Original Meaning

LETTER OPENINGS IN the first century followed the typical pattern, “(Sender) to (recipient): Greetings!” Paul customarily followed this form, but expanded these standard elements in order to indicate his own authority for writing, the recipient’s qualification(s) for receiving what is written, and the Christian perspective on what we desire for one another.¹ In 2 Corinthians, however, Paul foregoes a detailed elaboration of his own authority and the status of the believers in Corinth (cf. 1 Cor. 1:1–3) in favor of a nearly standard salutation. His only expansions are the reminders that he is “an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God” and that the Corinthians are the “church of God,” who exist “together with all the saints throughout Achaia.”

This unusual simplicity serves to emphasize that Paul is an “apostle” (Gk. apostolos) and that he owes his calling as an apostle to the “will of God.” An apostolos is an emissary who is authorized and commissioned to carry out a personal mission on someone else’s behalf.² Paul’s use of the genitive, “an apostle of Christ Jesus,” indicates that Christ is the one who has directly and ultimately sent him, while the reference “by the will of God” asserts that God is the intermediate agent of Paul’s apostleship.³ Christ is the one responsible for sending Paul, but God is the one who has made this sending possible. In other words, Christ sends Paul in accordance with God’s will.

Separated from Paul’s tradition and culture, it is easy to miss the significance of Paul’s self-designation. There is no parallel in the Greco-Roman world for the use of the noun “apostle” to refer to an emissary who carried an authorized commission as a matter of sovereign appointment. Rather, the New Testament concept derives from the Old Testament, where the verb apostello occurs approximately 696 times in the LXX to refer to sending someone out on a mission or special task (the noun apostolos occurs only once in the LXX in 1 Kings 14:6). In all but twelve of these passages it renders the Hebrew verb šalaḥ (= “to commission with a mission or a task”; cf. Gen. 32:4; Num. 20:14; Josh. 7:22; Judg. 6:35; 2 Chron. 36:15; Mal. 3:1).⁴

Although apostello is not a specifically religious term, in the LXX it becomes a technical designation for “the sending of a messenger with a special task” in which “the one who is sent is of interest only to the degree that in some measure he embodies in his existence as such the one who sends him.”⁵ This meaning anticipates a later rabbinic aphorism, that “the one sent by a man is as the man himself” (m. Ber. 5:5). Rengstorf consequently concludes that in contexts where sending with a religious purpose is in view, apostello begins to become “a theological term meaning ‘to send forth to service in the kingdom of God with full authority (grounded in God).’ ”⁶

In line with this development, Paul’s own use of the term corresponds most closely to the use of apostello in regard to Moses and the prophets, where it signifies that they had been sent with an official commission as a representative of Yahweh and were thus unconditionally subordinate to God’s will (cf. Ex. 3:10; Judg. 6:8, 14; Isa. 6:8; Jer. 1:7; Ezek. 2:3; Hag. 1:12; Zech. 2:8–9; 4:9; Mal. 3:1; 4:5). This is confirmed by the use of the verb in the New Testament as a whole, where it occurs 135 times, only twelve of which are found outside of the Gospels and Acts.⁷ Whereas in secular literature there is no essential distinction between pempo (to send) and apostello, in the NT pempo usually occurs when the emphasis is on the sending as such (cf. Rom. 8:3; 2 Thess. 2:11), whereas apostello carries the nuance of a commission.⁸

This same emphasis on being sent with a commission is found in the seventy-nine uncontested uses in the New Testament of the corresponding noun, “apostle” (apostolos), where all ten of its occurrences in the Gospels refer to the twelve “apostles” who were commissioned and sent out by Christ.⁹ Hence, although Paul’s letters are the earliest writings of the New Testament, and although he uses the word apostolos more than any other New Testament writer, the origin of its specific use for Christian emissaries almost certainly goes back to Jesus, who himself was “sent” (apostello) by the Father (cf. Mark 9:37; Luke 4:43; John 5:36) and can therefore also be called an “apostle” (Heb. 3:1).

Moreover, the transition from the ministry of Jesus to that of the apostles is reflected in the fact that in the Gospels and Acts the action of “sending” (apostello) is emphasized, whereas in the letters the emphasis is on the one sent (apostolos). These statistics point to the unique meaning of “apostle” within early Christianity as a designation of those commissioned to preach and act in the authority of Christ’s name (cf. Matt. 10:1, 7–8; Mark 3:14; 6:30; Luke 9:1–2). Paul’s point in 2 Corinthians 1:1 is that the will of God that sent Jesus is the same will that Christ enacts in sending Paul to represent him as his “apostle.”

