NOTES for Co2 2:1-17

Paul says that the letter he had written earlier, harsh in many respects, was connected with the "great distress" that seized him at the thought of the Corinthian brothers and of the situation in the Corinthian church.

Judging by some passages from First Corinthians, one may think that the spiritual situation there was indeed quite serious: the apostle had to remind the Corinthians of fundamental things connected with Christianity and with Christian life, things that, as it appears, they had not exactly forgotten, but that had moved into the background, obscured by things more "interesting" and "urgent." But the severity of the apostle's words was not aimed at accusing someone or forcing him to leave the church; that would only have served Satan's purposes. Rather, one should speak of the trial that Paul's letter became for the Corinthian church, a trial of obedience.

And the point here, of course, is not that the apostle demanded unconditional submission to himself. Such a thing was practically unthinkable in the early Christian Church; formal discipline never came to the foreground there. The issue was the attitude personally toward Paul and toward his authority in matters of spiritual life. Obedience in this case turns into the ability to listen and the readiness to hear.

Judging by everything said in First Corinthians, the Corinthian church was large, active, and, as we would say today, "progressive" and "advanced": the people there were educated, inclined to theological disputes, and critical of traditions. In such a community everyone feels more or less self-sufficient, and it is very difficult for people of this sort to hear someone else, especially someone from outside, even if respected and authoritative. And accepting the rightness of another person's opinion is still harder.

The first natural reaction in such a case is usually rejection, sometimes mild, sometimes sharp, but always decisive and unambiguous. And the fact that the apostle's words nevertheless had an effect means that this first reaction was overcome. The Corinthian church heard the apostle and listened to his words. Paul evaluates this state of affairs as a spiritual victory for the Corinthian Christians, a victory first of all over themselves, over their own nature. A victory in which he sincerely rejoices, not because he was heard, but because it meant the triumph of the Kingdom in the church community of Corinth.

Readiness to forgive belonged to those seeking a righteous life even in pre-Christian times. Then the need for forgiveness was explained by the features of the path of righteousness itself. After all, it was about nothing other than one's attitude toward one's neighbor, and the chief condition of righteousness, love for God and love for one's neighbor as for oneself, was known even before the Savior came.

And the point, of course, was not only one's neighbor, but oneself as well: it was impossible to preserve inner spiritual wholeness while nourishing hatred for another person. Such hatred in itself slowly but steadily corroded the spiritual core on which a person's whole life rests, both inward and outward. Now, after Christ's coming, readiness to forgive has become even more important.

Before, the issue was the life of an individual person and his spiritual path; now the issue is the life of the Kingdom. It would seem that the life of the Kingdom depends little on the spiritual state of one individual person. But this is true only when that person has no relation to the Kingdom. If, however, we are speaking of Christians, who are by definition inhabitants of the Kingdom, the situation looks completely different.

For the Kingdom, the spiritual state of each of its inhabitants is absolutely important. After all, the Kingdom is precisely relationships; relationships make up its structure. People's relationships with God and with Christ, their relationships with one another, and finally Christ's own relationship with His heavenly Father as the chief relationship of the Kingdom, all of these make the Kingdom what it is before God and before people.

And here, of course, the spiritual state of each person becomes absolutely important and significant. Unwillingness to forgive simply destroys the Kingdom. Of course, this does not mean that every refusal to forgive means the end of the Kingdom. But every such refusal also means a "no" to the Savior Himself, just as every act of forgiveness means readiness to stand beside Him. That is why such a refusal separates the one who refuses from the fullness of the life of the Kingdom of God. And it becomes a loss. A loss that does not destroy the Kingdom, but proves to be as absolutely significant for it as every person saved is absolutely significant for it.

For two thousand years of the Christian history many were said and written about forgiveness. And in pre-Christians times, even in the gentile world, the capacity and the will to forgive were a sign of righteousness. The same thing, even in a higher degree, concerns righteousness as understood it the authors of the biblical books: without forgiveness it is inconceivable, and that was known in the people of God for a long time before the coming of Christ. But there is all the same in the words of the apostle something that in pre-Christians times was still inconceivable, so inconceivable that it even came to speak about nothing like that. "to whom I forgave it, for your sakes forgave I it in the person of Christ". Of course, before the coming of Christ such thing could not be.

And it is of course about not only because the risen Christ becomes the witness of any act of forgiveness, as the moment of the restoration of these relationships, without which the life of the Kingdom is impossible. The words of the apostle suppose something much bigger: it is about the Church, about the body of Christ, its wholeness and integrity. Indeed, it is impossible to retain and assure the unity and the integrity of the body of Christ by any external means.

The laws of the non transformed world admit the existence of human communities, members of which are bound by common opinions or interests, not forming in more a spiritual unity. However in the Kingdom, such kind of communities are impossible, and especially the Church, the body of Christ cannot exist under such form. Here it is in particular the spiritual component of any relationship that comes to the fore. And if someone has something against one of his neighbors, something that can bind the both within the framework of the not transformed world, he will not enter the Kingdom.

