The Glory of Christ in Fragile Lives

The gospel shines most clearly when God displays the glory of Christ through the weakness of his people.

Therefore, having this ministry by the mercy of God, we do not lose heart. But we have renounced disgraceful, underhanded ways. We refuse to practice cunning or to tamper with God’s word, but by the open statement of the truth we would commend ourselves to everyone’s conscience in the sight of God. And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing. In their case the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. For what we proclaim is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, with ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you. (2 Corinthians 4:1-12)

Afflicted but Not Crushed

Paul writes, “We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8).

At first glance, this sounds paradoxical. How can someone be afflicted yet not crushed, struck down yet not destroyed? And yet, this has been the lived reality of Christians throughout the history of the church. I suspect you’ve felt it too. Serving in the kingdom of God is filled with joy, encouragement, and fruit, but just as often it comes mingled with trials, setbacks, and discouragements. It seems we cannot have the wheat without the tares.

Consider Jonathan Edwards. In Northampton, Massachusetts, a small town of about a thousand people, three hundred were converted to Christ under his preaching in less than six months. But the same congregation that had once flourished under his ministry eventually dismissed him. Why? Because Edwards insisted that only true believers should partake in the Lord’s Supper. He stood firm on Scripture, and they rejected him for it.

Around the same time, George Whitefield preached to thousands in England and America. Multitudes came to faith. Yet his success did not silence opposition. Crowds sometimes hurled rotten vegetables, stones, and even dead animals at him as he proclaimed the gospel in open fields.

A few years later, Charles Simeon became pastor of Holy Trinity Church in Cambridge, but many in the congregation resented his appointment. They refused to attend, locked up their pews so no one else could sit in them, and opposed him for a decade. Still, God sustained Simeon, and he remained their pastor for over fifty years.

Faithful ministry often brings resistance. To be afflicted but not crushed, perplexed but not in despair, is not unusual; it is the Christian life.

Paul’s Painful History with Corinth

Second Corinthians is unlike Paul’s other letters. Romans, Galatians, Ephesians—those are carefully structured and systematic. But here Paul writes from a different place. This is a deeply personal letter, raw at points and even heartbreaking. Once we trace his story with the Corinthians, we see why.

The story begins in Acts 18. When Paul first arrived in Corinth, he followed his usual pattern. He went to the synagogue. Week after week, he preached, reasoning from the Scriptures that the long-awaited Messiah had already come. He testified to the Jews that Jesus was the Christ (Acts 18:5).

But they would not listen. Luke tells us, “They opposed and reviled him” (Acts 18:6). So Paul left the synagogue and began ministering to Gentiles, literally next door. To the frustration of many Jews, even the synagogue ruler, Crispus, believed in the Lord along with his household (Acts 18:8). Many other Corinthians believed and were baptized as well. Despite opposition, Paul’s ministry bore immediate fruit.

Yet, in the midst of this apparent success, the Lord spoke to him in a vision:

Do not be afraid, but go on speaking and do not be silent, for I am with you, and no one will attack you to harm you, for I have many in this city who are my people. (Acts 18:10)

Why would Paul need such encouragement if ministry was going so well? Because even with conversions multiplying, the threat of hostility still loomed large. Paul was tempted to leave Corinth, so God reassured him, “Do not be afraid. I am with you.”

Paul stayed. In fact, he remained there a year and a half, longer than he had stayed with any church up to that point (Acts 18:11). And we can imagine why. Paul loved these people. He wept over the Ephesians (Acts 20:31), cherished the Thessalonians like a nursing mother (1 Thessalonians 2:7–8), yearned for the Philippians “with the affection of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:8), and told the Corinthians, “I became your father in Christ Jesus through the gospel” (1 Corinthians 4:15).

To Corinth, he wrote, “I will most gladly spend and be spent for your souls” (2 Corinthians 12:15). Paul did not merely labor among them; he poured himself out like a father, like a mother, like a servant. He worked with his own hands to support himself so no one could question his motives (1 Thessalonians 2:3–9).

In short, Paul loved the Corinthians deeply, which is what makes the next part of the story so painful.

Division, Scandal, and Tears

Despite Paul’s deep love for the Corinthians, the relationship soon fractured. Less than two years after his extended stay in Corinth, troubling reports began to reach him. He had warned them not to mingle with the world (1 Corinthians 5:11). Yet news came that the church was torn apart: factions dividing the congregation, scandalous sin tolerated, brothers dragging one another into court, even abuses at the Lord’s Supper. The church was beginning to look more like the world than the bride of Christ.

