As a writer, I look for the emotional pulse in every book I
read. I trace the arc. I listen for the voice. I scan for the shifts in tone,
pace, and purpose. I ask: Who is writing? Why now? What is the real issue
beneath the words? When I read 1 Corinthians, I felt like I was reading a
letter written in the middle of a very messy group chat—one Paul did not
start, but definitely had to finish.
This book? Was a lot.
It was like Paul had to gather the whole congregation and
say, “Okay. Enough.” Because these believers were doing the most—and not
in a good way. But what I love most as a writer, and a Christian, is that even
in the midst of rebuke, Paul gives a clear blueprint for how Christians should
live in every area of life.
This book is layered. Raw. A little chaotic. And
absolutely brilliant.
From a literary perspective, 1 Corinthians is one of the
most dynamic epistles. It is not neat. It is not flowy. It reads like real-time
damage control—like Paul is flipping through a list of wild reports and
checking off each one with a mix of holy frustration and deep love.
But there is structure beneath the chaos. Paul uses
rhetorical questions, repetition, and contrast to reframe how they should be
living. He moves from issue to issue like a teacher working through a messy
stack of essays—each one worse than the last, but each one an opportunity to
teach.
The voice in this book is varied. Paul is sometimes
sarcastic, sometimes gentle, sometimes weary, but always present. He
does not detach from the drama. He steps right into it. He speaks to believers
who are immature, entitled, divided, and a little arrogant—and yet, he still
calls them “sanctified.” That tension is what gives the writing emotional
weight.
The book covers everything—division in the church,
sexual immorality, lawsuits, marriage, spiritual gifts, communion, worship,
modesty, freedom, resurrection. Every chapter, another fire. And every time,
Paul uses it to show them how the gospel should shape not just what they
do, but how they live.
There is no area of life Paul leaves untouched. He talks
about how to eat. How to love. How to think. How to worship. How to disagree.
How to use gifts. How to treat your body. How to talk to unbelievers. And as a
writer, I was stunned by how consistent he is across all of it.
The tone shifts often—but not carelessly. Paul sounds like a
man trying to pull immature believers toward maturity. His love is tough, but
it is still love. He calls out what is wrong, but he also shows them the better
way.
That “better way” comes to a crescendo in chapter 13.
And even though we hear it at weddings, Paul did not write
it for romance—he wrote it for reconciliation. For spiritual
realignment. For a people who were using their gifts without using love. From a
writing standpoint, it is poetic, lyrical, timeless. From a narrative
standpoint, it is the emotional climax of the book.
“Love is patient. Love is kind…” That whole section was Paul
pulling the Corinthians back to what actually matters. And it hit different,
because we know who he was writing to. Messy people. Gifted people. Saved
people. But still struggling to live right. He did not disown them. He
discipled them.
From a story arc perspective, this letter is not about
dramatic transformation—it is about calling. Paul is calling them up.
Calling them out. Calling them forward.
Even the ending has weight. Chapter 15 is one of the most
powerful theological statements on the resurrection in the entire Bible. It is
Paul’s way of saying: “Everything I am correcting you about? All of it only
makes sense because Jesus is alive.”
My favorite line? “Everything is permissible—but not
everything is beneficial.” That is the thesis of the whole book right there.
Paul is not just telling them to behave—he is teaching them how to discern.
There are no perfect characters in this story. No smooth
plot. But there is a strong theme: How Christians should act—in church, in
the world, in private, and in public—because of who Christ is.
Reading 1 Corinthians as a writer reminded me that truth
does not always come in a pretty package. Sometimes, it comes in red ink and
strong paragraphs. Sometimes, it sounds like a letter you do not want to
read—but need to. And Paul wrote it anyway. Because love corrects. And
correction builds.
This book was messy—but meaningful. And it reminded me that
growing up in Christ means letting the gospel shape everything.