Through a Window in a Basket

A Reflection on the Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Beloved in Christ,

There are certain passages of Holy Scripture which, though familiar enough in their words, become really rather extraordinary when we pause to consider what they actually describe. Among these is a seemingly incidental detail from the life of the holy Apostle Paul, recounted in his Second Epistle to the Corinthians, which we’ve heard today.

At Damascus, the Apostle tells us, the governor had placed the city under guard in order to apprehend him. His escape was accomplished neither by a great miracle nor by some impressive public demonstration of courage or strength. Rather, he was lowered through a window in the city wall, in a basket, and so escaped the hands of those who sought him.

Frankly, it seems an almost comical image, if we permit ourselves to imagine the scene: the great Apostle of the nations, the tireless preacher of Christ, being lowered over a wall like a parcel of goods, dependent upon the hands of others to bring him safely to the ground.

Yet Saint Paul recounts this incident immediately before speaking of one of the most extraordinary spiritual experiences recorded in the New Testament.

He tells of “a man in Christ” who was caught up into the third heaven, into paradise itself, and who heard words which it was not granted to man to utter. He speaks with remarkable restraint, even referring to himself indirectly, and acknowledging that he does not know whether this experience occurred in the body or apart from it. God alone knows.

Here, then, is a man who has been caught up into paradise, yet who has also been lowered through a window in a basket. The contrast is striking, but it is necessarily made. Saint Paul is addressing a temptation which has accompanied mankind from the beginning: the desire to measure ourselves, and to be measured by others, according to our accomplishments, our distinctions, and our apparent importance.

The Apostle could have appealed to his extraordinary revelations as evidence of his spiritual greatness! He could have spoken at length of the mysteries which had been disclosed to him, or encouraged others to regard him as a man set apart by experiences beyond their comprehension. Instead, he declares: “For myself I will glory nothing, but in my infirmities.”

Indeed, he explains that he refrains from speaking further of these revelations lest anyone should think more highly of him than what may be seen and heard in his ordinary life. This is an extraordinary expression of humility. Saint Paul does not deny the gifts which he has received, nor does he pretend that the revelations were insignificant. But neither does he mistake the gifts of God for personal accomplishments, nor does he permit them to become the foundation of his own importance.

The man who had been caught up into paradise remained the man who needed to be lowered through a window in a basket. This is precisely what he – and we – need to remember.

The Apostle continues by telling us that, lest he should be exalted by the greatness of the revelations, there was given to him a thorn in the flesh, an affliction which he describes as an angel of Satan sent to buffet him. Now, much has been written concerning the precise nature of this affliction, and Holy Scripture does not settle the question for us, for Saint Paul clearly thought it not expedient to mention specifics. For what matters most for the Apostle’s teaching to us is not the particular form of his suffering, but his response to it, and the answer which he received from the Lord. Three times he besought the Lord that the affliction might depart from him. And the Lord answered: “My grace is sufficient for thee; for power is made perfect in infirmity.”

We might well imagine that one who had received such extraordinary revelations would have been granted an equally extraordinary deliverance from his sufferings. Surely the man who had been caught up into paradise could have been relieved of this persistent affliction! Yet the Lord did not remove it.

Instead, He revealed to His Apostle something more profound: that divine grace is not dependent upon the absence of human weakness, and that the power of Christ may be manifested most clearly precisely where human strength has reached its limits.

This is not to suggest that suffering is to be sought out in itself, nor that we ought to refrain from seeking relief from our afflictions. Saint Paul himself prayed repeatedly for deliverance! The Christian does not seek suffering for its own sake, any more than he seeks temptation, illness, or humiliation. But neither need he imagine that his sufferings render him useless to God, or that his weaknesses place him beyond the reach of divine grace.

We may often be tempted to think that we shall begin to serve God properly when our circumstances have improved. When we are stronger, when our difficulties have been resolved, when our health has returned, when our responsibilities have diminished, when we have finally overcome those weaknesses which so persistently trouble us… then, perhaps, we shall be able to accomplish something worthwhile. Yet the Apostle’s experience teaches us otherwise!

The grace of God is not reserved for some future version of ourselves, perfected according to our own expectations. It is offered to us here and now, amid the very circumstances in which we find ourselves. And it is precisely here that the Resurrectional proclamation of the Church sheds its light upon the Apostle’s words. Recall the words of today’s Tropar’: “When Thou didst descend unto death, O Life immortal, then didst Thou slay Hades with the radiance of Thy Divinity.” (“Егда сниде к смерти, Животе безсмертный, тогда ада умертвил Еси блистанием божества.”)

The victory of Christ was not accomplished by avoiding the weakness and suffering of our mortal condition. The immortal Son of God willingly entered into death itself, and by His divine power destroyed its dominion. What appeared to the world as defeat became the manifestation of a victory beyond all human imagining.

The Apostle’s infirmities are not, of course, to be confused with the saving Passion of Christ. Yet it is through his participation in the life of the crucified and risen Lord that Saint Paul comes to understand his own weakness differently. He need not be invulnerable in order to belong to Christ. He need not possess extraordinary strength in order to become an instrument of divine power. Indeed, he may glory in his infirmities, not because infirmity is itself glorious, but because the power of Christ dwells in him.

There is a lesson here for every Christian, and perhaps especially for those of us whose lives seem rather ordinary, whose efforts may be seldom noticed, and whose limitations are more readily apparent to themselves than their accomplishments.

We may never be “caught up into the third heaven.” We may never be entrusted with the extraordinary revelations granted to the Apostle. But we shall certainly know something of weakness, frustration, dependence upon others, and the humbling discovery that our own strength is insufficient. We may even find ourselves, figuratively speaking, being lowered through a window in a basket. And when we do, we need not regard such moments as evidence that God has abandoned us, or that our lives have somehow fallen short of His purposes.

For the Lord who raised the dead from the nethermost depths is not powerless before our infirmities. The grace which sustained His Apostle remains sufficient for those who place their trust in Him. The man who was caught up into paradise was also the man who escaped Damascus in a basket. Neither experience was outside the providence of God. And of the two, it was not the heavenly revelation which Saint Paul chose as the occasion of his glory, but the weakness through which the power of Christ was made manifest.

For the glory of the Christian is not that he has become sufficient unto himself, but that Christ is sufficient for him.

11 October 2026