Whatever are their relations in the not transformed world, no matter how depth and fertile they may be, without elimination of what prevents these people on a spiritual level, on the level of personal relationships, which is not conditioned by anything earthly, they will not become part of the Kingdom. And on the level of personal relationships the problem is solved only in the act of forgiveness. That is probably why Paul speaks about the intrigues of satan, which are destroyed by forgiveness: indeed, it is in particular the mutual non-forgiveness that separates people from the Kingdom. And the apostle reminds it to the addressees of his message. Remind so that in daily vanity they do not forget the main thing. Do not lose the Kingdom.

Continuing the theme of witness, Paul says of the word of God that for some it proves life-giving, and for others deadly (v. 16). These words recall others from the letter to the Romans, where the apostle says the same thing about the Torah, which, according to Paul's testimony, both gives life and kills at the same time (Rom. 7:7-13). There is nothing surprising here: Paul looks at the Torah not simply as a law once given by God and then formally carried out, but as the living word of God, which acts on the soul and heart of a person every time that person wants to follow the law given by God by keeping the commandments. Understood this way, the Torah proves inseparable from the word of God and from the Kingdom. That is why it is impossible to ignore it, just as it is impossible to ignore God's revelation and the Kingdom itself: both require self-definition from a person, a clear and unambiguous "yes" or "no," becoming, depending on the answer given, either a source of life or the beginning of a path leading to death.

But to bear witness in such a way that the reality of God's word and the reality of the Kingdom become obvious to those around is possible only when the witness himself preaches "from God, before God, in Christ" (v. 17). What he says must be revealed by God, and revealed not to someone else from whom the witness might have heard what he testifies about, but experienced by him himself as his own revelation. Testimony itself is possible only in the presence of God, which confirms the witness's words, assuring those who are ready to hear God but for whom the arguments of human wisdom alone are no longer enough. And finally, the witness must live one life with the risen Christ, the life of that Kingdom about which and from which he bears witness. After all, the main task of Christ's witness is to let those who listen to him feel what the Kingdom is and what God's breath is. And if he succeeds in this, the witness can consider his task fulfilled. Everything further depends on the choice each person makes for himself.

In today's reading, the apostle Paul offers us a kind of verbal icon. It may be compared with Isaiah's vision in the Temple in Jerusalem or with the images of the Apocalypse. This icon reveals the God to Whom we offer thanksgiving. Thanksgiving makes us not merely spectators but participants in what is depicted—such is the law of spiritual life.

The apostle then speaks of God in action, of the One Who said of Himself: “I brought you out of Egypt with a strong hand and an outstretched arm.” His action is limited by no conditions; He always leads us in triumph in Christ. But here is the wonder: what kind of triumph is meant? Triumph in Christ turns out to be God's spreading the fragrance of the knowledge of Himself, like the blowing of a gentle breeze revealed to the prophet Elijah.

“The fragrance of the knowledge of God” is a somewhat refined expression, for the Greek original simply says “the smell of the knowledge of Him.” Who does not remember the children's tales in which it was said that “it smells of Rus'”? A smell is a perceptible sign of the presence of something invisible. God is invisible, but the people come to know Him, and this wafts in the air, making His presence perceptible.

These words recall the traditional descriptions of sacrifices in the Book of Leviticus, where they are usually called “an aroma pleasing to Yahweh.” The apostle is undoubtedly alluding to the relevant texts of the Torah when he compares his witness to a sacrifice. This is hardly surprising: every sacrifice was always, first and foremost, a form of communion with God that sanctified the person who came to the altar and participated in the sacrificial meal. It was a way for a person to partake of God's presence abiding at the altar. The “effectiveness” of the sacrifice depended on the person's openness and readiness to change and be sanctified.

The same is true of witness. Paul bore witness to the Kingdom while himself being one of its inhabitants and living its life. To bear witness means to carry this life onward and open it to those to whom one testifies. As a person listens to a true witness of Christ, they find themselves, as it were, at the altar, in God's presence, feeling upon themselves the breath of the Kingdom by whose life that witness lives.

And as always in God's presence, the person faces a choice: to accept or reject, to say “yes” or “no” to God. Everything thereafter depends on the answer. For the “aroma,” the “fragrance” of which the apostle speaks contains not only the breath of the Kingdom but also the person's response. If the response is negative, the breath of the Kingdom becomes deadly to that person: it destroys the one who does not want its life. But if a person says “yes” to God, the breath of the Kingdom opens the entire fullness of life to them. It cannot be otherwise with a true witness, for, as the apostle says, he does not peddle the word but carries it in all its fullness. Here it is no longer the person who decides how much of God they need; God comes to the person and takes them wholly to Himself. Or leaves them, if the person does not want this—but wholly so as well.