A Year Held in His Hands| A New Year Sermon
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When I read this chapter, it feels like Paul is breathing again. Like after crying hard for too long, he finally catches his breath. It’s tender now. His words carry both pain and peace. The tone changes from correction to comfort, from sternness to soft gratitude. It’s a letter soaked in emotion — relief, joy, even tears.
Paul begins with promises. Not fear. Not guilt. Promises.
Because that’s the base of our faith — not what we do first, but what He already said.
We’re His children. We belong to Him. He lives in us.
And Paul says, since this is true, let’s stay clean.
But not like trying to impress God — it’s more like… love responding to love.
When you love someone deeply, you want to keep your heart pure for them. You don’t want anything between you.
He says, “everything that contaminates body and spirit.” Sometimes the dirt is visible — like sins we all see. But sometimes, it’s invisible — pride, bitterness, jealousy.
That’s the harder kind to wash off.
“Perfecting holiness” — it’s not about being flawless today. It’s walking with Him daily, falling, learning, rising again.
Holiness is not a sprint; it’s a slow dance with grace.
This one aches a little. You can almost hear Paul’s voice tremble.
“Make room for us…” he says, not commanding, just pleading.
There had been a wall between him and the Corinthians — misunderstandings, false teachers, wounded feelings.
And now, Paul just wants their hearts open again.
He reminds them, “We didn’t wrong you.”
It’s that pain when people you love believe lies about you. It hurts. But Paul doesn’t harden his heart — he still reaches out.
He doesn’t demand respect. He asks for relationship.
That’s humility. That’s love.
These verses show how deep Paul’s love goes. He’s not angry anymore. He’s explaining.
He’s saying, I never meant to shame you; I meant to show I care.
You know that moment after a fight when someone says, “I was harsh, but only because I care about you”?
That’s what this feels like.
“I would live or die with you.” That’s loyalty. That’s friendship that survives storms.
Paul then says he’s proud and joyful, even in troubles.
That’s wild, isn’t it? He’s weary, rejected by some, persecuted, yet full of joy.
That’s what happens when love wins over bitterness. You hurt, yes, but you don’t stop loving.
I love this part. It’s so human.
Paul — the mighty apostle — says he had no rest.
He was afraid. Worried. Exhausted.
He says, “conflicts outside, fears within.” That’s how life feels sometimes — storms everywhere, and anxiety whispering inside your chest.
But then: “But God…”
Those two words change everything.
“But God, who comforts the downcast…”
That’s the kind of God I know. He doesn’t scold the weary; He sits beside them.
And the way He comforted Paul? Through Titus.
Not through lightning from heaven. Just a friend walking in with good news.
Sometimes the most spiritual thing in your life is a faithful friend showing up when you need one.
That’s God’s love wearing human skin.
Titus brought joy — not just by being there, but by what he said.
He told Paul that the Corinthians still loved him, that they regretted their distance, that their hearts turned back.
Imagine Paul reading that. Tears, probably. Relief washing over his heart.
He says, “I am happy not because you were made sorry, but because your sorrow led you to repentance.”
That line right there — that’s the heart of this chapter.
Paul wasn’t happy they felt bad. He was happy they changed.
Sometimes we mistake guilt for repentance, but they’re not the same.
Guilt just says “I’m awful.”
Repentance says “God is merciful — I’m coming home.”
This is one of those verses that hits deep.
You can cry over your mistakes, but it’s where those tears lead that matters.
Worldly sorrow just keeps you down. It whispers, “You’ll never change.”
Godly sorrow brings you to the cross, and there you find forgiveness and newness.
I’ve been there before — feeling crushed by my own failures. But then, somewhere in that dark, God’s whisper came: “I still love you.”
And suddenly the same tears that hurt started healing me.
That’s the difference. Godly sorrow doesn’t end in shame. It ends in grace.
Paul celebrates what came after their repentance.
Sincerity. Eagerness. Zeal. Justice. Love.
Repentance always bears fruit — not perfection, but progress.
You can see it in people who’ve truly turned back to God — their eyes shine differently. Their love becomes deeper, their words gentler.
It’s not about saying sorry once; it’s about living differently after.
Paul explains his reason again — he didn’t write his tough letter to pick sides or to embarrass anyone.
He wrote to reveal the heart of their faith — to bring healing in the church.
And now that he sees the good results, he feels comforted. Encouraged.
The wound had turned into a scar — healed but remembered.
Paul ends in joy. He had told Titus he still believed in the Corinthians — and they proved him right.
Their actions restored his confidence in them.
He says, “I rejoice because I have complete confidence in you.”
After all the hurt, that’s powerful.
It’s grace in motion — believing in people after they failed you.
That’s how God loves too. He doesn’t quit on us when we stumble. He keeps believing, keeps restoring, keeps saying, “I still see something good in you.”
This chapter feels like reconciliation in motion.
Like two people sitting after a fight, holding hands again, saying, “I’m sorry,” and “I forgive you.”
It’s about how love corrects but never abandons.
How sorrow can become a bridge back to grace.
How God comforts us through people — through Titus, through letters, through small moments.
Paul’s heart finally rests here.
The tears, the fears, the anger — all turned into joy.
You know, reading this, I think of times when someone corrected me — and I got mad first. It’s hard hearing truth. It pokes the sore parts of our soul.
But later, after cooling down, I realized it was love in disguise.
True friends don’t let you walk off a cliff.
God doesn’t either.
Sometimes His correction feels like heartbreak, but later, it feels like freedom.
That’s what 2 Corinthians 7 is about — the kind of love that’s willing to wound you just enough to heal you.
Lord,
Thank You for never giving up on me.
Even when I run, You keep calling.
Teach me to respond like the Corinthians did — with real repentance, not just guilt.
Help me to comfort others, just like You comforted Paul through Titus.
And keep my heart soft enough to hear when You speak correction.
Amen.
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