

### Regarding Rome

Devotional Reflections on the Book of Romans

By Scott Fields

Copyright 2011 Scott Fields

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**TABLE OF CONTENTS**

Introduction

Terms of Service

COMMENTARIES

Romans 1:1-7

Romans 1:8-17

Romans 1:18-25

Romans 1:26-32

Romans 2:1-11

Romans 2:11-16

Romans 2:17-29

Romans 3:1-8

Romans 3:9-20

Romans 3:21-31

Romans 4:1-12

Romans 4:13-19

Romans 4:19-25

Romans 5:1-5

Romans 5:5-11

Romans 5:12-16

Romans 5:17-21

Romans 6:1-7

Romans 6:8-14

Romans 6:15-18

Romans 6:19-23

Romans 7:1-6

Romans 7:7-13

Romans 7:14-25

Romans 8:1-8

Romans 8:8-11

Romans 8:12-17

Romans 8:18-27

Romans 8:28-34

Romans 8:35-39

Romans 9:1-13

Romans 9:14-24

Romans 9:22-33

Romans 10:1-13

Romans 10:14-21

Romans 11:1-12

Romans 11:13-24

Romans 11:25-36

Romans 12:1-8

Romans 12:9-21

Romans 13:1-7

Romans 13:8-14

Romans 14:1-12

Romans 14:13-23

Romans 15:1-13

Romans 15:14-22

Romans 15:23-33

Romans 16

About the Author

INTRODUCTION

This devotional originated as a series of weekly conversation-starters for the Men's 6:00 a.m. Friday Morning Bible Study at South Fellowship Church in Littleton, Colorado. This assemblage—christened "The Guys Must Be Crazy," since saner men put off their morning studies until after seven—began a study of the book of Romans in the spring of 2006. During the early goings the group struggled with the problem of getting the conversation rolling. We would start with prayer, read the selected passage, then open the floor for discussion . . . and the floor would remain open for upwards of fifteen minutes while we waited for someone to say something clever. After a couple of months of this, I suggested an alternative approach: I could write a brief commentary ahead of time, e-mail it around, and read it in conjunction with the passage every week in hopes of sparking dialogue.

It worked. As with any profitable study of the Bible, these annotations provided _context,_ a necessary bridge between interpretation and application. It didn't take any sort of deep wisdom or exegetical revelation to do the trick. A simple anecdote or observation was enough to bring the subject matter out of the dusty depths of theological study and into the workaday world in which these men lived, worked, and ministered. Paul's paramount letter to the church in Rome covers the entire gamut of the Christian experience, from the dispossession of man to the disposition of God, from the onset of sin to the advent of salvation, from its Jewish roots to its Gentile branches. It's a doctrinal cornucopia; but these guys weren't looking for the seminarian view. They wanted the practical upshot, how to make the words come to life in _their_ lives.

The endeavor seemed to have the blessing of the Spirit right from the start, a belief supported by at least two factors: first, it fulfilled our original intent in eliminating the waste of time at the beginning of the hour; and secondly, I never lacked for ideas. Each time I sat down to write the week's commentary, I found the words there waiting for me—save once, and in that one instance the writer's block itself became the allegorical focus of the study (8:18-27, in which Paul discusses the Spirit intervening when we don't know what to say in our prayers). Never have I worked on a project where I've been more readily inspired or found writing an easier task.

By the time we began this alternative track, we'd already reached Chapter 4. It took us a year to complete the book. After that, we moved on to study the book of James, at which point my weekly contributions no longer seemed necessary (we'd pretty well gotten our stride up). I shelved the Romans anthology, thinking it had served its purpose and that was that. I didn't look at it again for another four years. In August of 2010, while assessing some of my earlier written works for the purpose of assembling a résumé, I stumbled across the collection and began reading through them again. It brought back some fond memories, but also left me wondering what sort of material I might've come up with for those first three chapters and a couple of empty spots where I'd missed a week here and there.

More to satiate my own curiosity than anything else, I decided to fill in the blanks. This led to a major revision of the material I'd already written. The whole of it began to evolve into an integrated work instead of a scattered compilation. I made up my mind to broaden the potential audience as well, amending the masculine emphasis to include language that was more gender-inclusive. I linked certain references based on current events to more contemporary corollaries (such as in 13:1-7, which originally referred not to the 2008 presidential election but to the 2006 mid-terms). And, as it evolved into a complete and polished study, I started to consider how to make it available to a wider audience.

Ultimately, I chose the widest audience of all. The internet has a broader base than ever, and the e-book revolution has made publishing a work like this cost-free and easy. (If you'd like to read this devotional online, the internet edition is available at www.regardingrome.com.) From the outset of my rewriting process, I felt led to offer the study to the public free of charge—though as a courtesy I would ask that you read the Terms of Service before making use of it.

I'd like to thank Dan Elliott for allowing me the privilege of taking the lead on the Romans study back in 2006, and for his continued support of this project. I'm also deeply indebted to my good friend K.M. Weiland (author of the excellent novel _Behold the Dawn)_ for acting as beta reader and editor of this study. Her comments were invaluable.

Finally, this devotional is dedicated with respect and love to the guys of the Friday Morning Men's Bible study at South Fellowship. None of this would exist if it weren't for you.

TERMS OF SERVICE

This anthology is offered as a free gift to anyone interested in reading it, either as an individual devotional study or as a resource for small groups or bible classes. I'm not requiring that anyone seek permission from me for any of these applications; but for anyone who does make use of it, I ask that only two conditions be honored:

1) That no printed or electronic version be sold or redistributed for the sake of profit.

2) You are free to quote any part of this work in another context; if you do so, however, I would request that you include an author's citation and a reference or direct link to the website (www.regardingrome.com).

The total number of entries came to a convenient 48, which means breaking it down into daily readings (six days a week, presuming Sundays off) will make for an even 8-week study. Using it for a weekly small group bible study or as a Sunday school discussion curriculum, allowing for a few weeks off for holidays or special events, brings the time allotment to right around a year.

It's important to remember that, though I've included a number of historical and doctrinal references, these commentaries evolved in large part from personal reflection and anecdotal testimony. They were designed to elicit discussion—not to indoctrinate or persuade, but get a group of guys thinking and talking to one another. I wasn't teaching absolutes. I was encouraging men to wrestle with their own perceptions of the truth. In publishing this work for general public use, that remains my goal. I hope to get people thinking and talking with each other.

If what I get you thinking about makes you want to talk to _me_ —in other words, if you feel compelled to respond to anything you read—feel free to visit the website (www.regardingrome.com) and leave a comment at the bottom of the relevant page. Ask questions. Challenge my conclusions. Tell a story of your own. I would love to see discussion continue to emerge from this material. Again, I'm not looking to convince anyone that I'm right. I just think Paul's paramount letter, and the rest of the Bible along with it, is worth talking about.

In the end, whatever use you find for the material here, however it stimulates, provokes, or motivates you, I pray above all that God, through His Holy Spirit, will instill in you a lasting passion for His Word and for the Truth it reveals.

ROMANS 1:1-7

Paul, a servant of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle and set apart for the gospel of God— the gospel he promised beforehand through his prophets in the Holy Scriptures regarding his Son, who as to his human nature was a descendant of David, and who through the Spirit of holiness was declared with power to be the Son of God by his resurrection from the dead: Jesus Christ our Lord. Through him and for his name's sake, we received grace and apostleship to call people from among all the Gentiles to the obedience that comes from faith. And you also are among those who are called to belong to Jesus Christ.

_To all in Rome who are loved by God and called to be saints:  
Grace and peace to you from God our Father and from the Lord Jesus Christ._

Have you ever felt hesitant about getting in touch with friends you haven't seen in many years? Why is that? I suppose we could write some of it off to the hassle and lack of time—one more name on the e-mail logs or Christmas card list translates to a few more minutes each week keeping in touch—but if we're honest with ourselves and each other, I think we'd have to confess much of it is due to an odd strain of shame. Catching up means exchanging news . . . and when you look back, the less interesting news you find filling the space between here and high school or college, the more likely you'll develop a reticence to share it. Given the time you've had, it's sometimes easier to focus on what you _haven't_ become rather than what you've achieved in the interim.

In a time when steady employment has grown scarce, many people are encountering a similar roadblock when faced with updating resumes and filling out job applications. Stuck with the task of "selling" themselves to the next HR lackey in their appointment book, they look back over their job training and personal experience and fear it'll turn out to be strikingly less impressive than the next candidate's. In today's high-speed marketplace, we have between 15 and 30 seconds to make a positive impression on a prospective employer, less time than it takes an elevator to climb a few floors of an office building. You'd better be ready to talk fast, and it had better be a good pitch.

Paul begins what will be his most epic and profound letter with his own "elevator speech" to the Christians in the city of Rome. Given the man's resume, the accolades he's received and the victories he's won, you'd think he'd spend these few lines laying out the extraordinary list of accomplishments he's tallied up. That would be my temptation, to start the letter more along these lines: "Paul, as a highly-qualified servant of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle—and doing a fine job of it, if I may say so—has started more churches than you can shake a stick at; has led countless people to Christ (though if I had to count, I'd have to say it's pushing five figures); and has deepened the faith of far more by writing not one but _two_ letters to each of the churches in Thessalonica and Corinth, with further letters in the works for the churches at Ephesus, Philippi, and Colosse. To all in Rome who are loved by God and called to be saints. (References available upon request.)"

Of course, this only demonstrates one of the many ways I'm not like Paul. The ancient church's greatest teacher spends all of half a line on himself (and even that part defers his job performance to God's perfect will, not his own doing) before breaking off to tell us everything God and His Son have done for him and the rest of the world. It's almost as if he doesn't consider himself up for the job he's about to do—but that's okay, because he's not going to do it. Not by himself, anyway. What God accomplished through Paul, God accomplished Himself. Paul was the vehicle, perhaps, but not because of anything he brought to the table on his own. Why, then, are we so tempted to make a show of who _we_ are, of what _we've_ done, when we're walking an old friend through the years since we've last seen them? And while it may not be apropos to break into a song of testimonial praise during the job interview, can we not similarly trust—as one who is "among those who are called to belong to Jesus Christ" (v. 6)—that our path to employment has been as painstakingly paved as the prophesied fulfillment of scripture Paul refers to here?

ROMANS 1:8-17

First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for all of you, because your faith is being reported all over the world. God, whom I serve with my whole heart in preaching the gospel of his Son, is my witness how constantly I remember you in my prayers at all times; and I pray that now at last by God's will the way may be opened for me to come to you.

I long to see you so that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to make you strong— that is, that you and I may be mutually encouraged by each other's faith. I do not want you to be unaware, brothers, that I planned many times to come to you (but have been prevented from doing so until now) in order that I might have a harvest among you, just as I have had among the other Gentiles.

I am obligated both to Greeks and non-Greeks, both to the wise and the foolish. That is why I am so eager to preach the gospel also to you who are at Rome.

I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile. For in the gospel a righteousness from God is revealed, a righteousness that is by faith from first to last, just as it is written: "The righteous will live by faith."

Many people view a church in much the same way some of the orthodox cults view heaven: having several levels one might occupy based on the extent of their commitment and service. First you have the walk-ins, the visitors, those who are trying out a congregation without yet being obligated to enter into service. Then there are the pre-members, the ones who've chosen to make the church their home for the long run but haven't yet attended membership classes (thereby gaining them a higher level in heaven as well). Once they become members—though they're not yet Members In Long Standing, which gets you your own throne in paradise—the recruiting clock begins to tick. How long before they'll be approached to actually begin serving in a ministry? And once they are approached, how much time and effort will they be expected to commit? Will they enjoy what they're doing—or just sign up with the first ministry that asks in order to fulfill the "works" portion of their salvation?

Times like this, it's good to have a Paul, someone to come along and help us find our spiritual gifts, and to remind us to "mutually encourage" each other in our faith. We all have a place where we belong, doing what we were made to do. As good as it is to have a Paul, though, it's even better to _be_ a Paul—to raise your specific ministry talents to the next level and _reach out,_ take the initiative, go to where the needs are and blatantly, boldly insert yourself into the situation and let God work his wonders through you. Too many of us tend to shy back and poo-poo our God-given, Spirit-driven gifts in the name of "humility" (usually nothing more than false modesty, a weapon the enemy employs to park us in a place of interminable mediocrity). Paul wasn't so timid. He "longed" to join the Christians in Rome—a city where he would be persecuted, imprisoned, and eventually martyred—not just to be a part of the Sunday morning crowd, but to give them what God had given him: a specific ministerial gift, from which he not only hoped, but _expected,_ to draw a tangible harvest.

It's easy to look back as see Paul as the _wunderapostle,_ a man who possessed not one or two but all the spiritual gifts at once, someone who could convert a person to Christianity just by looking at them and thinking about Jesus. But he had nothing the rest of us who believe in Christ don't possess in full measure. Yes, he had a personal encounter with the Savior . . . but so have we. We're filled with the same Spirit that used to move him all over Asia Minor. What we lack is proper focus: we think it's all about what _we_ can or can't do, instead of what God wants to do through us. Until we see it the right way, service will continue to be just another one of the burdens of church membership.

How eager are you to get to that next step in your life, the life God has planned for you? How much do you _long_ to find a place where you can step in and minister?

ROMANS 1:18-25

The wrath of God is being revealed from heaven against all the godlessness and wickedness of men who suppress the truth by their wickedness, since what may be known about God is plain to them, because God has made it plain to them. For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse.

For although they knew God, they neither glorified him as God nor gave thanks to him, but their thinking became futile and their foolish hearts were darkened. Although they claimed to be wise, they became fools and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images made to look like mortal man and birds and animals and reptiles.

Therefore God gave them over in the sinful desires of their hearts to sexual impurity for the degrading of their bodies with one another. They exchanged the truth of God for a lie, and worshiped and served created things rather than the Creator—who is forever praised. Amen.

I hold a special place in my heart for the movie _Contact._ Based on the book by Carl Sagan, a man who was as avid an atheist as he was an astronomer, _Contact_ tells the story of a radio signal reaching Earth from outer space, a signal that turns out to be a message from an intelligent race of extraterrestrials. Though he filled the novel with a lot of interesting scientific speculation (and a healthy dose of science fiction, though there's nothing inherently wrong with that), Sagan couldn't resist using his pro-UFO story to air out his anti-religious sentiments—which, as is almost always the case, actually boiled down to directly anti- _Christian_ sentiments. He does this vicariously through his main character, Ellie Arroway, the young woman who discovers the intergalactic signal. Since losing her father as a little girl, Ellie has struggled with the idea of a "loving" God. Science has become her surrogate deity, answering all the questions she can't ask either of the fathers who don't exist for her any more.

Both the movie and the book were mediocre examples of storytelling. The reason I love them so much is that, in their attempt to overthrow the idea of an Intelligent Designer in the universe, they inadvertently go a long way in making the case _for_ Him. Ellie demands solid proof, empirical evidence, of a God who ought to be eminently provable but whom she can't see with her own eyes. Yet He's there the whole time, dancing across the screen and waving like an extra who wants his family and friends to see him in the background. I did see Him. So did Paul, who—in a gloriously oxymoronic phrase—says, "God's _invisible_ qualities . . . have been _clearly seen"_ (emphasis mine). Ellie, however, missed Him. Why? Because, like so many of her fellow skeptics in the world today, she didn't _want_ to see Him. Not really. It might cost too much. She's afraid a God from whom she wants so many answers will demand a few answers of His own.

These are the ones who "claim to be wise"—full of the knowledge of the universe, but foolish when it comes to interpreting what the facts tell them. They reject what Paul says is in "plain sight" and spin out wildly imaginative notions of how we all got here, theories that violate the very scientific principles they seem so determined to protect from the intrusion of a creator. What's interesting here is the motive. Paul makes the connection between the stubborn blindness of people who reject God and their resultant behavior. There's a clear moral compulsion at work. Disregarding a Creator turns ownership of creation over to the people—and allows the people to do as they please. No rules, no consequences, no problem . . . except that's not exactly the case. When God gave them over to their sinful desires, the consequences—all the pain and hatred and violence and grief and such—became the very argument they used as Exhibit A in their case against God's existence. That's the cyclical nature of sin at work. Doing wrong becomes its own reason for not doing right.

How, then, do we go about opening these people's eyes to the truth? What more can we do to reveal a Creator who's already revealed Himself to the world? Who do you know in your life who isn't able to see God's "invisible qualities" as clearly as you can?

ROMANS 1:26-32

Because of this, God gave them over to shameful lusts. Even their women exchanged natural relations for unnatural ones. In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another. Men committed indecent acts with other men, and received in themselves the due penalty for their perversion.

Furthermore, since they did not think it worthwhile to retain the knowledge of God, he gave them over to a depraved mind, to do what ought not to be done. They have become filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed and depravity. They are full of envy, murder, strife, deceit and malice. They are gossips, slanderers, God-haters, insolent, arrogant and boastful; they invent ways of doing evil; they disobey their parents; they are senseless, faithless, heartless, ruthless. Although they know God's righteous decree that those who do such things deserve death, they not only continue to do these very things but also approve of those who practice them.