The simple declaration in 1:1 thus reminds Paul’s readers of his divinely appointed role and authority among God’s people, thereby opening the way for the defense of his apostolic ministry that will be the focus of so much of 2 Corinthians (see Introduction). Indeed, Paul’s self-designation in 1:1 is the first salvo in the battle to reaffirm his apostolic legitimacy (cf. 10:1–6). There can be no compromise between Paul’s claim here and the claims of those whom Paul will unmask as “pseudo-apostles,” “deceitful workmen,” and “servants” of Satan (cf. 11:13–15). This affirmation of Paul’s own authority as an apostle is most likely the reason why he also mentions Timothy, his “brother,” as a cosender of the letter.¹⁰ By associating Timothy with himself in this way, Paul reaffirms the legitimacy of Timothy’s ministry among them, both in his helping Paul to establish the church (cf. Acts 18:5) and in his recent visits on Paul’s behalf (cf. 1 Cor. 4:17; 16:10). This too underscores the validity of the gospel the Corinthians have received through Paul’s coworkers (cf. 2 Cor. 1:19).

Having asserted his own authority and the validity of Timothy’s earlier ministry among them, Paul turns to the Corinthians as his addressees (v. 1b). His warrant for writing (i.e., he is “an apostle of Christ Jesus”) is matched by their reason for receiving it (i.e., they are the “church of God”). Despite their past problems and recent rebellion, the repentance of the majority of the Corinthians (cf. 2:6; 7:2–16) has demonstrated that they continue to be God’s people (cf. 7:2–16). The designation “church” (ekklesia) is one of two terms used in the LXX to define the local gathering of God’s chosen people (cf., e.g., Deut. 9:10; Judg. 20:1–2; 1 Kings 8:14; Ps. 22:22; 26:5; 35:18; 40:9).¹¹ Thus, just as Paul owed his life as an apostle to the same will of God that had called Moses and the prophets (cf. 2 Cor. 2:16b; 3:4–5), so too the Corinthians owed their existence as Christians to the same mercy of God that had chosen Israel.

Hence, these twin designations, “apostle … by the will of God” and “church of God,” connote a continuity with the people of God and her leaders under the old covenant. At the same time, they also underscore the reality of the new covenant, since Paul is an apostle “of Christ [i.e., Messiah] Jesus,” and they are the church of God, not the synagogue (cf. 3:14–18). Moreover, the Corinthians are part of a larger gathering of “all the saints” (hagioi; i.e., “holy ones”) scattered throughout the Roman province of Achaia, an area roughly equivalent with modern-day Greece. Corinth was the capital of Achaia and the home of the first of the interrelated churches in the region (cf. Acts 18:1–11; 1 Cor. 16:15).

Paul’s specific reference to Corinth in relationship to this wider network of churches reflects the primacy and significance of Corinth as the center of the Pauline mission in the region, from which the gospel spread like spokes on a wheel (cf. 10:15–16). In writing to Corinth, Paul is therefore writing to all of the churches in Achaia, not only because he viewed them as belonging to one another, but also because he knew that as things go in Corinth, so too in Achaia (cf. 9:2; 11:10). The problems in Corinth, past and present, were bound to impact the surrounding churches.

Given these problems, Paul’s use of “saints” to describe the believers in Achaia, including by implication the Corinthians (!), often surprises modern readers, since our word “saint” has come to designate those who have attained such a high degree of spirituality that they are set apart from the “normal” rank and file of Christians. Indeed, to be “holy” is to be “set apart.” But Paul uses it to refer to all believers as those who have been set apart as belonging to God. Far from describing a special class of Christians, all believers, as saints, are to live “holy” lives (for the Old Testament roots of the calling to be “saints,” see Ex. 19:5–6; Lev. 11:44; 20:24–26; Num. 23:9; Deut. 7:6; 14:2; Ps. 147:20).

