Have you ever heard of the corona muralis? I know, I know, just seeing that phrase makes you freak out. But trust me, the corona muralis has nothing to do with COVID. It’s a Latin phrase that means, literally, “crown of the wall”—corona: crown; muralis: wall. The corona muralis was ancient Rome’s highest military award. Think of it like the U.S. military’s “Medal of Honor.” To qualify for the Medal of Honor, our military says you have to perform an act of “conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty.” You have to show an act of bravery that sets you far above your comrades, and the recommendation for the award has to be approved by every person in the chain of command above you, all the way to the President himself.
The corona muralis was similar. To get it, you had to be the first soldier over the siege wall in a battle, because the most dangerous part of any Roman battle—the part where you were most likely to die—was when you’d put the ladders up and were trying to get up over the wall. It was especially brutal for the first troops trying to climb up. The enemy would push the ladders off the wall, fire arrows at you, and pour vats of boiling oil on those climbing up the ladder. Maybe the worst part of the whole order was that if a soldier was one of the first ones to make it over the wall, they were usually the only one left standing against the entire enemy garrison. I’ve often wondered what that was like: You finally get over the wall and you’re like, “Whew, I made it! … And now it’s me vs. ALL THESE GUYS!”
In practice, very few soldiers who made it as the first one over the wall actually lived to tell about it. But if somehow they survived, they were eligible for the corona muralis, a literal crown fashioned to look like the walls of a city, complete with gates and battlements. Here’s an ancient depiction of it:
To receive the award, the soldier had to go to Rome and appear before a tribunal to take a solemn oath, invoking the names of their gods as witness, saying, “I solemnly swear before the holy gods, who know I’m telling the truth, that when we were attacking the city, I was the first one over the wall.” Then they’d get the gaudy crown.
In 2 Corinthians, Paul invokes the idea of the corona muralis, an idea the Corinthians would have known very well. But he flips the script. Look at how he starts in 2 Corinthians 11:31: “The God and Father of the Lord Jesus, he who is blessed forever, knows that I am not lying” (ESV). That’s an intentional echo of the corona muralis oath. Then, in the following verses, what does he recount? A harrowing escapade, whereby he was lowered down in a basket outside a wall.
So … what was Paul saying, exactly?
Paul was teasing the false teachers, who kept harping on Paul’s weakness and unimpressive ministry style. The entire book of 2 Corinthians shows Paul’s response: “You think I’m weak, do you? You don’t know the half of it! In fact, weak is all I bring to this equation!” Paul knew that his power was found not in his strength but in his reliance on God. And if reliance is the objective, then weakness is an advantage.
Which brings us back to the wall. Paul hadn’t climbed up a wall to some kind of high honor that everyone praised him for; he was lowered down a wall in shame and dishonor because the powers that be wanted to kill him. You could say that he fashioned for himself an anti-corona muralis.
This is why Paul said in verse 30: “If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness.” In other words, “If you force me to boast, I won’t boast about my accomplishments, or my talents, or my honors. I will boast about my weakness, because it’s through my weaknesses that I received the crown that matters—not the corona muralis—the crown of my bravery, but the corona Christi—the crown of Christ, the crown of suffering, the crown of the Spirit’s power.”
What Paul screams at us in this passage is this: The place we experience God’s power most is in our failure. Ironically, the place we lose him fastest is in our successes. We always assume that success in life and ministry or family is a blessing from God. And it can be. But failure in those things can also be a blessing. The worst thing God can do for you is let you succeed in a way that untethers you from him.
J.D. Greear is the pastor of The Summit Church, in Raleigh-Durham, North Carolina. He leads the Summit in a bold vision to plant one thousand new churches by the year 2050. Pastor J.D. completed his Ph.D. in Theology at Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary. He has served as a member of the Board of Directors of Chick-fil-A since January 2022 and recently served as the 62nd president of the Southern Baptist Convention. Pastor J.D. and his wife Veronica are raising four awesome kids: Kharis, Alethia, Ryah, and Adon. This article has been republished with permission from the J.D. Greear website and is under copyright law. It may not be republished without express written consent by J.D. Greear Ministries Team. J.D. Greear is the author of 27 Books including his newest book, Everyday Revolutionary: How to Transcend the Culture War and Transform the World.
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Well said Man of God !! Surrender is not weakness; it is the highest form of strength. It is the moment you stop striving to control what was never yours to carry and place it fully into the hands of God. We exhaust ourselves trying to hold everything together—plans, outcomes, expectations—yet peace has never come from control; it has always come from trust. what you release to God, He restores with greater purpose.
Your friend – His servant,
Isaac Otieno