Let's just put it on the table, shall we? Men don't understand women. We just _don't._ It's never gonna happen, either. They're not like us. They're different in nature, in the way they think and feel and act. And you know what? That's just how it should be. All that wonderful mystery and intrigue is a vital part of the romantic appeal. (That it's also a major factor in the frustration between the genders is a discussion for another time.) It's all an intricate, and well-planned, element of God's sovereign design for us—and, like so many elements layered into his blueprint for creation, it reflects a larger spiritual reality. God created us to be in relationship with him . . . but we don't understand him. He's different in nature, in the way he thinks and feels and acts. Bridging this gap—learning to comprehend God's ways a little bit at a time, one day at a time—is part of the courtship that is gradually laying the foundation of a marriage that'll one day be consummated in an entirely new universe.

I wonder if that isn't one of the reasons homosexuality is so often held up as a "template" sin, an easy reference point when regarding man's sinful disposition in general. It's more than just a perversion of the natural order (though it is that as well). On a fundamental level, it resembles the breaking of our relationship with God. Men understand other men much more easily than they understand women. Mankind understands their own motives and ideals much more easily than they can grasp God's, so men "exchanged the glory of the immortal God" (v. 23) and settled for their own kind, worshipping their own natures and making their own desires and needs their ultimate goal.

Having said that, I also think homosexuality receives the brunt of righteous anger more often than perhaps it deserves. For those who hold to a philosophy of "sin by degrees," this one usually ranks pretty high on the list. But the Bible itself never presents that attitude. Sin is sin. Every bit of it is a twisting of what was once good. Though Paul takes homosexuality to task often in his epistles (see also 1 Cor. 6:9)—it was, after all, as much a rampant and widely-accepted practice in the ancient Roman empire as it is today—even the self-proclaimed chief of all sinners isn't claiming that this is the chief of all sins. Here he follows up its discussion with a handsome double-list of the sort of depravities that resulted from man's rebellion: first, what they gained from their new nature (evil, greed, murder, insolence, and arrogance, to name just a handful), then what they once had and lost as a result (the "-less" list: they lost their sense, their faith, their heart, and . . . well, their "ruth," I guess). When man pawned God off for something a little closer to his own size, he got a lot more into the bargain than he could've imagined.

And that's where we've all been, and where a part of each of us still winds up sometimes. Not homo _sexual,_ maybe, but homo _anthropic_ by nature. We're attracted to our own kind, most often to our own self. How best, then, to break out of this cycle—to find once again that attraction to God that comes through appreciating the mystery and intrigue that arises out of all the ways we're different? Which of these differences appeals to you the most? Which do you find most frightening or intimidating?

ROMANS 2:1-11

You, therefore, have no excuse, you who pass judgment on someone else, for at whatever point you judge the other, you are condemning yourself, because you who pass judgment do the same things. Now we know that God's judgment against those who do such things is based on truth. So when you, a mere man, pass judgment on them and yet do the same things, do you think you will escape God's judgment? Or do you show contempt for the riches of his kindness, tolerance and patience, not realizing that God's kindness leads you toward repentance?

But because of your stubbornness and your unrepentant heart, you are storing up wrath against yourself for the day of God's wrath, when his righteous judgment will be revealed. God "will give to each person according to what he has done." To those who by persistence in doing good seek glory, honor and immortality, he will give eternal life. But for those who are self-seeking and who reject the truth and follow evil, there will be wrath and anger. There will be trouble and distress for every human being who does evil: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile; but glory, honor and peace for everyone who does good: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile. For God does not show favoritism.

I'm a Christian, but you wouldn't guess it from looking at my car. I don't have a cross hanging from the rearview mirror. No fish on the tail end, no bumper sticker saying, "Christians Aren't Perfect, Just Forgiven" (doesn't _that_ one excuse a lot of behavior). I avoid that sort of advertising. I'm not staging a silent protest against evangelism; I just don't make a very good evangelist when I'm behind the wheel. Nor am I intentionally setting love aside when I drive. It's just . . . well, more of a "tough love" kinda thing. I do know I'm not alone in this. When it comes to degrees of sin, driving makes the ideal illustration of how we set our own behavior as the standard. (George Carlin: "Ever notice how we think everyone who drives slower than us is an idiot and everyone who drives faster than us is a maniac?") Naturally, I consider myself a very good driver. I haven't had an accident or a ticket for a moving violation in years. Unfortunately, God looks at the heart, not the police blotter. When the Books of Judgment are opened in heaven at the end of all things, I don't think I'll be looking forward to the MVR section of my own record.

The ministry of Jesus notwithstanding, the first-century Jews acted in much the same way. They considered themselves the standard for right behavior in the world. (If they'd had bumpers back then, their stickers might've said something like, "Jews Aren't Perfect, But We're A Lot Closer Than You.") By means of the atoning sacrifices performed throughout the year, they believed they had been washed clean of even the worst of their sins—and what's more, they thought that being born a descendant of Abraham gave them a towering advantage in righteousness over the filthy Gentile heathens around them. Beginning here in chapter 2, Paul zeroes in to set them right. The people of Israel assumed they were first in God's eyes. They were right, and Paul confirms this—but not in the way they were expecting. "There will be trouble and distress for _every human being_ who does evil: FIRST for the Jew, then for the Gentile" (emphasis mine). For those who want to consider themselves the standard for righteousness, God makes it clear: _you_ will be held to that very same standard.

The world today takes great delight in holding our fellow brothers and sisters up to the standard they seem to think we're claiming for ourselves. A married governor having an affair is worth twice as much to the media if he's a Christian; ten times as much if he's a pastor, and a hundred times that if he's a homosexual to boot. We cry foul, we hoot and holler about the gospel of grace, and yet . . . how often do we turn the tables on them, even if only in the secrecy of our own hearts, and allow ourselves a private sneer at the fate awaiting those who crow over the rubble of a fallen Christian's faith? For that matter, how easy do you find it to look down your nose at a fallen brother or sister who you think should've known better?

ROMANS 2:11-16

For God does not show favoritism.

All who sin apart from the law will also perish apart from the law, and all who sin under the law will be judged by the law. For it is not those who hear the law who are righteous in God's sight, but it is those who obey the law who will be declared righteous. (Indeed, when Gentiles, who do not have the law, do by nature things required by the law, they are a law for themselves, even though they do not have the law, since they show that the requirements of the law are written on their hearts, their consciences also bearing witness, and their thoughts now accusing, now even defending them.) This will take place on the day when God will judge men's secrets through Jesus Christ, as my gospel declares.

It lay there on the floor waiting for me, a miniature green crossroads between temptation and righteousness, virtue and vice, our seventh president in effigy staring up and daring me to make a choice. Someone had dropped a twenty-dollar bill at the grocery store. I was the first to encounter it. I saw no one close enough to identify as the owner—which also meant no one was close enough to see me pick it up. What to do? The debate begins:

_The Ten Commandments don't apply. It's not stealing. It's been released from ownership—involuntarily, maybe, but is that my fault? No, I should return it. But to whom? It doesn't belong to the store either. If it's wrong for me to keep it, and I give it to the store and_ they _keep it, I'm making them an accessory. I'm dragging them into my sin . . . waitaminute, WHAT sin? I've read Leviticus, almost twice. It doesn't cover this. Maybe God's providing for me. Not exactly a fish's mouth, but I'm not exactly a fisherman. Besides, I'm a Christian. Even if I'm wrong, I'm covered. . . ._

And on it went. I eventually decided to turn the money in; but it was the debate that lingered in my mind. This was a tricky one, because it didn't involve a clear right-versus-wrong decision. (If it had, there would've been no debate at all—either I'd have made the right call or I would've turned a deliberately deaf ear to my inner voice.) In the end, I might have been justified in keeping the money, but I avoided the need for justification altogether by giving it up. Better safe than sinful.

I later found myself wondering about the person living apart from God who faces the same dilemma. Confronted with a close call like this, he may not engage in any debate at all. Or . . . he might. Why? What is it that causes someone who doesn't consider themselves restricted to the path of Biblical morality to contemplate doing "good?" How can they recognize such a standard? Paul answers this in verses 14-15: they are "a law unto themselves." The law is a reflection of God's personal righteousness; we are made in the image of God; therefore, we reflect that part of God's image in our inner being. Even though we've rejected that part of our design in favor of an unrighteous nature, it remains a part of our spiritual DNA. While it was given shape and a voice through the law handed down to the Hebrew people in the desert, they had it before Sinai. So do those who live apart from the law, though they—like Paul—refer to it by the more innocuous title of "conscience." (The Jews were given the Torah; the Gentiles got Jiminy Cricket.)

It's interesting to note that, according to Paul's assessment, this conscience thing works in much the same way the law does. In the case of a person without Christ, it acts as both court-appointed advocate and prosecutor, commending right, impeaching wrong. What it lacks by its own devices is a means of _enforcing_ its standard. When a man acts as his own judge, he allows himself the power to override all arguments from his seat on the bench. He doesn't realize (or accept) that a higher court exists, that every judgment he's made can be reversed and rendered without appeal—or that he'll be trading in his robes for grave wrappings if he doesn't forfeit his judgeship before it's too late.

If his conscience can't save him, however, perhaps it can help us point him toward the right path. How can we use this innate comprehension of right and wrong as a tool to illustrate the higher standard of God's law to unbelievers? How would you define the true source of "conscience" for someone in this position?

ROMANS 2:17-29

Now you, if you call yourself a Jew; if you rely on the law and brag about your relationship to God; if you know his will and approve of what is superior because you are instructed by the law; if you are convinced that you are a guide for the blind, a light for those who are in the dark, an instructor of the foolish, a teacher of infants, because you have in the law the embodiment of knowledge and truth— you, then, who teach others, do you not teach yourself? You who preach against stealing, do you steal? You who say that people should not commit adultery, do you commit adultery? You who abhor idols, do you rob temples? You who brag about the law, do you dishonor God by breaking the law? As it is written: "God's name is blasphemed among the Gentiles because of you."

Circumcision has value if you observe the law, but if you break the law, you have become as though you had not been circumcised. If those who are not circumcised keep the law's requirements, will they not be regarded as though they were circumcised? The one who is not circumcised physically and yet obeys the law will condemn you who, even though you have the written code and circumcision, are a lawbreaker.

A man is not a Jew if he is only one outwardly, nor is circumcision merely outward and physical. No, a man is a Jew if he is one inwardly; and circumcision is circumcision of the heart, by the Spirit, not by the written code. Such a man's praise is not from men, but from God.

As a young man, I nurtured a young man's fondness and fascination in regard to superheroes. I was the kid who ran around the house with a towel tied around my neck and my arms stuck out in front of me, whistling the sound of the wind through my lips. Other days I'd go clattering around with a mixed array of implements—filched from the kitchen and my dad's workshop—hanging from my "utility belt" (still wearing my terry-cloth cape, of course). I'd lose the towel when I went outside to play, but there was no shame in mounting a trash can lid on the front of my bike to act as Captain America's shield.

Naturally, the illusion was never complete unless I took off the belt and tucked the cape under a jacket every now and then so I could idle around as a normal person for a few minutes before changing ( _Shazam!)_ back into the superdude of the day. That was the coolest part of all: the whole "secret identity" thing. At first blush, it wouldn't seem to be all that appealing. Why, if you're able to do amazing things, would you spend upwards of half your life sporting mediocrity? But that misses the entire point. To walk as a man among men, all the while _knowing_ you could accomplish feats that would amaze and delight the mortals around you, is an intoxicating thought. It's no fun trying to pretend you're superior when you know you're inferior to your contemporaries. But behaving as an inferior when you know you're better than everyone else? That's the real ticket to greatness. There's a sort of self-indulgent irony about it—clothed in the disguise of humility—that's irresistible.

The Jewish Christians of Paul's day had reached much the same conclusion. They kept a secret tucked under their workaday clothes they believed gave them the right to look down their collective noses at those who hadn't yet been similarly decorated. Paul had his hands full dealing with what had become a sort of privileged caste in the early church, self-appointed guardians on the doorstep of the Justice League who would only allow entry to the true super-righteous class. Somewhere along the way they'd lost sight of the fact that an outward physical mark couldn't possibly confer inner righteousness any more than wearing a flower-patterned cotton towel around my neck gave me the power to fly. It wasn't enough to know they _could be_ better than the average man on the street; they needed to _do_ better than those around them, and for their sake, all the time.

Of course, we face the same dilemma. Sticking a silver fish to the back of your car won't turn it into the Batmobile—and doubling as a mild-mannered sinner isn't the most effective cover for your true identity. We've been given the giftings of Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit, and it can be fun to think of all the amazing things we could accomplish . . . if what? If the cities weren't so full of evil? If modern society weren't such a bad place? But then, that's _why_ we've been so gifted and empowered. If this were a perfect world, we'd have no need for all that. Superman could've stayed in Kansas, but the crime rate there didn't exactly require his level of intervention. So he went to Metropolis instead. He tried to bring good to a place where things were at their worst. So did Jesus. Now it's your turn.

How often do you find yourself tempted to assume your "secret identity"—to hide your God-given superpowers under the guise of everyday normalcy? Is simply _knowing_ you could do better really enough to satisfy you?

ROMANS 3:1-8

What advantage, then, is there in being a Jew, or what value is there in circumcision? Much in every way! First of all, they have been entrusted with the very words of God.

What if some did not have faith? Will their lack of faith nullify God's faithfulness? Not at all! Let God be true, and every man a liar. As it is written:

" _So that you may be proved right when you speak  
and prevail when you judge."_

But if our unrighteousness brings out God's righteousness more clearly, what shall we say? That God is unjust in bringing his wrath on us? (I am using a human argument.) Certainly not! If that were so, how could God judge the world? Someone might argue, "If my falsehood enhances God's truthfulness and so increases his glory, why am I still condemned as a sinner?" Why not say—as we are being slanderously reported as saying and as some claim that we say—"Let us do evil that good may result"? Their condemnation is deserved.

Here's one of the biggest "what if's" in Christianity: What if Adam and Eve had never sinned? What might our world be like? It's probably not a stretch to say things would be a lot better than they are now. However, as a writer and reader, a storyteller and story lover, my question about such a world would be: what would _drama_ be like? What sort of stories might we tell? Would there be a need to "create" stories—to invent fiction about events that never actually happened—or would we simply recount true past events over and over?

This captures my fascination because the core element of drama in our world is _conflict._ Without strife, without discord, without resistance of some sort, a story simply isn't a story. We love our heroes, but they wouldn't be so called if there were no villains against which they could pit themselves. We measure their goodness in direct contrast to the evils they seek to overcome. But what if no evils had ever existed? If all our protagonists and antagonists were reduced to being just plain "tagonists?" What would the "heroes" in our stories do with all that extra time on their hands?

One argument that surfaced in Paul's day—and has lingered in one form or another all the way through to our own time—was the belief in man as a sort of heroic villain: evil, to be certain, but a _necessary_ evil. Necessary so that God's love and grace could shine the brighter. If good guys need bad guys in order to define their virtues by way of contrast, then the ultimate champions (the three persons of God) could only benefit from men's iniquities. There is, after all, no better story than that of the malicious criminal redeemed.

The arrogance of this point of view is revealed in its underlying implication: that God _needs_ us. We complete him. All our yanging around gives his yin a purpose. If self-elevation is the root and core motivation of all sin—and scripture assures us it is (see Isaiah 14:12-14, and compare it to the serpent's temptation in the garden, Genesis 3:4-7)—then this has to be one of the most nefariously sinful perspectives one could cultivate: that God could not be God without the godless. That somehow only his absence can fully define his presence. It's one more way people convince themselves that men's relationship with God isn't one of servant to master, but another example of worldly co-dependence. He needs us as much as we need him. Just another twist to further skew our already misaligned perspective—not to mention what a magnificent tool it adds to the devil's stock. Once he convinces us that our transgressions are as essential an element to God's righteousness as oxygen and fuel are to combustion, is there any end to the fires of sin he could set and spread in men's hearts?

Have you ever felt—even in the secrecy of your own heart—that you were somehow "helping" God by providing him sinful material to work with? Is there anything about the dramatic element of conflict that makes certain sins appealing to you?

ROMANS 3:9-20

What shall we conclude then? Are we any better? Not at all! We have already made the charge that Jews and Gentiles alike are all under sin. As it is written:  
"There is no one righteous, not even one;  
there is no one who understands,  
no one who seeks God.  
All have turned away,  
they have together become worthless;  
there is no one who does good,  
not even one."  
"Their throats are open graves;  
their tongues practice deceit."  
"The poison of vipers is on their lips."  
"Their mouths are full of cursing and bitterness."  
"Their feet are swift to shed blood;  
ruin and misery mark their ways,  
and the way of peace they do not know."  
"There is no fear of God before their eyes."

