to break forth into singing at the goodness of God, for God’s acting compassionately for the suffering people (49:13).

Paul references this passage from Isaiah to argue that even in this moment, God still shows up, as surely as God has shown up before. Thus, the people can feel confident in accepting God’s transforming grace, knowing that God cares and provides for them. Paul’s sense of urgency is due to his apocalypticism, his belief that the parousia is coming, when Jesus will return and the time for God’s judgment and reign of justice will begin. Paul’s mission to the gentiles is inspired by this apocalyptic time, as it is only now that God will gather in the nations to join the Jews as God’s people.

Facing hardships

To better recommend his ministry, Paul catalogs the various hardships he has overcome, to show that his ministry has withstood these trials and is the more respectable for it. He repeats a similar catalog in 2 Corinthians 11:16–33, where he adds details about shipwrecks and other particular dangers he has faced. The virtue/hardship list was common in ancient Greco-Roman rhetorical form, from Alexander the Great to Caesar Augustus. The goal with this type of hardship list is to make oneself or one’s cause appear more noble and virtuous for having overcome so much.

Another example: Dio Chrysostom, writing not long after Paul, asserts in his discourse on virtue that the noble man may tolerate many hardships, such as hunger and exile, in the work of pursuing a higher goal.¹ Paul’s catalog is meant to show the many ways his ministry is commendable (2 Corinthians 6:4).

Paul stresses that, from his perspective, his ministry is not offending anyone or putting obstacles in anyone’s way—they should be able to accept God’s grace and act upon it (6:3). Paul’s assertion should be understood within the context of his attempts to legitimize his authority in Corinth against other possible ministries. If Paul felt the need to clarify that his ministry was not offensive, it is possible to imagine some in the audience who had been offended by or had found fault with his ministry in some way; we can reconstruct some possibilities from his hardship and virtue catalog.

For example, when he writes of having truthful speech and the power of God (6:7), is this because some in Corinth have questioned his integrity, his authority, and his rhetorical skill (see 2 Corinthians 1:15–24; 10:10)? Do some feel he is so frequently absent, compared to other leaders, that he is relatively unknown to them (6:9)? When he writes of being punished and yet not killed (6:9), is this to respond to some who might have been wary about a ministry offered by someone in trouble with the law?

Giving up everything

It is notable that Paul’s catalog is prefaced with his identification as a servant or slave of God. These hardships (and thus, virtues) are all accrued in the course of his service to God. By identifying himself in this way, and reiterating economic divisions toward the end of his list (6:10), Paul notes a contrast between the poor and the rich, the servant or slave and the lord or master. Paul may be seeking to distinguish his ministry from ones that conferred status based on wealth or social standing, as would have been expected in much of the Greco-Roman context.

Paul’s hardships identify him and his ministry as part of the humiliores, a class of lower-status people in comparison to the higher-status honores. For Paul, the life of serving Christ included being in and out of prison, sleeping on the ground, being hungry, and being poor. This ties back to the beginning of this passage, when Paul describes how Christ, “the one who knew no sin,” became sin. In Paul’s theology, through Christ’s self-lowering act of dying on the cross to the world’s systems of injustice, Christ-followers now have the chance to be God’s justice-workers.

As we work together… (6:1)

Paul invites the Corinthians in as coworkers (6:1), and then details the challenges and opportunities of that work (6:4–10). The coupling of Paul’s catalog of hardships in the service of God with the appeal to the Corinthians to do something with their salvation presents a challenge, both to the first-century Corinthians and to Christians today: What sort of hardships are you willing to endure in the pursuit of God’s grace? To what lengths will you go in your work for Christ?

It is also important to note that Paul presents these hardships as having begun in his life since he started following Christ. He writes as someone who has given up everything, someone who had something to give up, someone for whom these struggles are notable. But for many in the ancient world and today, life is already a series of hardships at the time they accept God’s grace. They have nothing left to give up, no way to go lower. How is God present for these folks? How is Christ’s becoming sin, or giving up everything, helpful for others who have nothing to begin with (5:21)?

For those who start with nothing, the act of accepting God’s grace may be more about the radical transformation of reconciliation. It may be about being willing to have hope that life can be different, particularly when people work together for God’s justice.

Notes

1. Dio Chrysostom, Eighth Discourse, On Virtue 15–16, in Discourses, vol. 1–11, ed. and trans. J. W. Cohoon, LCL (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1961), 385. As cited in Antoinette Clark Wire, 2 Corinthians. Wisdom Commentary, vol. 48 (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2019), 149n38.