The Lost Letter of Timothy
Even Paul would have needed a friend
Christina Rosetti’s gentle, pleading hymn “None Other Lamb” reminds us that for the Christian there is apart from Christ
. . . none other hiding place from guilt and shame,
none beside thee!
We get the guilt side of this. Whether we learned it in childhood, or later in life, we believe that “Jesus died for our sins.” We are justified, declared innocent. This is an objective reality, solid, theologically airtight. We fear no condemnation because of the cross.
But shame? Oh, how we struggle to lose the shame.
We hear in the gospel that we are the beloved of God, but we indulge a toxic reminiscence that overshadows whatever joy our justification may bring. We grasp hold of a gospel that is meant to unleash joy. But this joy is too often overpowered by our shame. Memories of failures past and present work their way under our skin and lodge there, festering and refusing to be dislodged.
Kind of like a thorn.
In the flesh.
Paul uses this painful metaphor to speak of what he leaves unspoken. Sure, his thorn could refer to some physical affliction, or it could refer to persecution. But Paul was not super-human. The most impactful satanic harassment will be that which eats away at our confidence and joy. No matter how clear-headed and inspired his preaching, he was still a man prone to all the struggles common to us all. Quite possibly that included the shame of his past.
And so Paul, too, would need others to preach to him what he preached to them. Possibly the great writer of letters received letters in return, letters from friends, letters meant to bring encouragement to his heart.
Letters like this one:
To, Paul, my dear father in the faith,
from your son, Timothy,
Grace and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ.
I think of you always with deep affection and intercede for you frequently, particularly on behalf of the grace you so generously preach to others and so desperately need for yourself.
I was greatly helped by your most recent correspondence. You have clarified my role here and have deepened my courage. My youth and background continue to be used against me. But my inadequacy pales and my fears retreat when Christ is in view. I will continue to pray for you as you continue to pray for me, that he alone will fill our vision.
I regret that I cannot come to you now. I hope God will in time enable me to do so, that I might bring encouragement to you in person. But now, dear father in the faith, hear my words, even at this distance.
When you speak of what we both know and cannot ever forget, that you once hunted the church down like beasts and had followers of Jesus killed, it does magnify in powerful ways the grace of Christ to save sinners. How marvelous and unsearchable are the riches of that grace. If you he has saved, none are beyond his reach.
But as you name yourself the chief of sinners, is this the old ghost of your past haunting you? I know well this thorn of yours, and I wish to help you dislodge it. You are delivered from your bondage to sin, cleared unquestionably of its guilt. Know that our savior has born the shame of that sin as well. You know that, but your speaking of it causes me to wonder if, in the quietness of your heart you nurse that shame as if it makes you an outcast.
I entreat you once again, dear father whom I love with all the affection of Christ, that you hear from me the words that I and others have often heard from you. The grace of God is fully sufficient for you. His power is made perfect especially in your weakness. If all the world were now against you, as you feel they must be, you are nevertheless eternally his, unchangeably united to him. You are loved by him, adopted by him, welcomed by him. Your past no longer lives. Christ is now your life. The one who died for you is at work in you and is transforming you into his likeness. Your past does not matter. He loves you and he will not let you go.
Put aside whatever despair remains. There is no cause for it. Your hope is in him whose blood has washed you and whose Spirit has sealed you.
And so, my dear father in the faith - as you have most frequently upheld me by your gospel, I encourage you to be upheld by this same gospel.
Shame is a thorny reality. It refuses to be dislodged, and it harasses us relentlessly. But there is a salve that eases the pain and it is that you, Christian, have
. . . none other hiding place from guilt and shame,
none beside thee!
From 2 Corinthians 12:7.
Commentators vary widely on what Paul’s “thorn in the flesh” really was. He may have chosen a metaphor to conglomerate many afflictions, or he may have chosen to use a metaphor so that he could keep private that which really ate at him. Philip Hughes is no doubt correct in suggesting that the very ambiguity lends the metaphor to something of a universal applicability.
That said, I, like most other commentators, am certain I’m correct.
You hit the nail on the head. I’m not afraid of dying. Beheading by a terrorist in Africa, dying from malaria, crushed by a matatu, falling from an airplane (well, maybe that) but I’m most afraid of being ashamed. To others. To myself. To God. I understand why the first sin brought shame and attempted coverup. I do that.