Now we know that whatever the law says, it says to those who are under the law, so that every mouth may be silenced and the whole world held accountable to God. Therefore no one will be declared righteous in his sight by observing the law; rather, through the law we become conscious of sin.

Tell me where it hurts.

I don't have to remind you which occupation is most commonly associated with these words. Doctors—particularly pediatricians—use this line and its variations as a diagnostic shortcut. When facing a patient with an unknown ailment or injury, they could conceivably run a massive battery of tests over their entire body to determine the location, source, and severity of the problem. Or they could spare all that expense and effort by making use of the body's inborn diagnostic tool: pain. Under the best of circumstances, pain is unpleasant and uncomfortable, one of life's real nuisances, but it serves an invaluable purpose. It tells us when there's a problem, gives us an idea how big it is and where it's located. Most importantly, it acts as more than a simple warning light. It _compels_ us to reach a solution, to seek help and find relief.

Fear, pain's close cousin, is another unfortunate reality of this world. It's similarly unpleasant and uncomfortable. Like pain, it can be exploited to force others to act against their own will. However, it also resembles pain in that it compels us to move toward a solution. Fear's emotional grip—the realization of danger, the unsettling sensation of anxiety in the pit of the stomach, even the primitive fight-or-flight instinct—drives us out of idleness and into action. It's yet another safety mechanism God hardwired into humans to add a measure of self-protection in a fallen world. Neither is much fun, but imagine how things might be if we lacked both these ingredients in our physical and emotional makeup. How long could a person hope to remain healthy, or even alive, if they experienced no pain or fear, nothing to stop them from leaping headlong into peril or to inform them of the injurious results?

Though the "fear of the Lord" is not quite the same as the day-to-day sort of fear I've been talking about, its absence leads to similar consequences, as Paul indicates here with a list of quotes from Old Testament prophets. When men cease feeling the compulsion to reverence God, there's nothing to stop them from spiritually wounding themselves and everyone else around them. It's a sort of spiritual leprosy, a disease that deadens the nerve endings in its victim even while it's deteriorating his surface tissue. As the body grows more fragile, with no pain receptors to warn the brain of incidental damage, a person can literally destroy himself without really knowing what's happening.

Many of the Jewish Christians of Paul's day considered themselves immune. They, like everyone else, had inured themselves from the fear of the Lord and the pain of sin—except they had the Law, which they thought immunized them from the effects. But they'd misunderstood the function of the Law, which Paul brings to light here for the first time. It isn't an invincible shield to protect us from both the enemy's darts and our own foolhardiness; it's the ultimate medical dictionary, diagnosing every illness with unwavering precision. As keepers of the great remedial text, the Jews were God's doctors, and therefore considered themselves impervious to all that ailed the world. But doctors get sick too. They bleed like everyone else. And even the world's finest surgeon cannot operate on himself. Israel had lost the fear of God along with the rest of the world, and over time their spiritual nerves had deadened to the point that they couldn't recognize their own need for triage.

What about you? Noticed any loss of sensation in your spiritual extremities? Find it harder to feel either pain or pleasure in the presence of the Spirit? Can you still tell God where it hurts?

ROMANS 3:21-31

But now a righteousness from God, apart from law, has been made known, to which the Law and the Prophets testify. This righteousness from God comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus. God presented him as a sacrifice of atonement, through faith in his blood. He did this to demonstrate his justice, because in his forbearance he had left the sins committed beforehand unpunished— he did it to demonstrate his justice at the present time, so as to be just and the one who justifies those who have faith in Jesus.

Where, then, is boasting? It is excluded. On what principle? On that of observing the law? No, but on that of faith. For we maintain that a man is justified by faith apart from observing the law. Is God the God of Jews only? Is he not the God of Gentiles too? Yes, of Gentiles too, since there is only one God, who will justify the circumcised by faith and the uncircumcised through that same faith. Do we, then, nullify the law by this faith? Not at all! Rather, we uphold the law.

The great infirmity of many modern believers is a subtle, quiet disorder. Many hardly know they have it, and those who are aware often hide it behind a curtain of shameful silence. It is a condition some say afflicts nearly half of all Christians. I'm talking about LTS: Lame Testimony Syndrome. The symptoms are common: those elusive feelings of envy, melancholy, even mild guilt experienced while listening to the inspirational accounts of converts who have been saved out of truly harrowing, sinful circumstances. It is most common among those who grew up in the church and had no real chance to "live on the edge" before coming to Christ at an early age. The tears that varnish the cheeks of the brother as he listens to the story of the reformed drug dealer, the former Klan leader, or the paroled murderer are shed half in admiration of grace and half in regret that they never joined a biker gang rough enough to require such an extent of grace for themselves.

I myself am a victim of LTS. I had a handful of middling vices in my younger years; I went through one period when I wasn't too keen on telling the truth, and for a while there I possessed few scruples about casually pocketing just about everything I wanted that didn't belong to me. But I never fired a loaded weapon in anger. I never got to run with the wrong crowd. The most serious substance I've ever abused is caffeine. The prodigal son took his inheritance and lived a gluttonous life in a far off, exotic land. I took my allowance and snuck over to my friend's house without asking. (And when I came home, _my_ father wasn't nearly as happy to see me.) Just doesn't have the same zip, y'know?

Some who suffer from LTS attempt to treat the symptoms instead of the disease. At times I wonder if the pastor, elder, or deacon—or even the commonest of lifelong pewdwellers—who gives himself over to adultery or extortion or binge drinking for a season isn't drawn to the allure of the testimony as much as the transgression. Even as they sin, they know it won't last forever. Accountability will be demanded of them eventually . . . but they'll also come out of it with a heckuva story to tell. There may even be a book deal in it.

I'm afraid support groups aren't the answer. (What good would that do? We'd just put each other to sleep with our boring stories.) Treating the disease itself means overcoming the inherent, and errant, belief that we've never been enough of a wretch to warrant God's amazing grace. Even as we're reminded that we're no less significant or loved in Christ's eyes than a Joni Erickson Tada or a Billy Graham, we need to remind ourselves we're no _better_ than a Genghis Khan or Charles Manson without God's redemption. Had it not been for his sacrifice, we might've shared a cell in Hades with Hitler. To paraphrase another of Paul's epistles . . . we're saved by grace, not tattoos.

Have you ever thought your own story too innocuous to elicit due grace? Or here's an interesting twist—have you ever, even for a moment, considered someone _else's_ testimony too featherweight to deserve a full helping of God's mercy?

ROMANS 4:1-12

What then shall we say that Abraham, our forefather, discovered in this matter? If, in fact, Abraham was justified by works, he had something to boast about—but not before God. What does the Scripture say? "Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness."

Now when a man works, his wages are not credited to him as a gift, but as an obligation. However, to the man who does not work but trusts God who justifies the wicked, his faith is credited as righteousness. David says the same thing when he speaks of the blessedness of the man to whom God credits righteousness apart from works:  
"Blessed are they  
whose transgressions are forgiven,  
whose sins are covered.  
Blessed is the man  
whose sin the Lord will never count against him."

Is this blessedness only for the circumcised, or also for the uncircumcised? We have been saying that Abraham's faith was credited to him as righteousness. Under what circumstances was it credited? Was it after he was circumcised, or before? It was not after, but before! And he received the sign of circumcision, a seal of the righteousness that he had by faith while he was still uncircumcised. So then, he is the father of all who believe but have not been circumcised, in order that righteousness might be credited to them. And he is also the father of the circumcised who not only are circumcised but who also walk in the footsteps of the faith that our father Abraham had before he was circumcised.

My wife and I are good friends with a couple who spent years trying to get pregnant without success. When it eventually grew clear it wasn't going to happen, their desire for a family with children motivated them to choose adoption. They took in a natural brother and sister and raised them as their own. Wouldn't you know it, a few years later—isn't God a hoot?—they finally got pregnant on their own. In situations like this it's not uncommon for the previously adopted children to experience a sense of anxiety concerning their new "status" in the family, an unnecessary—but entirely natural—fear that as children born to other parents, they'll somehow be seen with less favor than the children born to their new parents.

This kind of thing happens from time to time. Much less common is the opposite scenario—when couples who already have children decide to adopt. In those cases it's the biological offspring who may struggle with their parents' decision. _Why would they go looking beyond our family for other kids? Aren't we good enough for them?_ That's what seemed to be going through the minds of many first-century Jews, the "natural" children of God who were being asked to accept the adoption of Gentiles into the family. Their heavenly Father had redeemed them from slavery, sin, and exile to appoint them his light in a world of darkness; then, overnight it seemed, they were being asked to reconcile themselves to the idea that outsiders with no knowledge of, or practice in, the law were to be treated every bit as much as God's children as they were. It was too much for some of them to stomach.

Paul spends a fair portion of the early chapters of Romans trying to walk his Jewish brethren through this difficult transition. Here he uses two interesting arguments: first, that actions performed under obligation to an understood Law had no advantage over the same actions done under the compunction of moral virtue by those who knew no better. This is the same reasoning Jesus used when he saved a place for the older brother in the prodigal's parable. Those who saw themselves as having remained "at home" with God (as if there's ever been anyone who's really done that) needed reminding that serving as they knew they should serve wasn't worthy of any special recognition; but for those who had no law to compel them, the simple decision to enter into the benefits of the law represented an act of sacrifice and obedience higher than anything performed by those already under the law.

Paul's second argument involves timing. Abraham, the recognized father of God's "natural" children, followed the same path himself: he chose to walk with God when he was as much a Gentile under the law (which hadn't even been given yet) as the lowest unwashed heathen. Paul spends this passage reminding his "natural" brothers and sisters that dad was adopted too—so who are they to deny a loving home to those outside the family?

As Gentiles ourselves, we don't face quite the same issue . . . although, as most of these things go, we have our own parallel version to keep us occupied. Have you ever—even for a moment—resented someone's expectation of salvation? Do you view anyone as "beyond salvage" when it comes to Christ's love? Does, for instance, the deathbed confession of a lifelong criminal seem unfair to you?

ROMANS 4:13-19

It was not through law that Abraham and his offspring received the promise that he would be heir of the world, but through the righteousness that comes by faith. For if those who live by law are heirs, faith has no value and the promise is worthless, because law brings wrath. And where there is no law there is no transgression.

Therefore, the promise comes by faith, so that it may be by grace and may be guaranteed to all Abraham's offspring—not only to those who are of the law but also to those who are of the faith of Abraham. He is the father of us all. As it is written: "I have made you a father of many nations." He is our father in the sight of God, in whom he believed—the God who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were.

Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations, just as it had been said to him, "So shall your offspring be." Without weakening in his faith, he faced the fact that his body was as good as dead—since he as about a hundred years old—and that Sarah's womb was also dead.

The book of Romans is a mosaic of keywords—righteousness, grace, hope, perseverance, obedience, justification, and so on. Often the key to understanding Paul's point and purpose is to observe how he plays these words together, rearranging them to offer different glimpses of the larger picture the mosaic portrays. A good example of that appears in verse 16. We've already read how Abraham was justified by his faith, and that God offered him (and us) hope by way of his promise, instead of by his law, under which we stand condemned.

Now he completes the triangle by linking Abraham's _faith_ to God's _promise_. Both sides were components in Abraham's justification. His actions couldn't earn God's grace, but Paul makes it clear his actions were a vital part of the equation. Note—his actions. Not just his understanding, not just his "feelings." He demonstrated his faith through what he did (James says the same thing in his letter—2:22). Though Paul could've used any number of examples from Abraham's life to make his point, he selected the mightiest leap of faith, the one thing that seemed a stretch even for God to pull off: a geriatric conception.

As verse 19 reminds us, in overcoming his doubts Abraham had to "face" an enemy that constantly does its best to bury our faith: the _facts._ The realities of our day-to-day world tend to suffocate our awareness of the spiritual realities beyond it. If we're to believe in God's sovereignty over all that "is" in the here and now, we have to be believe that _He Is_ ("I Am") in the here, the now, and the always. The facts told Abraham "his body was as good as dead" (though I wonder if Abraham, with many years of life ahead of him still, might not have reacted a bit indignantly to Paul's whippersnappish remark there). God, on the other hand, told Abraham his body was as good as it needed to be to get the job done. Abraham chose to discard the facts and listen to God, and prepared himself to receive a gift no one else—including Sarah—could imagine possible. And God saw to it his faith paid off.

So then . . . what sort of impossibilities do you think God can pull off in your life? Are you prepared for it? How much are you willing to allow those preparations to change your life? How far are you willing to take your beliefs—today?

ROMANS 4:19-25

Without weakening in his faith, he faced the fact that his body was as good as dead—since he was about a hundred years old—and that Sarah's womb was also dead. Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised. This is why "it was credited to him as righteousness." The words "it was credited to him" were written not for him alone, but also for us, to whom God will credit righteousness—for us who believe in him who raised Jesus our Lord from the dead. He was delivered over to death for our sins and was raised to life for our justification.

We're often compelled to see the "giants" of biblical literature as having some sort of genetic predisposition to easy faith—as if they came out of the womb singing God's praises instead of bawling their colic, and then proceeded to spend their entire lives ready to throw everything they had into blindly following their Lord's will at every turn. But Paul's tone throughout this chapter does a lot to undermine that misconception, at least where Abraham's concerned. By his account, Abraham is spiritual father to us all. That means he was a lot more like you and me than it may seem on the surface. He, too, lived by grace, not the law—and lucky for him, because he appears to have been every bit as fallible as the rest of us (as even the most cursory study of his life will demonstrate).

I take this to mean he also lived out the earlier years his life the way most of the rest of us do. Genesis doesn't tell us much on that score; at the point it picks up the story, he's already 75, and when God tells him to pack up and move away from his home in Haran he doesn't ask questions. He simply obeys. Why? Genesis doesn't reveal a lot about that, either, but I think Romans does. Somewhere before Genesis 12 and Abram's 75th birthday, God did something, or more likely many things, to show Abram that he was present, that he was interested, and that he was ready to do amazing works. Paul tells us that by the time God told him he was going to be a father (long after he became The Man Formerly Known As Abram), Abraham just took it in stride. No—more than that. He gave glory to God, "being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised." As a result, a circumstance that can bring fear to a man in his 30's (I know of that which I speak) actually _strengthened_ the faith of a man who was older than anyone alive today.

So I don't think it's a stretch to speculate that something happened to Abram in those earlier years, something that convinced him that God was in control and that he had nothing to be worried about. God didn't ask him to forge ahead blind; he intervened in some fashion along the way to cajole Abraham into trusting him. And he did it pretty compellingly, too, since Abram was not just partly convinced, but _fully_ persuaded.

Maybe we're better off not knowing what it was God did for Abram back then. It would give us too easy an excuse. We could point to it and say, "Well, if God had made _my_ sheep fly. . . !" Since we aren't aware of the specifics in that situation, then, is it reasonable to think that maybe God is doing for us, today, something on the level he did for Abram? How "persuaded" are you at this point that the God who is sovereign over the universe is in control of your life as well? And how much will it take for him to bring you to the point where you're _fully_ persuaded?

ROMANS 5:1-5

Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.

Well, with the beginning of chapter 5, it seems we've arrived! We're justified by faith, we have peace with God, access to grace, and all kinds of hope as a result. If Paul had schlumped the first two verses onto the end of chapter 4 and called it a day, we'd be in great shape.

But it seems he's not done throwing keywords around. In fact, he's been waiting to get several biggies off his chest—and he does it here in list form, which usually means a need for closer scrutiny. He starts it off by acknowledging that, as Christians, we're to "rejoice in our sufferings." Why? Because that's the road we have to travel in order to come by the hope he just finished telling us we ought to have. It's a case of the bad news after the good, in a way.

But is the news that bad, really, at least for us? When Paul talks about sufferings, he's talking about what the Christians in his day faced on an almost daily basis. It came as a result of another key word—persecution—and, like so many biblical concepts, it meant something very different for them than it does for us today. Back then, being a Christian meant risking crucifixion, or scourging, or being roasted alive, or other varied forms of torture and death by any number of creative means. These days, a Christian in America risks being called names. Mean ones, sometimes. They had lions and the sword. We have Hollywood and the ACLU. Not exactly the stuff of martyrs, is it?

Sure, we all face different forms of suffering, at least in the context of our own lives: job stress, financial pressures, family problems, sometimes abuse or addiction or depression or worse. I'm writing these very words at the end of an enormously difficult day in my own life, full of stress, uncertainty, and no end of self-doubt. I did my fair share of sweating . . . but when I tried, for even an instant, to put the word "suffering" to it, it felt a little ridiculous. (Even worse, though my "sufferings" were puny compared to so many other believers both new and old, I had an impossible time rejoicing in them. Why is that so tough?)

The notion of the Suffering Servant has become a bromide to the modern Christians in the Western world. And that presents a problem: if _character_ is the key component in this sequence (and I believe it is), how are we supposed to go about building a good one? Short of turning acetic and flogging the skin off our own backs, where's a believer to go to find some good suffering for himself? Is there another means to come by this necessary character (and hope!)—or are our own "sufferings" enough for Christ to work with?

