Thoughts on 2 Corinthians 5:20b—6:10 on Ash Wednesday

“Be reconciled to God.”

That is not advice. 

It is not a religious suggestion. 

It is a plea—almost a cry. 

Paul does not say, 

“When you feel ready… 

when your life settles down… 

when you get your act together.” 

He says, “Be reconciled.” 

Now.

Because this is the strange thing about grace: 

it does not wait for us to become safe. 

Grace comes looking for us 

while we are still complicated.

And if you have ever needed reconciliation, 

you know it is not a pretty word. 

Reconciliation means something was torn. 

It means there was distance. 

It means someone had to cross the distance.

Paul says God has crossed it.

“For our sake, 

God made him to be sin who knew no sin, 

so that in him we might become 

the righteousness of God.”

That line is not meant to be a puzzle for theologians only. 

It is meant to land in the gut.

Not: “Jesus became a sinner.”

But: Jesus stepped into the full weight of what sin does

—its damage, its alienation, its accusation, its death

—so that we could step out of it.

Christ enters the place where we are trapped, 

and we are brought into the place where he stands: 

in God.

So Paul says it like an alarm clock: 

“Be reconciled.”

Some hear that and think, 

“If you knew what I have done, 

you would not say ‘reconciled’ so easily.”

Paul does not say it easily. 

He says it urgently. 

And then, 

as if to underline the urgency, 

he quotes the prophet: 

“At an acceptable time I have listened to you

… on a day of salvation I have helped you.”

And then Paul presses it into the present: 

“See, now is the acceptable time; 

now is the day of salvation.”

Not someday. 

Not after you fix everything. 

Not after you have the energy to deal with it. 

Now.

Because “now” 

is where God meets us.

And notice: 

Paul does not say this as someone 

sitting comfortably on the sidelines. 

He says it as someone who has skin in the game. Immediately, 

he begins to describe what his ministry looks like

—what reconciliation costs in a world 

that prefers revenge, rivalry, and status.

He says, in effect: 

“Look at the marks.”

“Afflictions, hardships, calamities

… beatings, imprisonments, riots, 

labors, sleepless nights, hunger.”

This is not a melodramatic autobiography. 

Paul is showing the Corinthians 

what reconciliation looks like 

when it collides with the world’s systems.

The world says power should look shiny.

Rome says leadership should look impressive.

Corinth says wisdom should sound polished.

Paul says: the gospel looks like endurance.

Not because suffering is holy in itself

—but because love that tells the truth 

and refuses domination 

will be resisted.

Reconciliation is not a sentimental word; 

it is a costly practice.

And then Paul offers 

one of the most startling portraits of Christian life 

in the New Testament. 

It comes in the form of paradox

—pairs that do not belong together 

unless God is real.

“By honor and dishonor, by ill repute and good repute.”

“As impostors, and yet true.”

“As unknown, and yet well known.”

“As dying, and see—we are alive.”

“As punished, and yet not killed.”

“As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing.”

“As poor, yet making many rich.”

“As having nothing, and yet possessing everything.”

This is not rhetorical flourish. 

This is the shape of life in Christ.

The Christian life is not a straight line from trouble to triumph.

It is a strange, Spirit-held tension: 

sorrow and joy, poverty and richness, dying and living

—at the same time.

Here is what Paul is teaching the Church: 

you cannot judge the work of God 

by the surface of things.

You cannot read the gospel by the metrics of success.

The world says, 

“If God is with you, you will look powerful.”

Paul says, 

“God is with us

—and sometimes 

that looks like weakness that will not quit.”

The world says, 

“If you are blessed, you will not be sorrowful.”

Paul says, 

“We are sorrowful—yet always rejoicing.”

Because joy is not the absence of grief; 

it is the presence of God.

And this is where the text begins to speak 

directly into the rooms we live in.

Some of you are carrying a burden 

that does not show up on the outside. 

You are functional, polite, reliable

—and underneath, anxious, exhausted, grieving.

Some of you are trying to do the right thing, 

and it is not being rewarded. 

You are trying to be truthful, generous, patient

—and what you receive back is misunderstanding 

or criticism.

Paul is not offering you an escape route. 

He is offering you a truer map.

He is saying: 

God’s work can be real 

even when your life feels contradictory.

You can be sorrowful—and still rejoice.

You can have little—and still make many rich.

You can feel like you have nothing left

—and still possess everything, 

  because Christ has taken up residence in you.

But the entrance to all of this is still the same word: 

“Be reconciled.”

Which means, first, be reconciled to God.

Stop negotiating with grace.

Stop delaying the mercy that is already reaching for you.

Stop treating shame as if it were humility.

“Now is the acceptable time.”

And then

—because Paul never separates theology from practice

—become people of reconciliation.

Not with slogans. 

Not with coercion. 

With the quiet courage of embodied grace.

Paul calls himself an “ambassador.” 

An ambassador does not shout from a safe distance. 

An ambassador goes and stands in the contested space

—bearing the message, 

representing the kingdom, 

risking misunderstanding.

Paul ends where he began

—with urgency. 

He is not trying to win an argument; 

he is trying to save a community 

from missing the hour of grace.

“Now is the acceptable time.”

Now is when God is near.

Now is when mercy can be received.

Now is when the Church can look like Christ.

Be reconciled to God.