3 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, 4 who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. 5 For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. 6 If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer. 7 Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort.
2 Corinthians 1:3-7 (ESV)
Through the Bible: 2 Corinthians 1-4
As I write this morning, it is a gray, cold, rainy day. The kind of day where I would much rather stay in my pajamas, binge watch Law and Order, and have a grilled cheese sandwich with tomato soup for lunch.
Grilled cheese and tomato soup is one of my go-to comfort foods. It takes me back to having a sick day in elementary school. It tastes like reassurance. Like security. Like being cared for.
Maybe that’s why, when I read 2 Corinthians 1 this morning, the word “comfort” stood out. Well, that and the fact that Paul repeats it ten times in five verses. “Comfort” gets repeated so often it begins to sound like a meditation mantra word– one of those meaningless syllables like “ommmmm” or “hrimmm” Buddhist monks will chant in order to empty their minds. However, “comfort” is far from a meaningless word. And the last thing Paul wanted his readers to do was empty their minds. Rather, Paul wanted to fill their minds with one of the most powerful, reassuring truths in Christian doctrine: God is the God of all comfort.
Why Was Paul So Fixated on “Comfort”?
In 2 Corinthians, Paul is writing from a place of deep hurt. He hints at it throughout the letter: affliction, anguish, tears, despair. This wasn’t the Paul of Thessalonica or Philippi. This wasn’t Paul the theological titan. If Romans is Paul’s doctrinal Magna Carta, 2 Corinthians is his journal left open on the kitchen table. This was Paul after being crushed, criticized, and nearly killed — inside the church and outside of it. Follow the tracks of his tears:
- 2 Corinthians 1:8 — “We despaired of life itself.” This is Paul at his lowest. He admits he wanted to die. Not metaphorically. Not poetically. Literally.
- 2 Corinthians 2:4 — “Through many tears.” Paul tells them outright: “I wrote to you out of much affliction and anguish of heart and with many tears…” This isn’t the image we’re used to — the bold missionary, the church planter, the theologian. This is a man whose heart got broken by his own church. He’s not crying because he’s weak; he’s crying because he loves them.
- 2 Corinthians 4:8–9 — “Pressed, perplexed, persecuted, struck down” These lines read like a diagnosis of ministry burnout:
- Afflicted in every way (external pressure)
- Perplexed (internal confusion)
- Persecuted (relational hostility)
- Struck down (physical exhaustion)
This is ministry burnout in four dimensions. And All this is just in the chapters we read today. Later in the letter Paul will recount his multiple beatings and imprisonments, sleepless nights, and opposition. This is the letter where he will talk about his thorn in the flesh. In chapters 11-12, he will write about the body blows he had received from within the church: the criticisms, false accusations, personal attacks, and undermining from false apostles.
If there ever was an apostle in need of a sick day and a grilled cheese sandwich, it was Paul in 2 Corinthians.
What Did Paul Mean By “Comfort”?
In English, comfort sounds soft. Pillows, blankets, soup, Hallmark movies — things that soothe but don’t necessarily strengthen. But Paul doesn’t need soothing. He needs to be sustained.
The Greek word translated “comfort” is paraklēsis. It’s built from two parts: para: “alongside”; and kaleō: “to call”
Put together, it means “someone called to your side.”
In the ancient world, a paraklētos was a person summoned to stand beside you when you were too weak to stand on your own. Sometimes a legal advocate. Sometimes a trusted friend. Sometimes a mentor who would whisper courage into your ear when you wanted to quit.
So when Paul says God is the “God of all comfort,” he’s not saying God hands you a warm blanket. He’s saying God steps into your corner. The God of heaven moves next to you, close enough to lean into your fear, close enough to shoulder your weight, close enough that you can hear Him breathe.
It’s comfort as presence, not escape.
Comfort as courage, not denial.
Comfort as reinforcement, not sentimentality.
And that’s why Paul piles on the word. Because God had piled on the mercy.
Paul had been crushed, and God came close.
Paul had run out of strength, and God supplied His own.
Paul had collapsed under the weight of ministry, and God braced him from the inside out.
God’s Comfort Isn’t Supposed to Stop With You
When I was a kid, if I fell and scraped my knee, I would run to my mother and cry. She would hold me, dab the scrape with Mercurochrome and then draw a smiley face with it (if you know you know). Finally, she would put a Band-Aid on it, say “All better,” and send me back out to play. My mom’s comfort was just for me.
But that’s not how God’s comfort works. Look again at verse 4: God comforts us “so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction.” In other words, “comfort received” becomes “comfort shared.” It would be like my mom sending me back to the playground with the Mercurochrome and a box of Band-Aids– “now that I’ve comforted you, be on the lookout for anyone else that scrapes their knee.”
We aren’t supposed to merely be collectors of God’s comfort. We are conduits of it.
Are You Needing Comfort Today?
I don’t know what part of the country you live in. Maybe you are like me, staring out at a gray sky and the rain, and feeling a little down. Or maybe it goes deeper than that. For many people who have experienced loss or family estrangement, the holidays are not the most wonderful time of the year. Seasonal Affective Disorder is a real thing. I’ve dealt with it for most of my adult life. Please get help if there’s more to your blue mood than just a rainy day.
But for others, it may be enough for you to feel that called-alongside-you comfort that God provides. Rest in Him today. Draw strength and sustenance from the comfort He provides. Cuddle up. Take slow sips of the tomato soup so it doesn’t burn your tongue.
But don’t let it stop with you. Someone in your life might need some of that soup, too.
Bring them a bowl.
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