ROMANS 5:5-11

And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.

You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

Since we have now been justified by his blood, how much more shall we be saved from God's wrath through him! For if, when we were God's enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life! Not only is this so, but we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.

As an avid book lover, I am endlessly impressed with authors who manage to pull out a plot twist I couldn't see coming. I have memories dating back to childhood of sitting in thunderstruck silence following the revelation of a turned page. Sometimes it had to do with the identity of a character, such as the moment we all learned that Darth Vader was Luke Skywalker's father (all right, it's a movie, not a book, but who can forget the shock that one gave us?). Other times it concerned the return of a character previously thought dead, such as Gandalf in _The Lord of the Rings._ The kind of twist that leaves the deepest impression on me, however, would have to be the death of a major, or even a main, character during the course of a story. It takes a great deal of courage for an author to sacrifice their primary protagonist for the sake of the larger story. In these cases, the reader is usually left awed as well as staggered: it's an indication that the writer takes his or her narrative very seriously.

How much more courage would it take, then, for an author somehow to make an appearance in the story he's writing, _as_ he's writing it—and then, in an unexpected turn, to die _himself_ before the end of the story? Doesn't that make for a paradoxically intriguing idea? You'd be pretty compelled to keep reading such a tale, yes? Of course, I don't have to tell you that's just what God did in the most famous story of all. What's easy to forget—what Paul wants urgently to remind his readership here—is the even greater twist the author folded into the tale: the object of his death. Heroes die for causes. Martyrs die for beliefs. But who dies for losers? For criminals? Who trades value for something that has none?

In this, our Author and Perfecter showed Himself to be the Perfect Author. When he traded what was highest for what was lowest, he bestowed immeasurable value on that which had previously proven worthless. If a rich man spends his entire fortune to buy a broken-down, rusted-out old Buick no one else would pay a dollar for, that car becomes his most prized possession, the whole of his remaining estate. All his focus and effort would go toward protecting and restoring it. However people questioned his initial action, no one would question his motives from that point on. And that's just where our greatest hope lies. If God paid the life and blood of his own Son, an intrinsic part of _himself_ , to purchase us, what fear should we have that he's after anything but _our_ protection and restoration?

Later on, in what would prove yet another exciting spin of the plot wheel, the asset given for the purchase found its way back to the owner. This was, however, a necessary part of the transaction. Death made the sale final, but only Christ's resurrection could make our restoration possible. Mortality could not beget eternal life. It took life triumphing over death to do that. And it makes a certain sort of sense, after all. Considering Jesus is the Word made flesh and scripture is inspired by the Holy Spirit, the Bible is something of an autobiography—the one genre in which the main character _cannot_ die before the end of the story.

Given all the Author's done to perfect the story, then, do you still worry about the ending? Are you ever concerned God will find some nefarious plot twist in your own tale to use against you? Does this passage do anything to console those fears?

ROMANS 5:12-16

Therefore, just as sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, and in this way death came to all men, because all sinned—for before the law was given, sin was in the world. But sin is not taken into account when there is not law. Nevertheless, death reigned from the time of Adam to the time of Moses, even over those who did not sin by breaking a command, as did Adam, who was a pattern of the one to come.

But the gift is not like the trespass. For if the many died by the trespass of the one man, how much more did God's grace and the gift that came by the grace of the one man, Jesus Christ, overflow to the many! Again, the gift of God is not like the result of the one man's sin: The judgment followed one sin and brought condemnation, but the gift followed many trespasses and brought justification.

I'd like to take a moment—and a bit of a risk, I suppose—to throw my hat into the ring of a centuries-old guessing game. I should probably make it clear this is _not_ a strictly interpretive venture here. I'm not suggesting this is how it happened, that I've somehow stumbled across some secret revelation akin to discovering the identity of the author of Hebrews or the exact fruit the serpent offered to Eve (who said it was an apple?). However, since so many before me have offered their own ruminations on this subject, I figured one more couldn't hurt.

It has to do with what Jesus wrote in the dirt during his encounter with the Pharisees who had ever-so-conveniently discovered a woman in the act of adultery (with a man who ever-so-conveniently managed to escape facing similar charges). Innumerable people, from renowned scriptural scholars to armchair theologians, have offered a wide variety of conjectures on the nature of the prose Jesus scribbled in the sand. Many have suggested he laid out the Ten Commandments for them as a reminder of the standard they seemed so concerned with enforcing upon others. I've heard others speculate that he might've drawn up specific acts they'd committed against God's law, proof that he knew their guilt better than they knew the woman's. Some have said it's even possible he wrote the Pharisees' names, just so they'd get a glimpse of how well he knew each of them.

My own "what-if" falls near this last mark. I wonder if, instead of a list, he just spelled out a single name: _Adam._ Up to that point, Adam was the only sinless man in their history, though obviously he hadn't kept the title permanently. Maybe that was the nature of Jesus' warning. _Let he who is without sin—like this guy was—cast the first stone._ Let he who is sinless take action, but also take note: such men's actions have a tendency to change the world. Adam's certainly did. That's what made him the "pattern of the one to come," as Paul describes him here. His single act defined spiritual reality for all who were to live after him. So would Christ's.

It's interesting how often we forget the similarities between these two. Both entered the world unblemished and unburdened. Both walked in harmony with God, living a life of complete obedience to his will without—get this, now—without the need of any law to inform them of the difference between right and wrong. Along the way, however, both confronted the temptation to step away from the faultless course they knew. Each faced a choice, and as a result of that choice, both died in sin (and, just to complete the pairing, in each case because of an encounter with a tree).

It's that part about the law that interests Paul here. As I said, neither Adam nor Jesus needed a complicated list of regulations to keep them on the right track. There was no written law telling Adam how to behave, nor any specific regulation that said a sinless man had to die to complete redemption. Each man's perfection arose from an intimate abiding in God's will. Death was born into the world by means of what was the ultimate (in that it was the first, and unprecedented) act of disobedience. Life returned to the world through the ultimate act of obedience. The latter was by far the more significant, since—as Paul makes it clear—it didn't just affect those who followed after, but all who'd come before as well. Jesus offered a better consequence, and therefore a better model to follow.

When you're seeking God's will, do you find yourself most often looking for it in the how-to's (and the don't-do's) of the Bible? Do you think it's possible, even for sinful folks like us, to walk with God in faith and obedience in a way that transcends the religious precision of scriptural law?

ROMANS 5:17-21

For if, by the trespass of the one man, death reigned through that one man, how much more will those who receive God's abundant provision of grace and of the gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man, Jesus Christ.

Consequently, just as the result of one trespass was condemnation for all men, so also the result of one act of righteousness was justification that brings life for all men. For just as through the disobedience of the one man the many were made sinners, so also through the obedience of the one man the many will be made righteous.

The law was added so that the trespass might increase. But where sin increased, grace increased all the more, so that, just as sin reigned in death, so also grace might reign through righteousness to bring eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Here are the beginnings of the argument Paul's going to bring to the table in earnest in Chapter 7: that the primary purpose of the law is to identify sin, to call it out, to show it for what it is. It doesn't _cause_ sin, any more than a CAT scan machine causes the tumors it points out. The law is a diagnostic tool unrelated to the disease itself.

Or, to put it in the terms Jesus himself used, the law is an almanac best used to categorize different species of fruit. Most of us who didn't grow up on a farm are able to identify different types of trees only by what we see hanging from their branches. I don't personally think I could tell you what, say, a naked lemon tree looked like when compared to a similarly unadorned pear tree. I don't know the difference in size, leaf-shape, or trunk configuration (if there is any—I assume there is). Leave the two of them long enough, though, and when spring comes I'll know which is which.

It's important, then, to understand the limitations of the law. It tells us about the fruit—men's deeds—but not about the nature of the tree—men's natural, inborn disposition toward sin. It marks the sins, plural, but _sin,_ the abstraction, the subtext, the undercurrent and source of all that ails us, is an entirely different matter. Thanks to the actions of one man (and his own tree) we're each born a lemon tree, and by the law we know that's what we are because we see ovals of yellow citrus springing from our branches, some of them runts, some of them prize-winners for sure. But picking every lemon from every last branch won't make us a pear tree. Nor will hanging plastic pears from the limbs. Christ seeks to create a new tree to replace the old. That's the only thing that'll do. Once we're changed, we may not grow very impressive pears—and we may even choose to hang plastic lemons up there instead, preferring yellow to green—but we are who he made us, for now and forever.

What often puzzles me, though, is how often I find real lemons still growing out of the branches of my stunted little pear tree. By Adam, sin was born; by the law, trespass increased; but by Christ, grace abounds, the nature is altered, the tree is no longer what it was . . . right? So why are my lemons still big enough for the County Fair, but my pears couldn't feed a starving family? How is it that the fruits of death still flourish in what should be a field of life?

ROMANS 6:1-7

What shall we say, then? Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase? By no means! We died to sin; how can we live in it any longer? Or don't you know that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.

If we have been united with him like this in his death, we will certainly also be united with him in his resurrection. For we know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body of sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves to sin—because anyone who has died has been freed from sin.

Christianity is a life-giving, life-praising, life-multiplying belief, and that's how it should be. However, we often lose sight of the other side of it—the significance of death in our daily walk toward Christ-likeness. Good Friday is washed out in the luminescence of Easter. The Third Day overwhelms the first. We get so caught up in the giddiness of the resurrection that we take too much with us, forgetting to leave behind the part we were supposed to bury in the grave.

Paul tried to emphasize this same point to the Galatians. _"I have been crucified with Christ,"_ he said. _"It is no longer I who live. . . ."_ He's dead, see. Dead to the world, and dead to himself, at least as he was. The life he lives is Christ's life through him, but he hasn't lost sight of the death he's already suffered. Too many of us seem to skip that part. We're all gangbusters for salvation and sanctification and new life, and we go screaming for grace so fast we forget to check in our luggage at the gate. Or maybe it's not forgetfulness at all. Maybe the reason we're so eager hang on to some part of what we've called our own is because we don't know what awaits us once we let it all go.

It's human nature, really. The patient preparing for a long and possibly risky surgical procedure knows his chances of waking up in a day or two are overwhelmingly good, but some part of him nonetheless shrinks from the idea of succumbing to the deep sleep of anesthesia. The change that's about to take place inside him will happen without his help, without his understanding, without even his awareness, and he can't imagine what his world might be like when he comes to himself again.

We're the same way when we face the path of the cross before us—and that goes for _every_ time we're facing the cross. Not just the initial death-to-ourselves confession and conversion incident, but every day that we choose to take up our cross and follow Christ. Inherent in that teaching is the understanding that we're to die to ourselves _daily,_ to slough off the dead flesh we seem to put on and wear around like a comfortable jacket whenever we relax our vigilance against sinful habits. If we want to continue to live, we must continue to die—and that part never really gets any easier. We know the stone will roll away from the tomb and we'll see the light again . . . but that's a couple of days away, and death lies between. We're very attached to the part of us that's to be killed (even if it is worse and more worthless than a burst appendix), and we can't yet see how our lives will turn out once we've sealed the coffin on the more familiar elements of our personality.

The truth for most of us is that we haven't quite come around to dying to ourselves. To paraphrase Paul, the life we live in the body, we _might_ live by faith at times, but we also still choose to live it in the body. The old body. What is it that's so appealing about that, considering all we know (or believe) awaits us as an alternative? Which part of what should've died in you is the hardest to let go?

ROMANS 6:8-14

Now if we died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him. For we know that since Christ was raised from the dead, he cannot die again; death no longer has mastery over him. The death he died, he died to sin once for all; but the life he lives, he lives to God.

In the same way, count yourselves dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus. Therefore do not let sin reign in your mortal body so that you obey its evil desires. Do not offer the parts of your body to sin, as instruments of wickedness, but rather offer yourselves to God, as those who have been brought from death to life; and offer the parts of your body to him as instruments of righteousness. For sin shall not be your master, because you are not under law, but under grace.

Back in the days when I dreamed of directing movies, one of the screenplays I considered writing was about a man who had just been released from a long stint in prison—something like 25-30 years. He does his best to get back on his feet: the system lands him a job, a place to live, and he meets a few people, including a lady with a past of her own who seems to take a liking to him. But he stumbles a lot. He can't seem to adjust to the changes in the world. He sees the obvious distrust lurking in everyone's eyes. Finally he has his fill. Life is just too hard on the outside. So he holds up a Savings & Loan, a crime large enough to send him back where he wants to go without the risk of hurting anyone. Unfortunately, the police latch onto the idea that he's got some sort of secret agenda—a bomb he'll set off when he's captured, or something similar ("a classic X-32 Shadow scenario," the FBI man says)—and so, fearing an ulterior motive, they refuse to take him in. No matter how hard he tries, he just can't get himself arrested. He winds up driving around in a surrendered patrol car, searching for some clue as to what he should do next. Of course, it isn't until he runs into his lady friend again and begins to understand that freedom may have its perks that he's finally taken down and sent back to prison again.

When Jesus died for our sins, the doors to our prison were thrown wide—yet we still had to make the choice to leave. Sinners aren't the felons out on the streets; they're the folks still sitting in their cells, some listless, some content, but most just ignorant of the fact they've been pardoned and are free to go any time they please. As for us, by God's grace we're out in the light again . . . but, as has already been discussed, we still retain the ability to choose the wrong path. We've been freed from sin, but we're not yet _exempt_ from it.

That's where guilt comes in. It's also where Satan often gains his biggest purchase on us: by convincing us that repeat offenders are headed for a one-way trip back to the slammer, that somehow the wrong sin at the wrong time condemns us for good. It benefits us a good deal more to view our current sins for what they are. When we do wrong, it's not much different than the rest of the sinners in the world. We're not riding a crime wave. We're sitting huddled in a dim corner with the shades drawn to shut out the light, trying our best to reproduce the isolation and "comforts" of our old cell. The problem is less one of outright destruction than a simple lack of productivity. We're not doing anyone (least of all God) any good by mimicking that shell of a life.

If we've died to ourselves, then, we've also been resurrected into life and light with Christ. Like prisoners, like slaves, we've been freed to become servants. Bondservants, even. You remember the story from the Bible: when a slave who became free by the law loved his master enough to remain, they put an awl through his ear to mark his conscious decision to remain subservient to the man who had once owned him. Paul tells us that "sin shall not be your master" because we've been let go; how ironic is it, then, that so many love that old master enough to desire the wrong awl for their ears?

What about you? Do you sometimes find yourself missing the familiar comforts of your old cell? What do think is lacking that Christ can provide as an alternative?

ROMANS 6:15-18

What then? Shall we sin because we are not under law but under grace? By no means! Don't you know that when you offer yourselves to someone to obey him as slaves, you are slaves to the one whom you obey—whether you are slaves to sin, which leads to death, or to obedience, which leads to righteousness? But thanks be to God that, though you used to be slaves to sin, you wholeheartedly obeyed the form of teaching to which you were entrusted. You have been set free from sin and have become slaves to righteousness.

One of the hardest notions for young people to learn is that absolute freedom cannot be attained without restrictions. They think freedom means doing what you please, when you please. Rules only get in the way. With maturity, however, comes the understanding that it's the rules that prevent the onset of anarchy, a circumstance totally incompatible with the basic principles of freedom. Usually this applies on a cultural or societal level, simply because the consequences of one's actions rarely affect only the person who commits them. If I were to consider myself free to do as I pleased, I could go ahead and help myself to whichever car in the lot pleases me most, or take that money from the register, or even exact my own idea of justice (read: _revenge)_ from anyone I believe had done me a serious enough injury. All of this would come at the expense of freedom—not mine, but someone else's. We understand freedom as a national heritage, and therefore have to understand everyone's right to that heritage. Once freedom begins to erode as a whole, eventually we'll lose more and more of our own personal liberties.

These days, however, we're dealing with a new set of circumstances (the other, _other_ national heritage): the idea that your body is your own, your mind is yours to do with as you please, and so long as your personal actions don't deny the rights of others then you can indeed think and do as you please. And, so far as sinners are concerned, that may well be the case—but Paul tells us here that's not how it is for Christians. For instance, a current catchphrase among men testifies that it's okay to look, so long as they don't touch. That may not violate the constitutional rights of the lookee, but it does go a long way toward robbing someone of their God-given freedom: the man who's doing the looking.

If you've been freed from sin but continue to work toward its interests and serve its ends, you're still accepting bondage. Whether you drag anyone else down with you is another matter entirely. With all our inherited and celebrated freedoms, this society doesn't truck much with slavery anymore; yet underneath it all, it remains a society enslaved, and one that encourages its former workforce to return to the fields and toil on without hope of profit. Our desire should be to leave all that behind and renounce slavery for good.

How interesting, then, that Paul tells us that we've been freed from one sort of slavery only to accept another. Does that make sense? By behaving righteously, are we being forced to act against our wills? If slavery can be defined as compelled labor (in most cases, compelled by the threat of punishment), then what is it that compels us to labor in God's service?