Hence, just as Paul’s self-designation as an apostle began the battle for his own legitimacy, so too his describing the Corinthians as saints lays the foundation for his subsequent appeals throughout the letter (cf. 2 Cor. 6:13; 6:14–7:1; 7:2–3; 13:1–10). Those who are truly saints will show themselves to be so by responding positively to Paul’s self-defense. For, in reality, it is not Paul’s apostleship that is now on the line, but the faith of those who continue to reject his gospel and its embodiment in his calling to suffer on behalf of God’s people (cf. 5:20–6:2; 10:8; 12:19).

Finally, the play on words that exists in Greek between the normal word for “hello” (charein) and the Christian term for “grace” (charis) is lost in the English translation of Paul’s greeting (cf. Rom. 1:7; 1 Cor. 1:3). At the point where Paul’s hearers would have expected to hear “hello!” (charein), Paul wishes them “grace” (charis). Paul wishes his readers a continuing experience of God’s merciful gifts, from forgiveness and justification to deliverance from the power of sin and eternal life. Paul can do so because Christ’s death on the cross for those who deserve only God’s wrath makes such grace possible.

Accordingly, Paul’s desire that they experience “peace” is not primarily a wish for untroubled circumstances. Rather, he wishes them that comprehensive shalom or well-being that characterizes the lives of believers, individually and corporately, when all is right with God, a possibility also granted by the grace of God through Christ. Paul’s two wishes are therefore inextricably interrelated. “Peace” is an expression of the “grace” of God in the life of the believer. The significance of this grace and the peace of reconciliation that it engenders will be detailed in 5:11–6:2. But in view of the controversy still raging in Corinth, Paul’s otherwise standard wish takes on from the beginning an added sense of poignancy and pain. Only those who accept Paul’s greeting as an expression of his genuine apostolic authority will receive what “God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ” desire for them.

Bridging Contexts

PAUL IS AN “Apostle” and an “apostle.” In applying this text, it is important to keep in mind that there were two types of apostles within the early church. On the one hand, there were the original “twelve Apostles,” who were sent out by Jesus himself during his earthly ministry and were later confirmed in their calling by witnessing the resurrected Christ (cf. Mark 3:14; 6:7, 30; 9:35; 10:32; 11:11; cf. Acts 1:2, 22; 1 Cor. 15:5). As a result, their authority was derived directly from Christ himself. The replacement of Judas with Matthias according to the qualifications reported in Acts 1:12–26 indicates that this class of apostles was fixed both in number and in kind in order to maintain the parallel between the twelve Apostles and the twelve tribes of Israel (cf. Luke 6:13; Acts 8:1; Rev. 21:12–14).

These Apostles of Christ made up the nucleus of the new covenant people of God, establishing the continuity between Israel and the church. But whereas physical lineage determined the twelve patriarchs, the twelve Apostles, like the faithful remnant within the nation of Israel, existed by virtue of Christ’s calling. The role of the twelve Apostles was not to initiate and receive a blessing for their physical descendants, but to represent Christ by providing the authoritative leadership and foundational teaching for the church, God’s “children” (cf. Acts 2:42; 6:2; 15:2, 22–23; 1 Cor. 12:28; Gal. 1:18–19; Eph. 2:20; 3:5; 4:11; 2 Peter 3:2; Jude 17; Rev. 18:20; 21:14). These were “Apostles” with a capital “A.”

On the other hand, there were those “apostles” who may not have seen the risen Christ, but who were sent out by the early churches to preach and administer in Christ’s name. Not all who saw the risen Christ were sent out as apostles (cf. 1 Cor. 15:6), just as not all those sent out as apostles by the churches had seen the risen Christ (cf. 2 Cor. 8:23). Moreover, no matter how much authority these church-commissioned apostles possessed, they were still distinguished from the “twelve Apostles” (e.g., James; cf. 1 Cor. 15:7; Gal. 1:19). In contrast to the latter, their number was not fixed, nor did they carry the same intrinsic authority. Instead, such apostolic missionaries derived their authority from the other apostles and the churches that sent them (see, e.g., Acts 14:4, 14; Rom. 16:7; Phil. 2:25).