Paul sent Timothy, then Titus, to help. Both returned with discouraging reports. So Paul himself made a personal visit, which he later described as a “painful visit” (2 Corinthians 2:1). There, he confronted opposition directly, and to his grief, no one stood by him.

Back in Ephesus, Paul wrote another letter, his third, now lost to us. He said, “I wrote to you out of much affliction and anguish of heart and with many tears, not to cause you pain but to let you know the abundant love that I have for you” (2 Corinthians 2:4). Later, he reflected:

For even if I made you grieve with my letter, I do not regret it—though I did regret it, for I see that that letter grieved you, though only for a while. As it is, I rejoice, not because you were grieved, but because you were grieved into repenting. (2 Corinthians 7:8–9)

It was a severe letter, but like a parent disciplining a child, Paul wrote out of love. The grief it caused eventually produced repentance.

But just as reconciliation seemed possible, new teachers arrived in Corinth. Paul mockingly called them “super-apostles” (2 Corinthians 11:5). In truth, they were “false apostles, deceitful workmen, disguising themselves as apostles of Christ” (2 Corinthians 11:13). They proclaimed “another Jesus” and a “different gospel” (2 Corinthians 11:4). Worst of all, Paul’s beloved Corinthians believed them.

For Paul, this was not merely an attack on his reputation. These impostors undermined his apostleship to undermine his message. If the Corinthians lost confidence in him, they risked losing confidence in the gospel itself.

So Paul wrote again. This time with urgency, rawness, and open tears. He would defend his ministry, not to preserve his name, but to preserve their faith in Christ.

The Attacks of the “Super-Apostles”

What exactly did these so-called “super-apostles” say to discredit Paul? Reading between the lines of 2 Corinthians, we can trace at least six accusations.

1. He was unimpressive.

They mocked his appearance and speech. Paul himself admitted he was not eloquent (1 Corinthians 2:1). Tradition suggests he was short, balding, scarred from beatings. He was hardly the kind of figure to command admiration.

2. He wasn’t a true apostle.

They questioned his authority altogether. Paul answered, “The signs of a true apostle were performed among you with utmost patience, with signs and wonders and mighty works” (2 Corinthians 12:12).

3. He refused financial support.

The false teachers spun this as proof he wasn’t genuine. Paul replied with biting irony: “Did I commit a sin in humbling myself so that you might be exalted, because I preached God’s gospel to you free of charge?” (2 Corinthians 11:7).

4. He was unreliable.

Because he once changed his travel plans, they labeled him fickle (2 Corinthians 1:15–20).

5. He lacked spiritual visions.

So Paul reluctantly described his vision of heaven (2 Corinthians 12:1–4). But even then, he downplayed it, refusing to boast.

6. He wasn’t Jewish enough.

They flaunted their pedigree. Paul countered, “Are they Hebrews? So am I. Are they Israelites? So am I. Are they offspring of Abraham? So am I” (2 Corinthians 11:22). Then he listed not his heritage but his sufferings—imprisonments, beatings, near-death experiences—as proof of his faithfulness (2 Corinthians 11:23).

Notice Paul’s tone. He inserts disclaimers like “I am speaking as a fool” and “I am talking like a madman” (2 Corinthians 11:21, 23). He despised boasting, even when forced into it. He was not trying to elevate himself. He only defended his ministry so that the Corinthians would not abandon the message of Christ.

As he reminded them, “We are ambassadors for Christ” (2 Corinthians 5:20). To reject Paul was to risk rejecting the gospel he carried. That’s why this letter feels so urgent, so vulnerable. Paul lays bare his tears and scars, pleading with his spiritual children not to be lured away by polished impostors with another gospel.

By the Mercy of God

With all that history in mind, Paul’s words take on deeper weight:

Therefore, having this ministry by the mercy of God, we do not lose heart. (2 Corinthians 4:1)

He had every reason to lose heart. Betrayal, slander, rejection—most would have walked away long before. But Paul endured because he never forgot how he received his ministry. It was mercy.

Do you remember who Paul was before Christ found him? Acts 9 says,

Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest and asked him for letters … so that if he found any belonging to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem. (Acts 9:1–2)

He was a violent persecutor, determined to eradicate Christianity. What changed him? The sheer mercy of God. Christ confronted him, not with wrath but with grace.

I am Jesus whom you are persecuting. But rise … for I have appeared to you for this purpose, to appoint you as a servant and witness … to whom I am sending you to open their eyes, so that they may turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God. (Acts 26:15–18)

Paul knew he had been spared judgment and entrusted with the gospel solely by mercy. He deserved condemnation. Instead, he was sent as an ambassador of reconciliation. That memory kept him from despair.