ROMANS 6:19-23

I put this in human terms because you are weak in your natural selves. Just as you used to offer the parts of your body in slavery to impurity and to ever-increasing wickedness, so now offer them in slavery to righteousness leading to holiness. When you were slaves to sin, you were free from the control of righteousness. What benefit did you reap at that time from the things you are now ashamed of? Those things result in death! But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves to God, the benefit you reap leads to holiness, and the result is eternal life. For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Jesus, a man of passions both varied and deep, had his most passionate bout of anger recorded during the week before his death, when he found the money lenders using temple space to conduct their underhanded business. It incensed him that his Father's house should be made an accessory to the affairs of men who clearly had very little interest in observing his Father's law. Their activities there had probably begun innocently enough; the temple was a location where lots of people gathered, so it likely made sense as a convenient stopping-off point. But as time passed they grew more corrupt. They forgot the significance of where they were, setting it aside for the greater interest in what they were doing.

Though the temple's been gone for two millennia, the problem still exists today. Paul emphasizes it by hitting it twice in just a few verses (first in 6:13, then again in verse 19). If your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, then when you use the parts of your body for sin you're making this new temple an accessory to that sin, just like the money lenders did. And, just like them, what might've started as an innocent lark often mutates into a vein of iniquity we can't seem to control. In some ways we have it both easier and more difficult than the temple leaders of that day. On the one hand, they had to watchdog a large space and be responsible for the motives and actions of many people, where we have the advantage of only being responsible for one body. On the other hand, we're held personally and absolutely accountable for everything that happens in that body. No more pointing to your fellow priest and shrugging away the blame.

We read plenty of references throughout scripture about this idea of keeping our separate body parts under control. What's important is the larger theme behind all of them. Jesus was right when he said that it's better to lose one eye than to let your whole body burn; but what about that other eye? I guess I can't speak for everyone, but my left eye finds it easiest to do what my right eye is doing most of the time. When they start looking at two things at once, I tend to get headaches. Say I go ahead, then, and pop my right eye out to save my body . . . where does that leave me? My left eye's just as likely to settle right back into the habits it learned from its evil partner.

We can find the solution to the problem by looking at another body part. As James says in his letter (3:3), the tongue is like the rudder of a ship—a tiny bit of real estate that's able to conduct an enormous vessel in any direction, good or bad. But at the danger of contradicting the great apostle, I'd say that the rudder doesn't steer the ship. The helmsman does, under the direction of his captain. The rudder has the power to redirect the course, but it can't act on its own. So before you start plucking eyes and amputating hands and yanking off your rudder—in every case limiting your ability to interact with the world around you—consider the alternative. You're at the helm. You have the freedom to steer the ship, to direct your eyes, to move your hands. You're the servant, the employee, the slave. Who, then, is your captain?

ROMANS 7:1-6

Do you not know, brothers—for I am speaking to men who know the law—that the law has authority over a man only as long as he lives? For example, by law a married woman is bound to her husband as long as he is alive, but if her husband dies, she is released from the law of marriage. So then, if she marries another man while her husband is still alive, she is called an adulteress. But if her husband dies, she is released from that law and is not an adulteress, even though she marries another man.

So, my brothers, you also died to the law through the body of Christ, that you might belong to another, to him who was raised from the dead, in order that we might bear fruit to God. For when we were controlled by the sinful nature, the sinful passions aroused by the law were at work in our bodies, so that we bore fruit for death. But now, by dying to what once bound us, we have been released from the law so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit, and not in the old way of the written code.

Over the last few passages we've looked at the influence of sin in our lives from the vantage point of several different metaphors: good trees and bad trees, prison life, slavery to one master or the other, anarchy vs. absolute freedom through restrictions. Here we're revisiting another recent one, the idea of dying to ourselves as sinners in order to be raised as saints. Paul's use of marriage as a template, however, puts a different spin on it, and introduces two intriguing aspects. First is this notion that our sinful "passions" were aroused by the law. Once again we see that the law is not an answer in itself—quite the opposite, in fact. It appears not only that the law attended our wedding to sin, but went so far as to give us away as the bride—and then assured the marriage was consummated at once. Long after the honeymoon was over, we went on to do our part as dutiful partners. We were obedient, faithful, servile, only too willing to please (probably better, in many ways, than we do with our real spouses), and along the way we gave birth to a full house of nasty children.

Eventually, and thankfully, someone got around to reminding us of the "out" clause in our pre-nup—and that brings us to the second beguiling twist. The event of death does allow us out of the marital contract, no question . . . but _we're_ the ones who have to die. Like so many of those dark and goofy dramas that portray one spouse trying to get rid of the other for various reasons seemingly fair but mostly foul, we spend our lives ineffectively trying to kill off our worse half. But he's a stubborn miser; he just won't kick the bucket. The only thing that'll work is to follow the example of Jesus, who was willing to end his own life—even though he was the only "single" person who ever lived. We have to be the partner who surrenders. It's our own death that releases us from the matrimonial bond to our sinful nature.

Which brings up a third interesting point. Why is it, once we've given all we can, once we've gotten the paperwork signed and the divorce finalized, that we spend the rest of our lives courting the companion we've gone to such lengths and depths to get rid of? Is that particular dating scene really worth committing adultery against our newly betrothed? What can we do to find again our "first love" with Christ and recommit ourselves to being faithful spouses?

ROMANS 7:7-13

What shall we say, then? Is the law sin? Certainly not! Indeed I would not have known what sin was except through the law. For I would not have known what coveting really was if the law had not said, "Do not covet." But sin, seizing the opportunity afforded by the commandment, produced in me every kind of covetous desire. For apart from law, sin is dead. Once I was alive apart from law; but when the commandment came, sin sprang to life and I died. I found that the very commandment that was intended to bring life actually brought death.

For sin, seizing the opportunity afforded by the commandment, deceived me, and through the commandment put me to death. So then, the law is holy, and the commandment is holy, righteous and good. Did that which is good, then, become death to me? By no means! But in order that sin might be recognized as sin, it produced death in me through what was good, so that through the commandment sin might become utterly sinful.

Sin is an opportunistic visitor, and usually a very quiet one. It doesn't announce its arrival with heralds and noise or beg us for our attention. That's temptation. There's a difference. Sin works underneath the radar. In the midst of getting pushed and prodded and lured and coaxed and baited constantly from every direction by temptation, sin will whisper a simple word or two into our deepest ear. While we're deafened with the cacophony of "You'd like it!" and "You need it!" and "You should!", sin breathes, "You _can_ . . . and you can get away with it, too."

"For sin, seizing the opportunity afforded by the commandment, deceived me. . . ." Again, there's the uncomfortable irony: the law gives sin its teeth. If we weren't aware of the wrong in what we wanted to do, we'd just go ahead and do it. But now that we know it's not right, we still drift toward doing it—only now it becomes a secret. It's something to hide, from our spouses, from our friends, from ourselves, from God. (What was the first thing Adam and Eve did after their initial foray into sin? They discovered a new use for shrubbery, employing it for both cover _and_ concealment.) Whenever and wherever opportunity arises—we're tired, we're alone, the resources are close at hand, we see the chance to pull it off—all sin has to do is open the door for us, and do its best to keep our mind off the other end of the law, that part about consequences and displeasing God. That's the deception. It usually works. Ever notice how guilt never precedes sin, it only follows it?

It's left to us, then, to cut the process off at the source, which means going after opportunity. Which in turn means not allowing it to enter the picture to begin with. Remember Cain? God didn't point out his wrongs. He pointed out his not-rights. It isn't enough to stay neutral; you're still treading dangerous water there. If sin prospers best in the voids (and it does), we have to fill every void, every corner of our lives, with right. When Paul said to the Philippians (4:8), "Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things," he wasn't just encouraging Christian niceties. He was giving them a warning. Any leftover space that isn't occupied with these things is fair game for sin. Lack of substance creates a vacuum, which draws into itself whatever's close at hand. It's like people trying to lose weight. Anorexia may seem like a fast-track solution, but it only leaves you with a greater hunger, and therefore a greater temptation to eat at every opportunity. Nowadays we know that diet, not deprivation, is the answer. You can eat steadily throughout the day, so long as what you're eating benefits the body as it was meant to.

Why, then, is it so tough? Why does the attempt to fill our minds with pure and upright thoughts so often appeal to us about as much as a plateful of asparagus did when we were kids? What's the best way to go about cultivating those niceties, so we can strangle opportunity _before_ it becomes sin?

ROMANS 7:14-25

We know that the law is spiritual; but I am unspiritual, sold as a slave to sin. I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it.

So I find this law at work: When I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God's law; but I see another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within my members. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God—through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, I myself in my mind am a slave to God's law, but in the sinful nature a slave to the law of sin.

They are two of the most widely known figures in our literature, our drama, our cinema, towering figures who have come to represent the lasting battle for moral principles in our world. From their first appearance they've changed the way we look at ethics, virtue, and integrity. They have permeated our culture, become "household personalities," and influenced generations of people in the way they view the ongoing conflict between good and evil.

I'm sure you've guessed by now who I'm talking about: the little angel and devil dudes who sit on the shoulders of fictional characters and urge them to all manner of good and ill. Like most myths, there's some truth in it, though it's far outnumbered by the inaccuracies. Probably the most significant is that they're not external influences—at least not both at once. Back in the beginning, when we lived with our naturally sinful nature, we made sin feel right at home. We left the good guy waiting outside. But it wasn't some crummy angel under a faux halo; it was Christ Himself. He never said a word. He didn't prod us to "do the right thing." There would've been no point to it yet. He just stood at our door, quietly but insistently knocking.

Then one day—praise God for His grace!—we let him in, let him turn our heart into his home and likewise turn the devil out into the street. Now things are the other way around . . . sort of. Not quite. The devil doesn't knock at the door. He just sits on the mat like the bad dog he is, waiting for us to open up again so he can come inside to do his business on the rug. Trouble is, too often we let him. We don't like his bad habits, but we've grown just attached enough to want to keep him as a pet.

We've dealt a lot with the question of why, as Christians who've had their lives inalterably changed, we still find sin such a constant companion. At last Paul gives us the answer in an eloquent (if syntactically confusing) confession of his own continuing struggles with sin. Like the rest of us, he wants to do good, but "evil is right there," that pesky devil on our shoulder, the annoying houseguest who won't take a hint and leave. Christ indwells us, assuring us both eternal life and the aptitude, the basic ability, to do the right thing; but He didn't lock the door behind him. If we choose to open it again, sin's waiting, and Christ will sit patiently on that old couch in the corner while we entertain all visitors—but he won't involve himself in the party. Only when we've kicked out the last drunken carouser will he get up and join us again. Our Savior is a willing guest, but he's a demanding one as well. He wants the party to be exclusive. He'll empower us to do good, but while we still inhabit this life we can never forget that, no matter how much we do for the sake of the kingdom, evil is right there with us, waiting for the first chance to interfere.

So how often do you find yourself "forgetfully" leaving the door open? When was the last time Christ had to take a seat while you had friends over? Is he still sitting there now. . . ?

ROMANS 8:1-8

Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death. For what the law was powerless to do in that it was weakened by the sinful nature, God did by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful man to be a sin offering. And so he condemned sin in sinful man, in order that the righteous requirements of the law might be fully met in us, who do not live according to the sinful nature but according to the Spirit.

Those who live according to the sinful nature have their minds set on what that nature desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace; the sinful mind is hostile to God. It does not submit to God's law, nor can it do so. Those controlled by the sinful nature cannot please God.

To this point, Paul has constructed the letter to the Roman Christians in the same way a maestro would compose a great symphony. He's introduced a number of motifs—sin, the law, grace, Jewish traditions, and so on—played them out as separate melodies, then interwoven them to create new themes, bringing one to the fore at times while moving away from others. All the while he's been heading for the Big Movement, the climactic moment that will bring the entire orchestra in to resolve all the disparate themes in a grand mellifluence of spiritual music.

Chapter 8 is that moment. Bringing together the parts of all the previous themes he creates an entirely new melody, one he'll spend the rest of the chapter bringing to a crescendo. It begins with a complete diversion from the course he's worked so hard to present until now. He starts on an interesting note: "Therefore." He's just finished telling us there's no hope, that though his mind is given to God he's a slave to his sinful nature. But he doesn't begin the next sentence with "thankfully" or "ironically" or "whodathunkit?" He says "therefore." He doesn't waver. He doesn't question God's grace. It's an assumed point. _Therefore . . . ._

Therefore what? "Therefore there is now _no condemnation_. . . ." As wretched as Paul and the rest of us are, for those of us in Christ Jesus there is no possibility of condemnation. None. Note that he doesn't follow it with "except" and a list of those really awful things we could still do to submarine his best intentions. This is the gospel of grace in a nutshell. What's most ironic here is how it all comes about because of the twin-personality nature of the law. Yes, it's our accuser, the diagnostic tool that identifies everything evil in our lives (the "law of sin and death"); but that same law also provides our way out (the "law of the Spirit of Life"). In the ultimate switcheroo on the devil, God applies the letter of the law to free us from the very thing the law would use to condemn us. He sent his own Son "in the likeness of sinful man to be a sin offering"—the very sort of offering the law requires for the sake of atonement.

The message is clear: from this point on, none of this, no action or inaction of our own, has anything to do with our salvation. We're already "in Christ Jesus," so there's _no condemnation,_ no matter what we do. There can be, however, repercussions on our relationship with God. That's what the rest of this passage means. Is your mind currently given to the Spirit of God, or are you harboring a sinful mind that's hostile to God? Is your pursuit Christlikeness, or do you like yourself too much for that? Now that we've been assured we're safe in his arms no matter what, that should liberate us from the concerns of legalism and free up all kinds of time to focus on pleasing the one who's given up so much to give us so much of himself—but does it?

ROMANS 8:8-11

Those controlled by the sinful nature cannot please God.

You, however, are controlled not by the sinful nature but by the Spirit, if the Spirit of God lives in you. And if anyone does not have the Spirit of Christ, he does not belong to Christ. But if Christ is in you, your body is dead because of sin, yet your spirit is alive because of righteousness. And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit, who lives in you.

" _I have a mind for business and a bod for sin. Anything wrong with that?"_

**\- Melanie Griffith, from the film** _Working Girl_

Well, yes and no, Melanie. In spite of Harrison Ford's fuddleheaded agreement with her, it's hard to say that there's anything right about having a "bod" for sin . . . but it's certainly typical, even for those of us who are believers. Actually, if we meld two of Paul's sayings together (vs. 10 here and 1 Cor. 2:16), we only need to tweak what she said a little to make it perfectly applicable to us: we have the mind of Christ, but a bod for sin. And there does seem to be something wrong with it.

Through our life in Christ, our spirits have been perfected—but they still live in the imperfect house of the flesh. There's another answer to why we continue to struggle so much with sin: it's literally a physiological problem, a universal cancer of the body ("me-noma"). But before we fall back on the excuse that we can't come close to perfection while we're still living on the earth—so why try, right?—consider what Paul says in verse 11. Whenever our mortal shells tempt us toward failure, Jesus is fully able to pull a Lazarus on us, to resuscitate our dying flesh and cure us of the leprosy of unrighteousness right on the spot. The question is whether we'll let him. When he stands outside the opening of our self-imposed tomb and shouts out our name, will we rise and go out to greet him—or sit in our sepulcher and sulk?

There's also the issue of ownership. The reverse implication of verse 9 is that anyone who has the Spirit of Christ belongs to Christ. When we were the sole tenants of our hearts and bodies, we were never denied the freedoms of choice. The deeds of the flesh were performed by the deed _holders_ of our flesh. But the title has changed hands. We're under new ownership, and the current proprietor wants us to follow his HOA—not simply so he can play the overbearing landlord, but so that we as boarders can learn how to become titled property-owners. We will, after all, be inheriting the estate for ourselves someday.

This passage also brought another intriguing, though much less important, point to mind: This is another one of the many scriptural passages that reminds us that our bodies are recyclable material, that we're the walking dead who won't be walking much longer. Given that, how much effort and attention should we invest toward the current health craze? It's true our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, so we shouldn't just let them go to waste, or take extra pains to trash them outright. But given the fact that they're basically condemned property, does it make sense that we should spend a lot of time and money refurbishing them? How many weight reps and servings of protein paste are enough, or too many? What good is it building up Abs of Steel if we're still dragging around those Buns of Sin?

ROMANS 8:12-17

Therefore, brothers, we have an obligation—but it is not to the sinful nature, to live according to it. For if you live according to the sinful nature, you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the misdeeds of the body, you will live, because those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, "Abba, Father." The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children. Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.

I saw an interesting movie a few years back. It featured Michelle Pfeiffer and Treat Williams as parents who lose their five-year-old son to a kidnapper. When the authorities fail to uncover any clues to his whereabouts, the two suffer the inevitable years of depression and heartache that follow. Then one day Michelle looks out the window—and sees a boy of eleven or twelve mowing the neighbor's lawn. She's convinced it's their son. He's currently living with a single dad who adopted him from a shelter. The boy has no memory of what brought him there, can't remember his real parents, etc., the usual dramatic stuff. Though it was a thoroughly average film, it wound up being pretty compelling simply because of the nature of the conflict. What parent wouldn't ask themselves the "what if?" that goes with that kind of situation?