Against this backdrop, it is striking that Paul stands in both classes; or better, between both classes. Like the “twelve Apostles,” the resurrected Christ himself commissioned Paul to be an apostle. He was thus an “apostle of Christ Jesus” (1:1). As the last (!) of those commissioned in this way (cf. 1 Cor. 15:8), he too represented Christ directly and authoritatively (see too Rom. 1:1, 5; 1 Cor. 1:1; 9:1; Gal. 1:1; Eph. 1:1; Col. 1:1; 1 Thess. 2:6; 1 Tim. 1:1; 2 Tim. 1:1; Titus 1:1). So like the “twelve,” he too claimed an intrinsic authority. Moreover, just as the “twelve” symbolized and were called primarily to the Jews (and hence had to be with Jesus during his earthly ministry to Israel), Paul, as the “thirteenth” apostle (cf. 1 Cor. 15:9), was called to the Gentiles (Gal. 1:16; 2:7–9; cf. Rom. 11:13; 15:14–22).

Thus, unlike the “twelve Apostles,” Paul had not been with Jesus during his earthly ministry; indeed, prior to his conversion call on the road to Damascus, Paul had been an enemy of the church. He was also different from the “twelve” in that, in addition to his commission by Christ, a local church sent him out (see Acts 13:1–3). This combination of Paul’s calling by the risen Christ to be “the Apostle to the Gentiles” and his commission by the church to be a missionary among the Gentiles made Paul unique within the early church. As we will see, it also caused Paul problems (see 2 Cor. 3:1–6). Those who rejected Paul’s apostolic authority denied his calling by the resurrected Christ, since Paul had not been among the original disciples of Jesus, at the same time decrying his missionary status because of his refusal to provide letters of recommendation from his churches. Nevertheless, Paul’s conviction was firm. He was “an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God,” that is, by the distinct call of God in his life on the road to Damascus (cf. Acts 9:15; 1 Cor. 9:1–2; Gal. 1:1–2, 11–12). His “letter of recommendation” was the very existence itself of his churches (2 Cor. 3:1–3; 10:12–18).

Without this historical context, modern readers often miss the fact that the comparative brevity of Paul’s present greeting bears a poignant message in and of itself. In view of all that had transpired since Paul penned the letter we call “1 Corinthians” (see Introduction), Paul honed his opening words to focus the Corinthians’ attention on the divine origin of his apostleship and on their own identity and responsibility as Christians. In both cases much more is at stake than merely repairing Paul’s reputation. As an Apostle, Paul is conscious that he is speaking with divinely commissioned authority, and that his apostolic ministry, in that it represents Christ, is the appropriate manifestation of this authority in the world. As James Scott puts it:

Paul wants to stress from the beginning that he does not write as a private person who happened to choose a ministerial “profession,” but rather in his official capacity as an apostle, a position to which God himself has appointed Paul. This shows that the apostle does not speak or act in his own authority, but in the commission and authority of the one who sent him.¹²

Hence, to reject Paul is to reject Christ, which, in turn, is to reject God.

From our present distance, it is easy to read right past this brief letter opening without realizing the gravity of the claims Paul is making. The battle over Paul’s legitimacy as an Apostle may seem foreign and overblown to us today, but it reflects the early Christian conviction that the Apostles formed the authoritative foundation of the church. The church was, and still is, built on their proclamation of the gospel, their teaching of the Scriptures, and their preservation of the traditions concerning Jesus (cf. 1 Cor. 12:28; Eph. 2:20; 3:5; 4:11; Rev. 21:14; cf. 2 Peter 3:2; Jude 17).¹³ Hence, it was the apostolate that made the continuation of the early Christian community possible, since the Apostles “became [Christ’s] representatives in the sense that they took his place and thus assumed an authoritative position,” their missionary calling and authority being the essential hallmarks of their identity.¹⁴

The Apostles under the new covenant can therefore best be understood as the equivalents of the old covenant prophets. Hence, as Jan-A. Bühner has pointed out, the meaning of apostle must include both his representative function and his authoritative office, with its accompanying prophetic role of mediating between God and his people.¹⁵ For, as Barnett has warned us:

Some modern scholars have attempted to broaden the definition of “apostle” in such a way [e.g., as “missionary” or “church planter”] that Paul’s distinctive authority is dissipated. Paul strenuously resisted attempts to downgrade him in this way. If Paul’s apostleship meant and means no more than that, then he had and continues to have little real authority in the churches.¹⁶

There is simply no equivalent in the ancient Greco-Roman world at large, or in the modern world of today, to the inspired authority and founding function of the Apostles. With the death of the “thirteen Apostles” (the “twelve” plus Paul), the apostolic age came to an end, as did their authoritative function and inspiration, though the missionary role of the apostles continues on into the present.

