Heaven's Heartbeat - From Corinth to Christ
Can you sense the approach of a life metaphor?
Do you see it coming—or does it overtake you unawares?
As I wander through Corinth, kicking ancient stones beneath my feet, each step stirs unforeseen impressions I can hardly comprehend. Paul, a Jewish rabbi turned apostle of the Messiah Jesus, had actually lived and worked here, in a city immersed in idol worship.
The sun warms my skin, bees hum tirelessly and wildflowers—anemones, poppies, clover, and chamomile—rise confidently amid the ruins. There’s a mystery here I can’t fully grasp, yet a deep conviction tells me this is where Nancy and I were meant to celebrate 50 years of marriage. It may seem odd to you, but by God’s design Corinth feels like the origin of our beginnings, as husband and wife—and the ignition of our new life in Jesus.
After Nancy and I had returned from working in Israel, our son Jacob and his wife Laura surprised us with an unforgettable Greek adventure to celebrate our golden day.
We began in Athens, where we stood on the Acropolis, just as Paul did centuries ago, before retracing his steps to Corinth, where he lived for a year and a half (Acts 17-18).
But here in Corinth, I find myself realizing I was a twentieth-century Corinthian when Jesus saved me.
Little by little, by my own choosing, I had been “Corinthianized,” a modern term rooted in the cultural and moral landscape of ancient Corinth. To be “Corinthianized” is to be willingly shaped by the indulgent, decadent and morally collapsing behaviors that defined that city in the first century.
Remarkably, two years after my new birth in the Messiah Jesus, the pastor of our congregation asked me to lead a group discussion and study on the book of 1 Corinthians. That was my baptism into a decades-long fondness for the Apostle Paul and the Corinthian assembly of greatly gifted yet deeply flawed believers called a church.
They were real people with real problems, and Paul met them where they were.
And told them the truth.
Corinth was a bustling, wealthy port city in Greece, a crossroads of trade and yet infamous for its excesses. Its reputation was tied to the idol goddess, Aphrodite, whose worship was enmeshed in ritual prostitution.
So notorious was its moral climate that the Greek verb korinthiazomai—meaning “to live like a Corinthian”—became almost like a mission statement for their immorality, hedonism, and shamelessness. Paul’s words to the Corinthians, urging them to “come out from them and be separate” (2 Corinthians 6:17), stand as a stark rebuke to this way of life. To be “Corinthianized,” then, is to surrender to a culture of excess, losing sight of the higher purpose Paul proclaimed in the Messiah Jesus.
As I look up at the mountain that had cradled Aphrodite’s temple, I hear the whisper of a timeless truth: civilizations crumble—rising and falling like fleeting shadows—but creation remains, and human life continues, eternally linked to the god they have chosen. Meanwhile the cycles of creation “day and night, winter and summer, seedtime and harvest” march on, silent and steadfast.
We walk paths worn by centuries of footsteps, passing the crumbling remains of Apollo’s temple. The stone is cold to my touch. The air carries a faint salty smell of the sea. I look northwest at the shoreline where dreams and nightmares alike once landed.
It’s a humbling encounter.
We pause at the Bema, the platform where Paul likely stood to address the Corinthians. I picture his callused hands, rough from stitching tents in the bustling Agora, serving both locals and passing travelers. For a year and a half, he toiled here, sowing seeds of faith in rocky spiritual soil. And God nurtured those seeds, raising a community of Jesus followers amid a city steeped in contradiction.
Then we begin the ascent up the Acrocorinth, a towering rock mountain soaring 1,900 feet over the ancient town. At its peak once gleamed a statue of Aphrodite, goddess of pleasure, beauty, and fertility—a breathtaking sight that seduced men like Homer’s Sirens, where pagan prostitutes enriched the city’s coffers.
The steep, winding trail is hard work, as we grind over a mile of ascent. There we stand on the highest point of the mountain where the idol and the temple once stood big and loud, and visible for miles.
I breathe in the wind blowing at the peak and I open my mouth and pray words of petition and praise to Jesus.
Paul’s voice cuts through the shadows, calling the Corinthians, calling every follower of Jesus to reject their cultures excesses and embrace lives of integrity and devotion. His letters ring with urgency:
“Flee from sexual immorality” (1 Corinthians 6:18) and “Glorify God in your body” (1 Corinthians 6:20). He challenged them—and us—to stand apart, to choose Christ over Corinth.
That challenge echoes in my own story. I, too, was “Corinthianized” once, swayed by a culture of indulgence and compromise. But Jesus met me there, pulling me from that dark drift into His marvelous light.
I couldn’t escape Corinth’s pull on my own, and neither did I know that one day I would stand in Corinth with such vivid revelation of the saving power of Jesus.
Still, as I stand in the ancient ruins of Corinth, the persistent pull of the world’s current and the heat of an ongoing struggle is real, unrelenting. As Nancy and I celebrate 50 years of marriage grace, the very ancient stones beneath my feet remind me of my life journey—a transformation from the ways of Corinth to the way of Christ.
The remnants of this once-thriving city surround me, whispering of a past marked by wealth and indulgence. Yet they also testify to a timeless truth: every soul faces a choice. Will I chase the fleeting trends of the world, the ever-shifting whims of culture, and embody the spirit of a Corinthian? Or will I embrace the enduring call to die, but also live—really live as a Christ-ian—filled with God’s Spirit, rooted in faith and purpose? The stones, touched by time, stand as silent witnesses to this decision—a choice that echoes through the ages, as real today as it was when these ruins were alive with voices.
In this sacred moment, my heart swells with gratitude for the path I’ve walked, hand-in-hand with my beloved. The battle may still rage, and the drift may still tug, but here, among Corinth’s fallen glory, I see the beauty of a life redirected, a marriage sustained, and a soul redeemed by the risen Christ.