Let me give you a similar "what if": What if your son (if you have one—if you don't, just play along) was taken from you at a very young age? You spend your lifetime pursuing the child, never giving up, never listening to the pessimists and "realists" around you. Then, after some 15 years or so, the miracle happens. You're finally reunited. He doesn't remember much about you, of course, but he's eager to re-establish a relationship. You tell him something of yourself, and he begins to share some of his past experiences. At one point he lets fall a casual remark about how he's done pretty well in school, but for some reason he failed Honors English last year.

Upon hearing this news, you would punish him, right? Or maybe just halt the conversation then and there and ask him to leave? What if he brought you more serious news—say, a criminal record? Would that cause you to wash your hands of the filthy deviant for good?

I'm willing to guess most of you would do nothing of the sort. Everything he'd done to that point, all before knowing you and desiring this relationship, would be laid to rest in the past. But what if he continued manifesting the same habits after returning to your care? Is there a point at which you would sever all ties? Again, I think most of us would be willing to patiently endure whatever came down the pike. We'd be so thrilled to have our precious one returned to us that we'd count it well worth the trouble, so long as we could remain together.

Why, then, do so many of us think our heavenly Father capable of less? Some of it has to do with what Paul says here in verse 13, that if we "live according to the sinful nature," we're dead meat. We know we don't always listen to what the Spirit urges us to do, that we do indeed seem to live by our old nature, and that we're awfully reluctant to "put to death the misdeeds of the body." The legalists stop reading right there. I suggest we go on: "For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship." We've been reconciled to a Father who's been chasing us all our lives and who never once gave up, no matter how stubbornly we avoided him. Precisely what sin can we now commit that'll get us kicked back out of the family?

That's just the reason we've come to call him "Abba," "Papa," "Dada," "Buddy" (my own little one's favorite). It isn't just that we desire that relationship with him; it's the knowledge that he wants the same relationship—or a vastly more fulfilling one, which he'll provide—with us. And to seal the deal, the Spirit testifies before the throne and the world that we are his Sons (and daughters), the rightful heirs to his Kingdom. Isn't it about time that we accepted that, and did right in order to _please_ our Papa rather than to try and keep him from throwing us out the door? Do you ever fear—even for a moment—that you might yet commit some deed dastardly enough to provoke him to just such a response?

ROMANS 8:18-27

I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God.

We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will.

This marks the first time since I've started writing these briefs that the words aren't here waiting for me. Seriously. I've never been blocked like this before. So I'm sitting here in a library carrel . . . chewing on my cheek . . . feeling a little incompetent . . . looking over the verses again, trying to winnow something out of all that's there. And as I read those last two verses a few more times, I wonder if something similar wouldn't work in this case—y'know, if I just groan a little bit (since it appears no words can express what I'm trying to get at), maybe you'll understand everything I'm feeling here. Lessee . . . mmMMMaaauuggghhh . . . uuUUUMMrrrufffff . . . hhhhhwwwWWWWWooooaaaahhahhlllaaallaaaalaaaa. . . .

So is it working? Is the Spirit helping me in my weakness? (Tell you what, he's not helping my image much . . . those two librarians over there seem to think I'm having a hard time getting my lunch to settle.) I do honestly feel like it would be easier to groan out this week's entry than to try to lash it down to a handful of weak words. 'Course, that's what prayer is often like for me—and in that light, it's interesting to consider what Paul tells us about the Spirit's method for communicating our supplications to God. We spend an awful lot of time and effort trying to word our prayers with precision—at least I do—trying to make them sound saintly and profound and full of the moment, when in reality all those words are good for is to be mashed to pulp and turned into the deep groans of the Spirit as he presents our real intent and true desires before God by means that are completely beyond our grasp, even in our most passionate moments.

I've sensed a lot more passion in our prayers of late, I think, and not just in our own household. When one in the body suffers, the whole body suffers, and we've all done some suffering for our collective body over these past months, haven't we? Lots of groaning, and not all of it in prayer. If you listen closely, though, you'll find it's resonating with something else, a bigger, deeper, more intense groaning that would drown us all out if only we were more aware of it. Not the groaning of the Spirit in prayer. It's the sound of creation groaning in anticipation.

I'm no expert, but I'm given to understand that labor pains are . . . well, pretty painful. (As men, we'll never fully understand that, will we?) What I do know is that as the time of a baby's birth draws nearer, the contractions grow more intense and come at shorter intervals. We see the same thing happening in the world around us. The death, the decay, the withering of life, the conflicts and chaos and constant upheavals are all indications that the contractions aren't far apart now. The world's ready to give birth to the new creation—but it can't. Not yet. It's waiting for you, and me, and the rest of those who still need to hear about Christ to come into our inheritance. Only then will it be restored. When our suffering ends, its suffering ends. And like the mother who would gladly endure the birthing room many times over for the joy it brings to her life (though you'll rarely hear her admit it while she's _in_ the birthing room), so also are these present hardships worth their pain in order that we can be born into the new creation as children of the Living God.

Is it harder for men (or even women who have no children), those who've never known the tribulation of dilation, to get hold of this concept? Is there anything analogous to it in our lives, some great reward for which we have to suffer to achieve? Or are our daily sufferings sufficient to get the idea across?

ROMANS 8:28-34

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.

What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is he that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us.

In a number of places the Bible shows the throne room in heaven alternately being used as eternity's courtroom. All the major figures are there. Naturally, God himself sits as Judge. Lucifer plays the role of chief prosecutor (that's where he gets the name "Satan," which is less an identifying name than a job description: our "accuser"). And, thanks to God's grace, we have an advocate on our side, ready to defend us against the death sentence that awaits us. It all looks nice, very John Grisham, but there are some important differences between our judicial system and the one that'll process us all in the end (meaning no disrespect to our judicial system, though it nonetheless stands to suffer quite a bit by comparison).

Mostly it stems from the biases of everyone involved. First, there's the law. Unlike our own societal edicts, it was never drafted, debated, or ratified by separate parties. In the ultimate case of "legislating from the bench," it's the Judge's own law that condemns us. God is required by his very nature—a perfectly righteous nature—to be both fair and just, neither of which is likely to do us much good on our own terms, given the length of our criminal record. Then there's Satan, who (to say the least) brings with him a conflict of interest that would have him dismissed and disbarred from any earthly court in a heartbeat. He hates us, can't stand the Judge, the Judge can't abide him, and on it goes. Finally, there's the Public Defender. As it happens, he's the Judge's Son and has his own beef with Satan, who once had him put to death (though the Judge intervened with a thirteenth-hour pardon on that one). So there it is: nepotism vs. disgruntled outcast, deciding the fate of people whom both parties have in their sights. Sounds like a recipe for mistrial, doesn't it?

And yet it couldn't possibly have worked out better for us. As unethical as it may sound, we're the beneficiaries of a legal system that's been intentionally geared in our favor. Because the Defender himself, the Judge's Son, gave his life to pay the penalty for all our violations before the court—and did so before the formal charges could even be presented. Add to that the fact that the Judge has been working behind the scenes to see to it that we show up in court looking and behaving as exactly like the Defender as possible. So then, when you really take a look at it, the only reason we've been called to face this Supremest of Courts is to have it read into the record that we belong to the Judge's family, as surely as the Defender does, and that no further charges may ever be brought against us again (and boy, does the prosecuting attorney _hate_ that part). Not only that, but in the final act of blatant favoritism, the Judge has some very nice gifts awaiting us once we're finished with the proceedings. Fair? Probably not. Just? Absolutely. Grace? Beyond measure.

So how is it that so many people still view God as ultimately unfair and unjust? Could this passage help sway their belief the other way—or might they think, taking account of the trials they've faced in their lives, that these verses would only confirm that they're not counted among those "chosen" by God? What sort of testimony can you offer from the stand to convince them otherwise?

ROMANS 8:35-39

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written: "For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered."

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

It strikes me how often I hear Christians express astonishment at how the media treats us, what with all the distortions about our "theocratic" aspirations and our ardent desire to establish labor camps for unbelievers. (That last one's a _total_ exaggeration . . . they would just be internment camps, that's all.) Though it may not violate any criminal statutes, it is at the very least becoming a social sin to admit one's faith in God—and this in a country many claim was founded on Judeo-Christian principles. But why should this surprise us? Christ promised us the world would hate us because of him. Generally speaking, we're getting off with a lighter sentence most of the time, a case of strong annoyance at worst.

This is hardly a new trend. It was around long before Christ even said those words. Psalm 44 was written by folks who asserted their staunch faithfulness, even to the point of objecting to their treatment by other nations in spite of their loyalty to God. "For _your_ sake," they lamented, "we face death all day long" (emphasis mine). Similarly, for his sake, most of us face . . . what? Political disappointments? Moderate, even severe, needling by our coworkers? A big "X" replacing the name of our Lord on the day of his birth? Not exactly sheep to the slaughter. More like a rough day at the shearer's.

Still, to those who've never known any worse, our faith is unquestionably put to some levels of testing. This is not a passage for belittling the degree of our afflictions; they're words of encouragement to build us up no matter how bad it gets. Paul's using the scriptural reference to point out a group of people whose morale cannot get any lower—and if God hasn't abandoned them, why would he turn his back on us? Even during those times when we can't claim their level of loyalty, even when we're downright unfaithful, we can't be separated from Christ's love. Notice two items on his list in particular: the present and the future. Regardless of what's happening with you now, and no matter what the future holds (even in the next news cycle), we're safe in the very hands that ordered all these events from the start. Isn't it time we turned that around and made use of it as something of an answer to those who seem to get so much out of denigrating us? What can we be doing to present the media—or anyone who watches us, for that matter—with a different picture than what they're expecting to see?

ROMANS 9:1-13

I speak the truth in Christ—I am not lying, my conscience confirms it in the Holy Spirit—I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were cursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my brothers, those of my own race, the people of Israel. Theirs is the adoption as sons; theirs the divine glory, the covenants, the receiving of the law, the temple worship and the promises. Theirs are the patriarchs, and from them is traced the human ancestry of Christ, who is God over all, forever praised! Amen.

It is not as though God's word had failed. For not all who are descended from Israel are Israel. Nor because they are his descendants are they all Abraham's children. On the contrary, "It is through Isaac that your offspring will be reckoned." In other words, it is not the natural children who are God's children, but it is the children of the promise who are regarded as Abraham's offspring. For this was how the promise was stated: "At the appointed time I will return, and Sarah will have a son."

Not only that, but Rebekah's children had one and the same father, our father Isaac. Yet, before the twins were born or had done anything good or bad—in order that God's purpose in election might stand: not by works but by him who calls—she was told, "The older will serve the younger." Just as it is written: "Jacob I loved, but Esau I hated."

He started with sin, and the judgment that followed; then he dwelt on the Law of the Jewish people, how it defined sin and, by contrast, defined us as unrighteous; he announced the solution of justification through faith, using the example of Abraham, and the peace and joy that follows through Christ; then he bemoaned the grip of sin on our lives and extolled the freedom that only grace can bring. So far, and all together, it's already been enough to make this one of the greatest epistles ever crafted.

Now he returns his attention to the softest spot in his heart: his own people, the Jews. For a man whose ministry reached out so passionately to the Gentiles of the world, Paul never abandoned his roots. Here he expresses his "unceasing anguish"—to the point of actually wishing himself eternally condemned for their sake—toward those who had so much more potential for communing with God than the rest of the world was given, and for their tragic squandering of every opportunity the centuries offered them. It's noteworthy that he doesn't state in specific terms what it is that has him so worked up, but the implication is clear enough: God's people had everything they needed to make it work, but somehow it never added up to success.

For those scratching their heads and thinking maybe it was the promise that had come up short, Paul sets them straight. Everything God had said would come to pass did eventually happen—up to and including the arrival of his Son to complete the job. A lot of the trouble seems to have been overconfidence in the power of simple descendancy. If you were born a Jew, you were all right. Abraham's blood was sufficient for all. The righteousness credited to him through faith would naturally extend to your account as well. Unfortunately, it didn't quite work out that way. Lineage wasn't enough. You needed more than good genes to be counted among the population of Israel. God wanted a nation who would follow him, a people who would do more than just rest easy in the satisfaction of cultural compliance.

Like the rest of him, God's desire hasn't changed. He still wants his children to make the conscious and constant choice to follow him daily. Being born into a Christian family, being vicariously raised through Sunday school and youth group as a "believer," dutifully showing up each week for church—it's not enough. All the promises are still there and still valid, but so are the pitfalls. Which group you'll belong to—the older or the younger, the Jacobs or the Esaus—will depend on the road you choose to follow. Fall asleep in the back of the bus, thinking you've got a free ride, and you'll wind up with a life lived for nothing and a name that's worth little more than something to stick on your lapel every Sunday.

Has there ever been a time in your life when you thought the same way—that your salvation was based on the strength of your attendance record? Do you know anyone currently coasting under the same illusion?

ROMANS 9:14-24

What then shall we say? Is God unjust? Not at all! For he says to Moses,  
"I will have mercy on whom I have mercy,  
and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion."

It does not, therefore, depend on man's desire or effort, but on God's mercy. For the Scripture says to Pharaoh: "I raised you up for this very purpose, that I might display my power in you and that my name might be proclaimed in all the earth." Therefore God has mercy on whom he wants to have mercy, and he hardens whom he wants to harden.

One of you will say to me: "Then why does God still blame us? For who resists his will?" But who are you, O man, to talk back to God? "Shall what is formed say to him who formed it, 'Why did you make me like this?'" Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for noble purposes and some for common use?

What if God, choosing to show his wrath and make his power known, bore with great patience the objects of his wrath—prepared for destruction? What if he did this to make the riches of his glory known to the objects of his mercy, whom he prepared in advance for glory—even us, whom he also called, not only from the Jews but also from the Gentiles?

When I was sixteen and still a newly-licensed driver, I cruised into Castle Rock, Colorado one evening coming off I-25 southbound. I got all green lights, so I was still coasting with some pretty good momentum when I passed the police officer I hadn't seen sitting on a side street. A couple of months later I was back in Castle Rock, this time standing before a judge who asked me to explain what happened. I spoke honestly and took full responsibility. When I finished the judge smiled down on me. "Since I see you're an intelligent young man who presents himself very well"—he indicated my proper attire (clearly a man of good taste)—"and since I'm sure this was not intentional behavior, I'm going to overlook this little incident. Please be careful in the future."

Now, let's say another young man, liable for the same violation for the very same reason, entered the same courtroom dressed head-to-toe in black and wearing a tee-shirt that proclaimed, "DEATH TO AUTHORITY!" Standing before the bench, he mumbles some excuse, half the time staring at his feet and the other half glaring at the judge. Would he have gotten off as easily as I did? But why not? If we were both guilty of the same offense, is it fair and just that two people receive different treatment from the same authority?

Justice often is a funny thing, and "fairness" usually depends on one's point of view. One of the most common objections atheists bring to the table concerning a religious belief in the Bible is that they "can't believe in a God who would send good people to hell." They're expressing their dissatisfaction with God's unfairness, but . . . are they wrong? God makes no bones about it when speaking with Moses: he absolutely plays favorites. Moreover, it seems to depend largely on who chooses obedience as opposed to those who choose to do it their own way. Is that really fair? Would it be perfectly just if that judge in Castle Rock let his own son off from a serious charge, but threw the book at a stranger who'd committed the same crime?

God makes the rules—but it's important to remember that God must follow his own rules, according to his own nature, or forfeit his place as the God of the universe. And, since they're his rules, it's up to him to enforce them any way he sees fit. We're grateful, of course, that we've come out as the beneficiaries of his law and not the victims. But what about the victims, anyway? Paul appears to be saying that God has actually _prepared_ some to be the objects of his wrath—that they'll pay the price for no better reason than to demonstrate his glory and his love to his favorite children. How do you answer the non-believer who objects to that one? Have you ever found yourself satisfied with the idea that a particular wrongdoer may one day become an object of wrath?

ROMANS 9:22-33

What if God, choosing to show his wrath and make his power known, bore with great patience the objects of his wrath—prepared for destruction? What if he did this to make the riches of his glory known to the objects of his mercy, whom he prepared in advance for glory—even us, whom he also called, not only from the Jews but also from the Gentiles? As he says in Hosea:  
"I will call them 'my people' who are not my people;  
and I will call her 'my loved one' who is not my loved one," and,  
"It will happen that in the very place where it was said to them,  
'You are not my people,'  
they will be called 'sons of the living God.'"

Isaiah cries out concerning Israel:  
"Though the number of the Israelites be like the sand by the sea,  
only the remnant will be saved.  
For the Lord will carry out  
his sentence on earth with speed and finality."

It is just as Isaiah said previously:  
"Unless the Lord Almighty  
had left us descendants,  
we would have become like Sodom,  
we would have been like Gomorrah."