The Corinthians are the church of God. The corollary to Paul’s self-understanding as an apostle is his conviction that the Corinthian church is a local gathering of God’s people. In applying 2 Corinthians to our own day, it is therefore paramount to keep in view that this letter is God’s abiding Word for his people, not a general treatise on the nature of religious conflict in the ancient world. At the same time, no one would dispute, of course, that our cultural expressions of the church are vastly different from those of the churches in Corinth in the first century. We cannot be nonchalant in bridging contexts, as if we still lived in the first century.

But apply the text we must, for the continuity between the church in Corinth and our own church does not derive from our common culture. Rather, it is based on our common identity as the people of the same God, who live under the lordship of the same Christ. As the people of God, the church universal is constituted by the grace and peace she has received from God in Jesus as her Messiah and Lord (1:2). In this sense, the church through the ages is not an institution, but a family organically related to the same “Father” (1:2).

In bringing this text into the twenty-first century, therefore, we must keep in mind that although our cultural identities are radically different, the unchanging character of God and the abiding nature of his covenant bind us together with the “saints” in Corinth and Achaia. This is what makes it possible to move from Paul’s context to our own. As Paul put it earlier to the Corinthians, “for us there is but one God, the Father, from whom all things came and for whom we live; and there is but one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom all things came and through whom we live” (1 Cor. 8:6). For this reason, as Paul expressed it in Ephesians 4:4–6, “there is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to one hope when you were called—one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.”

Contemporary Significance

INTERPRETING THE BIBLE in a postmodern world. We must be careful not to make a mountain out of a molehill when applying biblical texts. As profound as Paul’s understanding of his own identity as an apostle and of the identity of the church as God’s people is, this caution is certainly true here. By form and function this text is simply Paul’s opening greeting to his church.¹⁷ Thus, it is important to resist the temptation to use this passage, for example, as a platform from which to expound on everything we know about God, his will, the nature of sanctification, the contours of grace, and the need for peace.

At the same time, we should not underestimate its significance. It is one thing to work hard at understanding the meaning and significance of Paul’s claim to be an “apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God.” It is quite another, however, to submit to such a claim from the past, since it confronts our very identity and central assumptions as “modern” and “postmodern” men and women. In regard to the former, Paul’s claim to speak authoritatively on Christ’s behalf calls into question the “modern” propensity to worship (i.e., to depend on) “scientific progress” as the solution to our problems. Ever since the Enlightenment, the modern mindset has assumed that, since science has succeeded in leading us into a healthier and more prosperous future, people are getting better as well. In the end, therefore, the latest scientific discovery will save us. Under the power of this belief system, progress in technology is trusted to mean progress in moral development. The assumption is that increased control of our environment, more effective medicine, ever-expanding scientific understanding, and amazing new inventions must be the result of superior people thinking higher thoughts. A world filled with personal computers and cell phones must be getting better!

Ironically, at the same time the modern world often believes in a “negative” progress as well. If “good” is getting better, “evil” is also getting worse; just as our potential for weal is taken to be greater than ever before, so too our potential for woe is unmatched by anything the ancients could imagine—and hence understand. We have both the promise of nuclear medicine and the peril of nuclear war. Thus, since the goal of life is seen simply to be survival for the future and pleasure in the present, the stakes appear much higher now and the moral choices more dramatic than ever before. The “good ol’ days” are quaint, and they fill us with nostalgia, but, in the end, they are irrelevant. We are convinced that our problems are much more profound than they were in those “simpler” days, and that the answers they require must be that much more sophisticated, scientific, technological, and “up to date.” In this culture, Paul’s claim to speak for Christ in accordance with God’s will appears small and old, naïve and outdated, a religious relic from the past with little relevance for today.

Such modern assumptions are, of course, open to serious criticism, even by those who share the scientific outlook.¹⁸ But the pride of the modern paradigm has attracted many adherents. Most people in the West presume that our age is superior to the past, both positively and negatively, especially to the prescientific past. As a result, when we encounter a claim to authority like that found in this passage, even Christians have trouble taking it seriously. Our cultural values clash with our confessions. Although as Christians we reject the modernist antisupernaturalism that views the universe as a closed, evolutionary continuum of cause and effect, we are not immune to the pervasive influence of modernism’s faith in the future rather than faith in God.

