Faithfullee

The Last Days: Lovers of Self

"But understand this," Paul writes, "that in the last days there will come times of difficulty" (3:1). The Greek word for "times of difficulty" — kairoi chalepo — is used in Matthew 8:28 to describe the demonic men in the Gerasene tombs: a word of fierce, dangerous, unmanageable things. What follows is a vice list of striking cultural specificity: "people will be lovers of self, lovers of money, proud, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, heartless, unappeasable, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not loving good, treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God" (3:2–4).

Philip Towner notes that the list is framed by two contrasting loves: philautoi (lovers of self) at the beginning and philēdonoi (lovers of pleasure) rather than philotheoi (lovers of God) at the end (The Letters to Timothy and Titus, NICNT, 2006, pp. 551–556). The corruption Paul describes is not primarily behavioral but relational — a disordering of the fundamental loves that structure a human life. And the most disturbing element is what follows: these people have "the appearance of godliness (eusebeia) but denying its power" (3:5). Religious form without transforming substance is Paul's nightmare scenario — and it is located not outside the church but within it.

Paul adds a specific warning about those who "creep into households and capture weak women, burdened with sins and led astray by various passions" (3:6) — a reference to itinerant teachers exploiting domestic networks in the Ephesian church. George Knight observes that the resistance strategy Paul recommends is not more sophisticated argument but personal example: "You, however, have followed my teaching, my conduct, my aim in life, my faith, my patience, my love, my steadfastness, my persecutions, my sufferings" (3:10–11) (The Pastoral Epistles, NIGTC, 1992, pp. 434–438). The apostle himself is the counter-curriculum.

What strikes us here is the phrase "appearance of godliness but denying its power." The most dangerous version of religion isn't outright paganism or atheism — it's the institutional performance of devotion that has quietly stopped being connected to the actual God. That's the thing to watch for, in others and in ourselves.

The God-Breathed Scriptures

Into this environment of moral and doctrinal instability, Paul places a single, decisive resource: "all Scripture is breathed out by God (theopneustos) and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work" (3:16–17).

The word theopneustos — a Pauline coinage found nowhere else in Greek literature before this text — means God-breathed or breathed out by God. William Mounce argues that the term describes the origin of Scripture rather than its effect: the primary affirmation is that God is the source, the one whose breath has produced this text, not merely that Scripture produces an effect of inspiration in readers (Pastoral Epistles, WBC, 2000, pp. 564–569). The fourfold usefulness — teaching, reproof, correction, training — maps the whole scope of the word's transforming work: it tells us what is true, exposes what is false, restores what is broken, and disciplines toward maturity.

The grounding is also personal and chronological: Paul has reminded Timothy that "from childhood you have been acquainted with the sacred writings, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus" (3:15). The Scriptures are not an emergency tool for crisis moments but a lifelong environment in which Timothy has been formed. They have shaped his reading of reality, his understanding of salvation, and his capacity to distinguish sound from diseased teaching.

We find it significant that Paul doesn't treat Scripture here as primarily an intellectual resource — a reference book to look things up in. It's the environment Timothy has been formed in since childhood. Lois and Eunice read it to him. He absorbed it before he had the categories to understand it fully. That kind of deep formation is different from studying a text as an adult.

Preach the Word

The charge in 4:1–5 is the emotional and rhetorical summit of the letter — perhaps of all the Pastoral Epistles. Paul invokes the most solemn possible witness: "I charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead, and by his appearing and his kingdom: preach (kēryssō) the word; be ready in season and out of season; reprove, rebuke, and exhort, with complete patience and teaching" (4:1–2).

The word kēryssō — to herald, to proclaim as a town crier announces a royal decree — carries the connotation of authoritative public declaration. Towner notes that the combination "in season and out of season" (eukairōs akairōs) means something like "when the conditions are favorable and when they are not" — the preacher's commission is not contingent on receptivity (The Letters to Timothy and Titus, NICNT, 2006, pp. 595–599). The reason for this urgency follows: "for the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching, but having itching ears they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own passions, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander off into myths" (4:3–4). The future Paul describes in 3:1–9 is already beginning to arrive; Timothy must preach precisely because the appetite for preaching is diminishing.

"In season and out of season" stays with us. When the audience is receptive and when they're not. When the cultural moment feels favorable and when it doesn't. The herald doesn't check the weather report before making the announcement. The charge is unconditional.

The Crown of Righteousness

Paul's final testimony is among the most moving passages in the entire New Testament: "For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith" (4:6–7). Three images — the drink offering, the battle, the race — converge on a single claim: Paul has done what he was called to do, and he has done it all the way to the end.

The "crown of righteousness" (stephanos tēs dikaiosynēs) that awaits him (4:8) draws on the athletic imagery of the victorious runner crowned with laurel. But Paul immediately universalizes it: "not only to me but also to all who have loved his appearing." The eschatological orientation that marked the Thessalonian letters appears here again at the end of Paul's life: the parousia, the appearing of Christ, is the goal toward which all faithful endurance is directed.

The letter's final personal notes — only Luke is with him, Mark is useful, Demas has deserted — give the end a texture of loneliness and resilience simultaneously. Paul is cold, he wants his cloak, he wants his books (4:13). He is fully human. And yet: "The Lord will rescue me from every evil deed and bring me safely into his heavenly kingdom" (4:18). The man who has poured himself out as an offering knows who holds the outcome.

What we keep coming back to is the honesty of this ending. It's not triumphalist. Paul is cold and wants his coat. He is lonely — only Luke is there. Some people he trusted have abandoned him. And still: "I have kept the faith." The testimony isn't "I did everything flawlessly." It's "I did not quit." We find that deeply human and deeply true.

Last updated: March 3, 2026.