What then shall we say? That the Gentiles, who did not pursue righteousness, have obtained it, a righteousness that is by faith; but Israel, who pursued a law of righteousness, has not attained it. Why not? Because they pursued it not by faith but as if it were by works. They stumbled over the "stumbling stone." As it is written:  
"See, I lay in Zion a stone that causes men to stumble  
and a rock that makes them fall,  
and the one who trusts in him will never be put to shame."

For all the things Jesus did and was, neither scripture nor history remembers him as a pillar of church administration. His disciples would probably tell you he wasn't much for staff meetings. He didn't concern himself with forming a facilities committee to deal with his growing number of followers, or putting together a mailing list for an outreach program, or making great and detailed plans for the upcoming potluck. (Five loaves? Two fish? Perfect.) Aside from a few early synagogue appearances, he rarely even did much in the way of "Bible study." There was the Sermon on the Mount, of course—called thus mostly because it was long and probably happened before lunch—and even in that case he wasn't at all interested in drilling the people on the specifics of the law. Rather, he was trying to help them understand how the law ought to be coming to fruition in their lives.

None of the "religious" people of the time got it. Neither did Christ's closest followers, or at least not very often. It's one of the true ironies of scripture that the people who did get it, the ones who lived out what Jesus was trying so hard to communicate to the world, were those who had no real awareness of their own comprehension. It seemed like they were hardly trying, and yet it worked for them. Mary Magdalene, the Roman centurion, the thief on the cross, the cripples and lepers and blind men . . . what they all shared wasn't a mastery of the law, but rather an innate understanding that Jesus was not like them, that he was changing their lives on a level even they couldn't see. It led them to a bedrock belief in his message, which in turn led to actions that reflected Christ's love and life to those around them. Some of those people were Jews. Some were Gentiles. All of them were changed.

Paul's lamentation for his native land could just as easily apply to much of the church today. So many Christians are bound up in doing the do's that they lose sight of the "do" that God did for them once (some haven't even given him the chance to do that much yet). It's amazing how much effort can go into "ministries" for God that actually represent little more than unconscious attempts to avoid him on a personal level. When he puts that boulder in the middle of your path, it's not necessarily because he wants you to lead the body of Christ to rise up as one and move it out of your path. As the Lord repeatedly told Ezekiel, "I'm doing this as a reminder, so they don't forget who I Am." Sometimes that's the sort of thing we need. When we get so wrapped up in Bible study that we can't recall what the Bible says, we need him to remind us that the only thing separating us from the failings of Israel is the mercy of the very God who chose Israel to be his people—and then watched as they were buried by the law they thought would save them.

How about you? Has God had to drop any "stumbling stones" in your path to remind you that whatever course you follow—even for his name's sake—won't get you where you're going unless you bring him along for the ride?

ROMANS 10:1-13

Brothers, my heart's desire and prayer to God for the Israelites is that they may be saved. For I can testify about them that they are zealous for God, but their zeal is not based on knowledge. Since they did not know the righteousness that comes from God and sought to establish their own, they did not submit to God's righteousness. Christ is the end of the law so that there may be righteousness for everyone who believes.

Moses describes in this way the righteousness that is by the law: "The man who does these things will live by them." But the righteousness that is by faith says: "Do not say in your heart, 'Who will ascend into heaven?'" (that is, to bring Christ down) "or 'Who will descend into the deep?'" (that is, to bring Christ up from the dead). But what does it say? "The word is near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart," that is, the word of faith we are proclaiming: That if you confess with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord," and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved. As the Scripture says, "Anyone who trusts in him will never be put to shame." For there is no difference between Jew and Gentile—the same Lord is Lord of all and richly blesses all who call on him, for, "Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved."

"Self-righteousness" is the ultimate oxymoron. There is no such thing. Once you attach the "self" part to anything that by rights has its source in God alone, you've spoiled it, for the very reason that it's no longer God alone. There exists today—and has always existed, at least from the foundation of the Law—an assumption that we play some vital role in our own salvation. We're the catalyst that makes it work. It's understandable, and I suppose it's even accurate to a point: we can't be saved unless we do make the conscious decision to accept Christ's saving work. But that's where it's supposed to end. In that accepting instant, God gives us His righteousness, which is sufficient for every need. What righteousness can we add to what He's already given us? What makes us think shining purity needs our dirty rags for decoration?

I've talked about the problems of legalism imposed by certain religious hierarchies, but both the ancient Jews and many modern Christians have suffered under a self-imposed legalism that can be just as problematic. Christianity (as Judaism once was) is unique among the world's religions in that it doesn't require man to seek God. God is chasing us down—and he's reached us at last through his Son, Jesus Christ. Too bad so many people still need to be reminded of it. For those who do, this is the perfect passage for them. Both Moses in the old covenant and Paul in the new point out that if we had to find God for ourselves, we'd have to learn to fly awfully high or dig ridiculously deep to reach him, or to try and recruit his Son for the job of rescuing us. He's beyond our grasp . . . unless, of course, we grasp what he's holding out for us to take, no strings attached. We don't even have to reach for it. It's in our hearts. It's in our mouths. The implant's in place; we just have to activate it.

Paul had a desperate passion for his own people, who had lost themselves to the pursuit of self-righteousness and forgotten all about God's righteousness. Many good pastors and leaders spend a lot of time and emphasis discussing how the lost sheep in our lives need to be "missionally" shepherded; but are our hearts similarly broken for those already in the flock? How many brothers and sisters are wearing themselves out trying to earn what they've got in their pocket? What exactly is our responsibility toward them?

ROMANS 10:14-21

How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them? And how can they preach unless they are sent? As it is written, "How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news!"

But not all the Israelites accepted the good news. For Isaiah says, "Lord, who has believed our message?" Consequently, faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the word of Christ. But I ask: Did they not hear? Of course they did:  
"Their voice has gone out into all the earth,  
their words to the ends of the world."  
Again I ask: Did Israel not understand? First, Moses says,  
"I will make you envious by those who are not a nation;  
I will make you angry by a nation that has no understanding."

And Isaiah boldly says,  
"I was found by those who did not seek me;  
I revealed myself to those who did not ask for me."

But concerning Israel he says,  
"All day long I have held out my hands  
to a disobedient and obstinate people."

For someone who believes in the all-encompassing grace of God—and extends it into a solid belief that no one is beyond God's reach—I have to confess I've long been harboring a deep-rooted cynicism with the world as it is today. Both individually and as a whole, the world has rejected God and his Son Jesus Christ as the only hope for the future, and I often find it the easiest course just to give them over to their rejection. It isn't that the alcoholic wife-abusers or drug addicts or compulsive gamblers or committed homosexuals are so mucked down in their sins that they're beyond even God's help. I know in my heart that's not the case. But I've seen too many people who are perfectly satisfied with their lives just as they are to really think they'll ever come to the point where they will actively seek a relationship with their estranged Lord. I watch them with a knowing look, and with a sigh of resignation I whisper to myself that however sad their eternal loss might be, it's in God's hands, not mine.

Wrong again (as is usually the case). In cultivating this attitude, I've been indulging in a sinful satisfaction of my own. I'm perfectly content that I'm saved by grace, thank you very much—but deep down I'm also content that they're not. They're grown-ups who've made their choice, and have to live with the consequences. I don't grieve enough for them. I don't hurt enough for them. I rarely even pray for them. Like the ancient Israelites, upon hearing God's voice in the desert these people promptly plugged their ears and went their own way. What good does it do me to plead Christ's case? They won't listen. They never do. They've heard all they need to hear, about God and his Word and Jesus on the cross and all that, and still they won't listen.

Ah—wrong again (see?). It's easy to think—especially in this country—that sinners are constantly hearing the gospel of Christ. But that's not the case, at least most of the time. They hear plenty about morality, about religion, about right and wrong and which side we think they're on, but how many of them have really heard the gospel presented in a way that can reach their hearts? Not many. Not enough. The truth of God is something that, once properly revealed, is impossible to ignore. That so many ignore it shows how rarely the real truth is offered to those still lost. Out of fear of sounding religious or judgmental (and partly out of resentment toward most sinners' obstinance), I'm certainly one of the guiltiest of keeping my mouth shut. And as Paul says, how can these people believe in something they've never heard or seen?

So what about the people in your day-to-day life? Are you certain they've heard the gospel in the way they need to hear it? Certain enough to take the chance of _not_ telling them yourself?

ROMANS 11:1-12

I ask then: Did God reject his people? By no means! I am an Israelite myself, a descendant of Abraham, from the tribe of Benjamin. God did not reject his people, whom he foreknew. Don't you know what the Scripture says in the passage about Elijah—how he appealed to God against Israel: "Lord, they have killed your prophets and torn down your altars; I am the only one left, and they are trying to kill me"? And what was God's answer to him? "I have reserved for myself seven thousand who have not bowed the knee to Baal." So too, at the present time there is a remnant chosen by grace. And if by grace, then it is no longer by works; if it were, grace would no longer be grace.

What then? What Israel sought so earnestly it did not obtain, but the elect did. The others were hardened, as it is written:  
"God gave them a spirit of stupor,  
eyes so that they could not see  
and ears so that they could not hear,  
to this very day."

And David says:  
"May their table become a snare and a trap,  
a stumbling block and a retribution for them.  
May their eyes be darkened so they cannot see,  
and their backs be bent forever."

Again I ask: Did they stumble so as to fall beyond recovery? Not at all! Rather, because of their transgression, salvation has come to the Gentiles to make Israel envious. But if their transgression means riches for the world, and their loss means riches for the Gentiles, how much greater riches will their fullness bring!

Over the past few entries we've turned Paul's expressed passion for his own people around to fit our own situation—dealing with those both in and out of the family of God who don't yet hold Jesus Christ as their only Savior. However, though that's a valid application, we should at the same time take care not to overlook the very people Paul was so anxious about. All that was true for first century Jewish Christians is still true today: what we have now, what we've come by through surrogate means, was originally intended for a nation of people God chose to lead out of bondage and into freedom under his banner. Yet after all that, they chose bondage again, this time to a law that was meant to bless and enrich their lives. In doing so, they rejected what God was offering them—yet, as Paul makes clear, God didn't reject them in turn. His own Son, the last and greatest hope for both God's elect and the rest of the world, was born a Jew, of the line of David going all the way back to Noah. Clearly God still had plans for the Jews. If he'd washed his hands of them entirely, Jesus would've been born a Gentile.

When it comes to the idea of salvation through "credited" righteousness, it's the orthodox Jews I have the hardest time dealing with. On the one hand, I believe Christ is the only way to be reconciled with God, but . . . doesn't it seem tough to swallow, this idea that such godly, worshipful people are still outside the circle of grace? The Jewish people I've known in my life, including those I'm familiar with by proxy of fame (men like Dennis Prager and Michael Medved) are deeply religious people who do all they can to promote Biblical living—and not just according to Old Testament law, but by scripture's moral principles that demand righteous behavior. Are they really in danger of missing out on the Eternal Kingdom?

The answer, however unpleasant, is yes. That means we face the same responsibility toward God's chosen people as we do to the rest of the lost world. What's already a difficult relationship is made all the more difficult by the fact that the passage Paul quoted from Moses back in 10:14—God pronouncing, "I will make you envious by those who are not a nation"—refers to us. We're no nation. We're represented worldwide. We belong to no single political or ethnic group, yet we've each found favor in God's eyes by giving ourselves completely to his Son, and in doing so have become something else: a family, a body, a fellowship of believers. Considering a hint of that jealousy and resentment toward Christians may still exist in the hearts of many Jews, how do we overcome a barrier that has existed since the first century?

ROMANS 11:13-24

I am talking to you Gentiles. Inasmuch as I am the apostle to the Gentiles, I make much of my ministry in the hope that I may somehow arouse my own people to envy and save some of them. For if their rejection is the reconciliation of the world, what will their acceptance be but life from the dead? If the part of the dough offered as firstfruits is holy, then the whole batch is holy; if the root is holy, so are the branches.

If some of the branches have been broken off, and you, though a wild olive shoot, have been grafted in among the others and now share in the nourishing sap from the olive root, do not boast over those branches. If you do, consider this: You do not support the root, but the root supports you. You will say then, "Branches were broken off so that I could be grafted in." Granted. But they were broken off because of unbelief, and you stand by faith. Do not be arrogant, but be afraid. For if God did not spare the natural branches, he will not spare you either.

Consider therefore the kindness and sternness of God: sternness to those who fell, but kindness to you, provided that you continue in his kindness. Otherwise, you also will be cut off. And if they do not persist in unbelief, they will be grafted in, for God is able to graft them in again. After all, if you were cut out of an olive tree that is wild by nature, and contrary to nature were grafted into a cultivated olive tree, how much more readily will these, the natural branches, be grafted into their own olive tree!

". . . if the root is holy, so are the branches." Though Paul's left the ministry to the Jews in Peter's hands, here he claims that part of the reason for it was the very love he holds for his own people. He's flirting with heathens in hopes his unfaithful wife will notice and protectively sweep back to his side. (Incidentally, it's just an illustration, guys; don't try this as a way to rekindle the spark in your marriage, unless you want to light a fire of a very different kind. . . .) Everything Paul wrote in the early chapters of Romans refers to the fact that Christianity means nothing without God's relationship with the Jews. Without the law, there would've been no prescribed cure for the death that results from sin. God's holiness came first _to_ the Jews, then _through_ the Jews. The day's coming when it'll find its way home again. When it does, it won't be a discovery like it was with us. It'll be a return, a reunion, the truest sort of reconciliation.

"Do not be arrogant, but be afraid. For if God did not spare the natural branches, he will not spare you either. . . ." The legalist's favorite verse. How far does it go toward proving their point? Are we ever in danger of being snipped back off?

"Consider therefore the kindness and sternness of God. . . ." Only when we really grasp the underlying idea here can we get hold of God's kindness, his grace, his love. We've done our time fretting about the sternness of God, but the only way to step clear of that is fully understanding we had no place in God's family until he let us in. There's only ever been one Tree of Life, and we didn't grow out of it. We were nothing more than dead limbs littering the ground—until Great Gardener took each of us up and tied us to an open place in the branches. Under his tender nurturing, our broken ends are slowly melding with the living wood of the Tree; every day, we're learning more about how to grow the right sort of leaves and fruit. Our new position also gives us a clear view of all the deadwood still littering the ground below. Many of those twigs fell from the branch out of which you're now blossoming. As Paul says, how much greater will the foliage be if we can get some of the original branches back up here and into their rightful places?

ROMANS 11:25-36

I do not want you to be ignorant of this mystery, brothers, so that you may not be conceited: Israel has experienced a hardening in part until the full number of the Gentiles has come in. And so all Israel will be saved, as it is written:  
"The deliverer will come from Zion;  
he will turn godlessness away from Jacob.  
And this is my covenant with them  
when I take away their sins."

As far as the gospel is concerned, they are enemies on your account; but as far as election is concerned, they are loved on account of the patriarchs, for God's gifts and his call are irrevocable. Just as you who were at one time disobedient to God have now received mercy as a result of their disobedience, so they too have now become disobedient in order that they too may now receive mercy as a result of God's mercy to you. For God has bound all men over to disobedience so that he may have mercy on them all.

_Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!  
How unsearchable his judgments,  
and his paths beyond tracing out!  
"Who has known the mind of the Lord?  
Or who has been his counselor?"   
"Who has ever given to God,  
that God should repay him?"  
For from him and through him and to him are all things.  
To him be the glory forever! Amen._

One of the hardest aspects for many Christians in dealing with God is his determination to further harden the hearts of those who have already turned against him. True, it's their choice to begin with, but in a way it seems like God's using them as expendable pawns to advance his own players. Where's the "universal love" in that? There was a time when it might've appeared a little more sensible; Pharaoh unquestionably needed to be taught a lesson, and he'd earned God's lasting judgment not only as an individual but as the head of a pagan nation. But the subject of Paul's reference here—the Jews—weren't exactly a pagan nation, were they?

We can't understand God's mind in a lot of these things (something Paul considers worth a lot of praise in verses 33-36), but here we get a glimpse of the sorts of ends that can justify his means. He's so passionate about our redemption that he made sure we'd rebel just so he could reconcile us. It's a little like Superman tossing Lois off the top of a building just to give him a chance to fly in and rescue her. Similarly, God hardened his people for the very reason that he wanted you to become one of his people—so that in return we could collectively turn around and help soften up the hard-hearts around us.

But what about those of us who are already saved? Most of us go through periods when it seems like our hearts are drying like concrete, when we lose touch with the feelings and passions we experienced when we were "younger" Christians. Our surroundings sometimes play a role as well. This country in particular seems to cultivate hearts of the fast-drying variety. Is that God's doing as well? If so—or even if _not_ —what should we be doing about it? What, if anything, can we learn from it?