We may assert Paul’s historical importance, and even assent to his apostolic authority, but we flinch at having to submit to his teaching as binding in all matters of contemporary faith and practice. Sola scriptura may not be a problem in the realm of religion, but the sufficiency of Scripture certainly is when it comes to the realm of “real life”! Can Paul’s teaching really be adequate for the questions posed by the ethical, social, and scientific complexities of today? Do the words of Paul to a cluster of house churches in ancient Corinth really have a word for the age of AIDS and nuclear bombs, of artificial intelligence, cloning, and space travel, of psychoanalysis, nationalism, and religious pluralism?

This, of course, is a modern question. It assumes that Paul can be understood, evaluated, and then accepted or rejected on the basis of our own comparative analysis of his views compared to ours. For many, however, these very assumptions and the questions they pose are themselves outdated, naïve, and irrelevant. Indeed, this skepticism concerning the validity of the “modern” mindset is bringing about a massive cultural shift, at least for the moment. The modern worldview, with its confident belief in discovery and progress, is increasingly being rejected in favor of a postmodern evaluation of history and society.

Under the influence of Kantian idealism and the social science paradigm of cultural relativity, modernism’s search for the Truth is being replaced by postmodernism’s affirmation that all “scientific” and “universal” truths of reason are, in fact, merely local and private interpretations, derived from the socialization and experiences of the “self.” Instead of the “objective” world determining us, our “self” determines the world in which we live, whether that self be the individual, or the individual ethnic group, gender, social class, political party, or religious subculture to which we belong. The modern search for universals is thus replaced with a postmodern celebration of the particular; the modern focus on analyzing the world “out there” gives way to a fixation on articulating one’s own social location. As a result, “truth” is not objective and universal (which is merely a modern myth), but personal and relative.

In other words, postmoderns see no such thing as Truth, only different “truths” from different perspectives and for different purposes. “The” Truth has been replaced with “my truth” or “our truth.” Indeed, for many within the postmodern camp, the claim that something is true in any objective and universal sense is merely a political tool of conquest used by those in power to force their views on others. Moreover, the emphasis on one’s social location as the source of truth has led to questioning whether significant communication between individuals and social groups is even possible. After all, if meaning is not derived from reality but imposed on it in accordance with our own relative frames of reference, then we can never really understand anybody else, since we are the ones who determine what is meant when someone else speaks or writes.

Hence, the only words we can really hear and understand are those we speak to ourselves. Within the field of biblical studies, this has meant that the old maxim that “interpretation without presuppositions is impossible” is being replaced by the new maxim that interpretation is nothing but presuppositions. Unlike the old maxim, which served as a necessary call to evaluate one’s “self” and its interpretations critically, this new “truth” enthrones one’s “self” as the only interpreter that exists.

Where modern critics delve into the text to get something out of it, we will now acknowledge that meaning—to the extent that there is such a thing—does not inhere in a text any more than it might inhere in a dream…. Meaning is what we make of texts, not an ingredient in texts.¹⁹

Many scholars have seriously challenged the encroachment of postmodernism into the realms of theology and exegesis.²⁰ But the false humility of the postmodern paradigm, with its relativism concerning the nature of truth and its skepticism concerning the validity of the interpretive process, has won many converts, even among evangelicals.²¹ Indeed, as a consequence of the growing influence of postmodernism, even those who affirm that Paul’s writings are apostolic begin to wonder if they can ever really understand them, and if so, whether Paul’s truth has any relevance for their own particular social situation, racial identity, gender, or life experience. “Paul has his culture and its truth and we have ours.”

In this regard, modernism and postmodernism end up strange bedfellows when it comes to accepting an authority from the past. For modernism, the advent of science, with its discovery of the “real” world, separates us from the ancient world; for postmodernism, the rise of the self, with its discovery of its own “cultural” world, separates us from everyone else. Thus, whether read from the lofty heights of progress or under the shadow of the self, Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians (like the Bible as a whole) increasingly functions merely as a stimulus to reflect on our own experience. In either case, we protect ourselves by assuming that our perspective is either better than or simply different from Paul’s.

