The Amazing New Testament: the Weight of Glory
I love to imagine the apostle Paul, pacing the floor, thinking out loud, the secretary trying to jot it all down… Then Paul would come up with something like 2 Corinthians 4:7-5:10 – and the secretary must have nearly fainted, dropping his pen, moved, stunned by the eloquence, the wisdom. “We have this treasure in earthen vessels” (clay pots would be more literal!). “We are afflicted, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.” “We carry in our bodies the death of Jesus, so his life may be manifested in our bodies.” “So we do not lose heart. For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.”
“We know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, but eternal in the heavens… Here we groan… we sigh with anxiety… But we are always of good courage.” Wow. Paul, could you repeat that? Slowly? Again? You could spend a lifetime pondering each phrase.
The treasure of God’s great goodness and mercy resides in simple everyday “clay pots,” usable but breakable. The pains, physical and emotional that we bear? These can be felt as one with the sufferings of Jesus – his, and his with us. And what if we could always recall that what we suffer is a “slight momentary affliction”? Can we trust this to be true? We are being prepped for “an eternal weight of glory.” God’s “glory” is God’s very presence, overwhelming and yet tender, larger than the universe and yet as close as my hand pressed to my forehead.
This “glory” of God is weighty – or as the Greek baros may imply, “abundance.” No shortages with God. Shortages we have a-plenty – but God’s power is manifest in our weakness. Ben Witherington beautifully portrayed Paul’s mood: “When he empties himself or is emptied of all but Christ, then indeed he becomes a true and open vessel, a true conduit of power, light, and life in Christ.” Sure, my body, my whole life seems like a flimsy pup tent. But God is building something sturdy for me, and in me. So hopeful.
On June 8, 1941, at Oxford University, in the darkest days of World War II, C.S. Lewis preached one of history’s great sermons called “The Weight of Glory,” based on this passage. He opened by noting that many think the greatest Christian virtue is “unselfishness”; but really it should be “love,” not a negative but a positive. Sometimes we think Christianity is like a cold water spray to dampen our unwieldy desires – but Lewis is right: our problem is not that our desires are too strong; they are too weak. “We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and ambition and money when infinite joy is offered to us.” God’s promises to us are extravagant, bountiful, sumptuous.
Lewis devotes most of his time to the Bible’s idea of “glory” – which can mean “fame,” or “luminosity.” First: “fame,” or “appreciation.” God appreciates, notices, finds glory in us. I recall my children’s early days of swimming. Sarah would jump into the pool, and when she would surface, I had best be watching, for she looked to me to say “Yay! Wow!” – to give her some glory. God notices and so loves who we are and how we are.
But luminosity? Lewis picks up on an oft-ignored Bible idea – that in eternity we will shine like the sun. Our destiny, our eternal life, is not the endless continuation of the life we know now. No. We will be transformed. We will be like God. We will be “divinized.” This is the “weight of glory,” which for now is the “treasure in earthen vessels.” We, like the glorious God, will shine.
And so will the other guy. I so admire Lewis’s thoughts here: “The load, or weight of my neighbor’s glory should be laid on my back, a load so heavy that only humility can carry it… It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which you would be strong tempted to worship… There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal.”
Hard, but so very important to recall, day by day, hour by hour. The people you encounter, those you pass on the street, with whom you work or live: no mere mortals, no one is ordinary. We are all possible gods and goddesses – as God’s holy intention is to make us like God. And so we treat ourselves, and one another, so very differently, don’t we?
Lewis helps me explore the profound depth of Paul’s clearly inspired words. There is always more, so much more. This is the wonder of Scripture. This is the weight of the glory that is ours, albeit in our clay pots, these earthen vessels. And so we have good cause not to lose heart, but to be of great courage.