Because his ministry was given by mercy, he refused to twist it for personal gain. “We have renounced disgraceful, underhanded ways,” he wrote. “We refuse to practice cunning or to tamper with God’s word” (2 Corinthians 4:2). Others may have built platforms by compromise. Paul would rather suffer than distort the message. A diluted gospel might win applause, but it could not save.

So he preached plainly, truthfully, openly, trusting God to use the message as he willed. Some would not believe, but their rejection was not because Paul lacked polish. “The god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers” (2 Corinthians 4:4). Paul’s task was not to impress but to proclaim Christ.

Not Ourselves, but Christ

Paul makes his mission plain:

For what we proclaim is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, with ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. (2 Corinthians 4:5)

This was a direct rebuke to the “super-apostles.” They had built their credibility on personality, eloquence, and outward impressiveness. But Paul insisted the gospel is not about the messenger. It is about Christ. He was not center stage; he was a servant.

False teachers, then and now, often hook people first with charisma. They dazzle with their gifts, highlight the flaws of their opponents, and then slowly bend the truth until followers are ensnared. History is filled with such stories—leaders who made themselves indispensable, and entire crowds who followed them not to Christ but to destruction.

But Paul refused to play that game. He would not draw disciples after himself. His only aim was to point beyond himself to the crucified and risen Lord. “I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Corinthians 2:2).

That’s why he could endure rejection without quitting. If the gospel did not take root, it wasn’t because he lacked polish or failed to market himself well enough. It was because “the god of this world” had blinded unbelievers (2 Corinthians 4:4). His calling was not to remove blindness—that was God’s work—but to proclaim light.

So he continued, confident in the God who once said, “Let light shine out of darkness.” That same God had shone in Paul’s heart “to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:6). And the God who opened his blind eyes would open others still.

Treasure in Jars of Clay

Paul continues,

But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. (2 Corinthians 4:7)

When critics called him weak, unimpressive, scarred, or even pitiful, Paul didn’t argue. He agreed. He was nothing more than a fragile clay jar. But that was precisely the point. The power of the gospel is not meant to magnify the container, but the treasure inside.

Paul never forgot who he was apart from grace: “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost” (1 Timothy 1:15). He was a persecutor of Christ, deserving only wrath. Yet Christ showed him mercy so that others might see “his perfect patience as an example to those who were to believe in him for eternal life” (1 Timothy 1:16). The jar was worthless, but the treasure—Christ himself—was priceless.

Think of the Dead Sea Scrolls. In the 1940s, a shepherd stumbled upon ancient clay jars in a cave near the West Bank. The vessels themselves were brittle and cheap, but inside lay the oldest surviving manuscripts of the Old Testament, a priceless treasure hidden in ordinary containers.

That’s Paul’s picture. God places the treasure of the gospel in frail, unimpressive people so that his power, not ours, is on display.

And what does life in these jars of clay look like?

We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. (2 Corinthians 4:8–10)

Our weakness mirrors Christ’s own weakness on the cross. Our afflictions, our frailty, our very mortality become the canvas upon which God paints resurrection life. “So death is at work in us,” Paul says, “but life in you” (2 Corinthians 4:12). Through the cracks of fragile clay vessels, the light of Christ shines.

Do Not Lose Heart

We are weak jars of clay, but Christ himself took on weakness, too. When we suffer, when we are pressed and perplexed, struck down yet not destroyed, we display Christ’s own death, and in that display, others see life. The fruit of ministry does not come from our impressiveness but from God’s power working through frailty.

So Paul urges us not to lose heart. Affliction is real, but it is not final. Weakness is real, but it is not ultimate. The same God who spoke light into the darkness of creation now shines the light of Christ into human hearts. And he delights to use fragile jars like us so that his glory, not ours, is unmistakable.

That means your labor is not wasted, even when the fruit seems small. It means your service is not in vain, even when resisted. God may say to you, as he once said to Paul in Corinth, “I have many in this city who are my people” (Acts 18:10). Keep speaking. Keep serving. Keep shining the light of Christ.

If you are reading this and have never tasted the mercy of God, look closely. On the surface, Christians may look like nothing but clay pots—ordinary, even unimpressive—but inside is treasure, not because of us, but because of Christ in us. If you look past the cracks, you may see the light of “the gospel of the glory of Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:4).

Paul puts it plainly:

For what we proclaim is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord. (2 Corinthians 4:5)

We are weak, yes. We suffer, yes. But death at work in us can mean life in you (2 Corinthians 4:12). Don’t stop at the jar. Look through it. See the treasure of Christ. Find in him the mercy of God.