Nevertheless, Paul’s claim to speak authoritatively as Christ’s representative calls into question the postmodern worship of the self as the source of truth just as decisively as it does the modern worship of scientific progress. Paul assumed that his experience and perspectives, even though he was a Diaspora Jew from Cilicia, ought to be understood and accepted as normative by the Corinthians, even though they were predominantly urban Gentiles in a Greek culture. Paul’s understanding of what it means for him to be writing the Corinthians as an apostle flows from his conviction that he speaks for God authoritatively, fully confident that its truth will be understood adequately and that it will resonate in those in whom God is at work.

When preaching and teaching from Paul’s letters, we too must not shrink back from their intrinsic and abiding authority (Paul is an apostle), or from their ability to communicate persuasively to God’s people (Paul writes to the Corinthians as the church). For this reason, the NIV Application Commentary series takes as its working presupposition that Paul’s intention is accessible and that it is relevant and authoritative for today. Because of our confidence in the authority and sufficiency of Scripture, we seek to move from the original meaning of the text to its contemporary significance. Second Corinthians is not presented here merely as an interesting and classic example of first-century Christian piety. It is interpreted and applied as a writing that imparts to us a truth from God that confronts our most cherished ideas and ways of life.

Thus, Paul’s deviations from the standard elements in ancient letter openings do reveal important aspects of his self-understanding, of the nature of his recipients, and of his reasons for writing. In this regard, it is imperative to stress the unique nature of the apostolic office and its authority for the church today. In short, Paul writes with the authority of God himself. As an apostle, he represents not his own will, but the will of God and the character of Christ. To reject Paul is therefore to reject the Messiah who sent him. These fundamental truths, implicit in Paul’s use of the title “apostle,” cannot simply be assumed in our day. They must be recovered in an age in which the natural impulse is to flee from external authority to the autonomy of the self and its experience, whether it be the modern “scientific self” or the postmodern “cultural self.”²²

Clearly, then, to read 2 Corinthians without reflecting on the assumptions of authority with which Paul wrote would be to miss one of the essential points of the text. In studying this letter, we are studying God’s Word, and in studying God’s Word we are obligated to submit to its truth and relevancy for our lives. Paul’s apostolic authority was not the product of his own initiative, cleverness, people skills, political savvy, or education. In 2 Corinthians Paul is not the CEO of a corporation fighting to keep his career or a personnel manager struggling with administering his human resources. Although 2 Corinthians contains a powerful polemic on behalf of Paul’s ministry, the urgency of his self-defense derives from the fact that, as “an apostle of Christ Jesus,” he represents Christ himself rather than his own personal interests. Paul is not on an ego-trip. He is defending himself so vehemently not for the sake of his own career or reputation, but for the sake of the truth of the gospel that he preaches and embodies—and hence for the sake of the eternal welfare of the Corinthians (cf. 5:20–6:2; 10:8; 12:19; 13:9–10).

The call to be holy. Our responsibility to submit to Paul’s teaching derives from our identity as part of the church of God. As members of God’s people, we too are “saints,” “sanctified in Christ Jesus” by the Spirit as “holy” (1 Cor. 1:2; cf. Acts 20:32; 26:18; Rom. 15:16). In Greek, the word for “holy” (hagios) and the verb “to sanctify” (hagiazo; i.e., to make holy) are part of the same family. To be a saint means that God has already made us his own by his redeeming grace (cf. 2 Cor. 5:16–19), that he has graciously begun the process of transforming us into his own image (cf. 3:18), and, by that same grace, that he will bring us into his presence for all eternity (cf. 4:13–5:18, esp. 4:13–15).

Paul can consequently speak of the Corinthian believers as already having been sanctified, that is, made holy, while at the same time being called to become holy (1 Cor. 1:2; 6:11). To be called a “saint” is not to say something about our own intrinsic character, but to declare what the love and power of the God who “sanctifies” has done and is doing for us (cf. Rom. 8:29; 2 Cor. 5:17; Eph. 1:4; 5:26–27; Phil. 1:6; 1 Thess. 4:3–7). Hence, since it reflects the reality of having been called, forgiven, redeemed, and empowered by Christ, the term saints (Gk. hagioi) becomes one of the most common designations for God’s people in the New Testament.²³ Addressed to saints, Paul’s opening wish for his readers retains its power through the ages as it reminds us that what we ultimately need in life to be profoundly happy is not more scientific discoveries or celebrations of the self, but an increasing experience of God’s grace and peace in every area of our lives. It was this simple but profound awareness that led Paul to labor on behalf of the church of God as “an apostle of Christ Jesus.”