ROMANS 12:1-8

Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

For by the grace given me I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you. Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others. We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. If a man's gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his faith. If it is serving, let him serve; if it is teaching, let him teach; if it is encouraging, let him encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let him give generously; if it is leadership, let him govern diligently; if it is showing mercy, let him do it cheerfully.

I barely caught myself from making a ridiculous _faux pas_ this afternoon: while at work I came within an inch of pointing out to a friend that he'd gotten some sort of black smudge on his forehead. (I suppose it would've been a lot worse if I'd gone to wipe it off myself. . . .) Just in time I remembered it was the start of the Lenten season. It's none of my business, really, but for the rest of the day I couldn't help but wonder each time I saw the mark on a different person what it was they had chosen to give up in observance of Lent. Red meat? Chocolate? Pizza? (Why is it so many of these religious observances always aim for the Big Mac?) I also couldn't help wondering what I might've missed over the years, having never tried that particular practice for myself. Just one more way we can offer—if only temporarily—our bodies as living sacrifices to God.

Paul probably had something more lasting in mind. It's easy to jump to our more contemporary interpretation of "sacrifice" when we read this—that we should be sacrificing this and that for God, i.e. giving up what we want or like in order to fit the plan he has for us. While this isn't a totally unreasonable line of reasoning, in keeping with Paul's continuing appeal to his Jewish brothers I wonder if this isn't meant rather to exhort them to constancy: not giving it up, but _keeping_ it up. From the tabernacle to the temple, the practice of animal sacrifice was a constant and ongoing activity. Day after day, bull after goat after lamb, the slaughter never ended. Nor could it, since the Israelites, like us, never quit sinning. No matter how tiresome it got, in order to stay in his good graces the people of God had to keep at it. Christ's sacrifice eliminated the need for the animals—but not the need for the same sense of urgent consistency. These days it's up to us to lay ourselves down, not on the altar of atonement but the altar of action, not shedding blood for sins but shedding love for sinners (and saints, too), day after day after day. It's what marks us as non-conformers, God's new nation of people, different from the rest of the world, and it's the best way to understand what God wants us to know about his will for each of us.

How do we go about it, then? Paul gives us that, too, listing just a few of the spiritual gifts God created in each of us in order to equip his body to continually function in obedience. What we have, we need to use. Constantly. We've been crucified with Christ; now he's the one living in us, living through us, but he can't accomplish all he's capable of if we don't allow him the opportunity through our bodies and minds. If there's one thing we do need to sacrifice—meaning surrender totally—it's our nagging need to control everything within our reach. When we present ourselves at the altar of ministry as nothing more than humble servants, it's then he'll show us all we're able to be and do through him . . . as living sacrifices.

How about you? Do you find it easier to give something up temporarily—even something you like very much—than to keep up consistently with something you care for a lot less? In what specific way has God been prodding you to live as a sacrifice for him?

ROMANS 12:9-21

Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with God's people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position. Do not be conceited.

_Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay,"_ _says the Lord. On the contrary:  
"If your enemy is hungry, feed him;  
if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.  
In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head."_

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

After serving up more than eleven chapters of the broadest and grandest themes the Bible has to offer—the old covenant, the new covenant, the law, righteousness and sin, grace and forgiveness, Judaism and Christianity—Paul abruptly switches from macrocosm to microcosm, laying out a dozen or so simple, daily habits we can all practice in the realization of Christ's life in us. What gives? Why this sudden need to nail down the details? That's the easier question to answer: as the saying goes, "It's the little things. . . ." The wedding vows are designed to last a lifetime, but the continuing state of the marriage depends on the little things, all the stuff we do when we're with our spouses—and even the things we do when we're not. Endless volumes have been written detailing the insignificant actions we can take to make our relationships more significant. Surely many more could be written about the actions we can take to deepen our relationship with Christ.

So, then, the tougher question: why _these?_ What makes these guidelines special enough to be given space in the Magna Carta of the Christian faith? I don't think this was a long-planned list. In fact, I doubt Paul gave much forethought at all to what he sketched out here. It has all the earmarks of spontaneity, a bit of off-the-cuff advice offered to the Christians trying to make their way in the hub of the Greek world. While each one is worth at least a week of meditation by itself (be careful you don't read through them too quickly. . . !), perhaps the best way to come to Paul's point here is to consider their thematic similarity. Emerging from a passage discussing our roles as "living sacrifices," he spoke first of the ministerial ways we can offer ourselves up. Now he's telling us how to do it beyond ministry, in the realm of the everyday while dealing with the everyperson. As one who's been sacrificed, it's no longer about you. It's about them. If you've really left your pride burning on the altar, then you're ready to be an effective servant.

This passage is a great example of a practiced pastor taking a break from the topical sermon series to deal in some down-to-earth Jesus living. He doesn't quote Christ's words _per se_ at any point, but how often do we hear the heart of our savior's teachings put so simply and concisely, without embellishment, apologetics, or illustrations? On the other hand . . . given how simply they're stated, how simple is it for us to consistently follow even one of them?

ROMANS 13:1-7

Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. Consequently, he who rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgment on themselves. For rulers hold no terror for those who do right, but for those who do wrong. Do you want to be free from fear of the one in authority? Then do what is right and he will commend you. For he is God's servant to do you good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword for nothing. He is God's servant, an agent of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer. Therefore, it is necessary to submit to the authorities, not only because of possible punishment but also because of conscience. This is also why you pay taxes, for the authorities are God's servants, who give their full time to governing. Give everyone what you owe him: If you owe taxes, pay taxes; if revenue, then revenue; if respect, then respect; if honor, then honor.

When Barack Obama won the 2008 election and his fellow Democrats gained a stranglehold on the House and Senate, some Republicans hailed it as the beginning of the end—the end of an era, the end of true democracy, maybe even the end of the world. That sort of hyperbolic reaction can easily happen in a situation where political affiliation is so closely linked to personal ideology—a situation that's become supercharged in America over the last few decades. Many Christians in particular took the countrywide losses as a continuing sign of declining morality on the ascent. Given the current state of sin, could things get much worse than to have a leadership core who seem to be content to ride the downward spiral as far as it can go?

Actually, it's already been much worse, and many times before. I think one of the reasons the last setback stung as much as it did was because we knew what could've been; in this country, in this age, governmental power rests in the hands of the people, and this time the people chose the other path. It might've turned out differently. Back in Paul's day, however, the people had no such choice. The fledgling Christian church was forced to blossom under the shadow of a towering world power, one that didn't have much regard for political correctness nor tolerance for alternative religious views—and here we see Paul writing to the Christians living on the very edge of the sword of persecution. These people had watched their friends, their spouses, their children face the worst kinds of death imaginable for their faith—and here's the great apostle telling them to respect the authority that wants to see them dead. All right, bless them, don't curse them, fine . . . but _submit?_ Give in to the pagan desecration? Isn't that a form of blasphemy or something?

Oswald Chambers said that learning to yield is the hardest thing we as humans have to learn. Yet that's the one thing God wants most to teach us how to do. Could this be a lesson of relative scale? If we can't even humble ourselves enough to accept the limited sovereignty of a mortal, human leader, how can we be expected to give ourselves over to the universal sovereignty of a God who wants to radically change every part of us from the inside out? No one, from Nero to Nancy Pelosi, has reached their position of leadership without the final and most important ratifying vote from the One whose government will last forever. Given his hand in all things political, should we be willing, no matter how bad the taste in our mouths, to capitulate—even give our outright and vocal support—to leaders who often regard us with contempt in return?

ROMANS 13:8-14

Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for he who loves his fellowman has fulfilled the law. The commandments, "Do not commit adultery," "Do not murder," "Do not steal," "Do not covet," and whatever other commandment there may be, are summed up in this one rule: "Love your neighbor as yourself." Love does no harm to its neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law.

And do this, understanding the present time. The hour has come for you to wake up from your slumber, because our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed. The night is nearly over; the day is almost here. So let us put aside the deeds of darkness and put on the armor of light. Let us behave decently, as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and debauchery, not in dissension and jealousy. Rather, clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ, and do not think about how to gratify the desires of the sinful nature.

"Give everyone what you owe him," he says in verse 7, and follows it up with the next natural imperative: take care of your debts. Then, almost in mid-thought, he amends it with an interesting notion. There are two debts we can never pay off: the liability of our sinful nature, and our obligation to love others. That Christ paid off the first allows us to pay into the second—interest-only, of course, since the principal (and the principle) never changes—but it's only through him that we're able to make even the smallest payment. In verse 10, Paul comes to the conclusion that "love is the fulfillment of the law" . . . after spending several earlier chapters explaining to us that it's impossible for man to have any chance of fulfilling the law on his own terms. So we're left with a debt we can't hope to pay without borrowing from Christ, to whom we're already indebted. Sounds like another legalistic entanglement—but the loophole's there, if you look closely. If we're willing to love our fellowman (who, remember, is in just as deep with the Bank as we are), Christ is willing to love him through us, and in doing so both debts can be satisfied. It's a strange system, but our God is a mysterious God.

No less important here is the element of timing. This is not a "to-do" for tomorrow. Paul tells us the hour is here. Now. The alarm's going off, and you may not have time left to snooze it any more—and not just because we don't know how long any of us have to live (we've all heard that before), or because we don't know when Jesus will be returning (ditto), but also because we don't know how long that certain "fellowman" will be with us. While we hope he's not in mortal danger either, who can say how long he'll have the job, or the house, or whatever situation that's brought him into our lives to begin with? Once he's moved on, he'll have taken your open door with him. We're nearer our salvation than before, but how much nearer is he?

While there are so many ways to love someone (although you'll only get so much credit for playing the "I'll Pray For Them" card), how easy is it to focus on specific examples? For the sake of this discussion, consider verse 13 in this context. You may not have the chance to bring Christ up specifically with Mr. Fellowman, but how closely is he watching you? Could it be that your "sexual immorality and debauchery, dissension and jealousy" might be damaging more than just your own standing with God? How much more love can we bring to others by doing nothing more than clothing ourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ?

ROMANS 14:1-12

Accept him whose faith is weak, without passing judgment on disputable matters. One man's faith allows him to eat everything, but another man, whose faith is weak, eats only vegetables. The man who eats everything must not look down on him who does not, and the man who does not eat everything must not condemn the man who does, for God has accepted him. Who are you to judge someone else's servant? To his own master he stands or falls. And he will stand, for the Lord is able to make him stand.

One man considers one day more sacred than another; another man considers every day alike. Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind. He who regards one day as special, does so to the Lord. He who eats meat, eats to the Lord, for he gives thanks to God; and he who abstains, does so to the Lord and gives thanks to God. For none of us lives to himself alone and none of us dies to himself alone. If we live, we live to the Lord; and if we die, we die to the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord.

For this very reason, Christ died and returned to life so that he might be the Lord of both the dead and the living. You, then, why do you judge your brother? Or why do you look down on your brother? For we will all stand before God's judgment seat. It is written:  
"'As surely as I live,' says the Lord,  
'every knee will bow before me;  
every tongue will confess to God.'"

So then, each of us will give an account of himself to God.

During my seven years living in Missouri, I managed to make the front page of the local newspaper only once (though not for lack of trying). One of my fellow millworkers also happened to be part owner of the only strip club in downtown St. Joseph. In spite of this horrendous, unspeakably appalling vice, I somehow managed to tolerate—even enjoy—his company. Our long hours at work gave us plenty of time to get to know each other. We shared a lot of laughs and a few deep conversations. He even listened to me explain the Gospel once or twice. One Friday afternoon as I passed his bar on my way home, I couldn't help but notice the beige Taurus that had run into the corner of his building right where they were doing some remodeling. I jumped out to see if anyone was hurt. While standing next to the offending car I glanced up and— _snap!_ —I became a permanent part of the record. My cheerful naïveté allowed me to believe the photographer was an insurance adjuster gathering evidence; but the next day there I was, a few inches below the headline, grinning stupidly next to a wreck at a nudie bar.

The following Sunday I got some good-natured hazing between services ("Y'coulda just _parked_ and gone in, dummy. . . ."), but I also couldn't help but notice the sidelong glances from a few who apparently had read a different headline than everyone else ("Local Bible Teacher Caught Hanging Around Raunchy Sinners' Den; Grand Jury Investigation To Follow."). No one asked me for the details of what had happened, and I certainly received no verbal rebukes from anyone. But I could see it in their eyes. I knew that look. I recognized it because it's the same one I've given to so many others in my own time. It's the game we all play, a silent, one-way round of charades where we watch someone go through the motions of their "alleged" faith and then make what we consider a qualified guess at the state of their soul. We count footprints in the sand, hoping to find our pewmates have fewer and therefore have had to be carried around in Christ's arms more often. Since by nature we're both comparative and competitive, we've come to believe in the spiritual theory of relativity: that the best way to measure ourselves is to line up other Christians as our yardstick.

It's ironic that we do just as much damage to ourselves along the way. Knowing how easy a habit it is for everyone, we cultivate a little paranoia. We're left analyzing our every move not in the light of God's will, or Christ's calling, or the Bible's truth, but through the eyes of everyone around us. How much time do we spend despairing of people's opinions of our actions? Feeling we're not strong enough Christians, that we're failures as parents, that living above reproach is more about reputation than righteousness? Yet if Christ is our ultimate—and only—judge, shouldn't Paul's words be just as liberating to us as they are admonishing?

ROMANS 14:13-23

Therefore let us stop passing judgment on one another. Instead, make up your mind not to put any stumbling block or obstacle in your brother's way. As one who is in the Lord Jesus, I am fully convinced that no food is unclean in itself. But if anyone regards something as unclean, then for him it is unclean. If your brother is distressed because of what you eat, you are no longer acting in love. Do not by your eating destroy your brother for whom Christ died. Do not allow what you consider good to be spoken of as evil. For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking, but of righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit, because anyone who serves Christ in this way is pleasing to God and approved by men.

Let us therefore make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification. Do not destroy the work of God for the sake of food. All food is clean, but it is wrong for a man to eat anything that causes someone else to stumble. It is better not to eat meat or drink wine or to do anything else that will cause your brother to fall.

So whatever you believe about these things keep between yourself and God. Blessed is the man who does not condemn himself by what he approves. But the man who has doubts is condemned if he eats, because his eating is not from faith; and everything that does not come from faith is sin.

I could be wrong on this (you'll have to check with a better statistician than me), but I believe the one straight, open-ended question the Bible takes the longest to answer appears in Genesis 4. It isn't answered until this passage, some 1,135 chapters later, by Paul himself. The question comes from Cain: _"Am I my brother's keeper?"_ Paul's response: Yes, you are.

Though he doesn't say it in so many words, this is one last wrinkle in the difference between the old law and the new covenant. The commands of the Torah are rendered largely on an individual basis. Their purpose is to set forth a pattern of behavior for _each person_ that gives them the opportunity to demonstrate their righteousness through their actions (impossible, of course, but they had to be given the chance in order to prove the point). Even the commands given to the larger community—to see to the needs of the widows and orphans, for instance—are designed to provoke each member of the community to take up their own obligation to everyone else so that they may be seen as doing right in God's eyes. The proof of this comes at the final judgment: ". . . and _each person_ was judged according to what he had done" (Rev. 20:13), and this according to the letter of the original Law. There's no mass judgment, no being counted as one of a larger group.

Paul's making it clear here that when Christ's covenant departed from the strict observance of a law that placed its strongest emphasis on individual righteousness, it departed from this idea as well. Christ isn't interested in self-righteous behavior from his followers, even if it is in line with the commandments of scripture. He's given us _his_ righteousness, and that's enough to cover us for now. From this point on, all our motives and actions are to have _other people_ in mind from beginning to end. When we do good, it isn't for our sake; it's for the sake of those who need good done to them. Through our actions, others benefit, others grow, others find righteousness for themselves—or, alternately (as Paul points out here), others may falter, founder, or even fall away.

There's no end to the reinterpretations of God's law that have emerged in the modern age concerning everything from books to movies to music to fashion. Distinctions between the denominations often are recognized less by doctrinal variations than by what sort of behavior each believes is and isn't acceptable according to scripture. Finding the best balance, that tricky and shifting line between right and wrong, gets more difficult by the day. It seems the hardest command in this passage for all parties to follow appears in verse 22: "So whatever you believe about these things _keep between yourself and God"_ (emphasis mine). Christianity is fast becoming something many of its adherents believe to be a spectator sport, one that requires a running color commentary on the scriptural motives behind their every action. The result isn't a unified team assembling against a common opponent; it's a chaotic and conflicting mess where every player calls his own plays according to his own interpretation of the playbook, each trying to demonstrate not only their righteousness, but their _rightness._

So then, what to do when confronted with how to act—or react—in a morally vague situation? If it's not always about trying to top out our own personal virtue meter, then it's best to consider how what we're doing could affect others. When it comes to committing an act that might mislead those around us, especially those new to the faith, in verse 23 Paul makes it clear that when in doubt, _don't._ You will by default be acting righteously. The same, however, goes for how you choose to react outwardly toward those who may not behave exactly as you would in a given situation. What the condemners often don't realize is how their denunciations can be as dangerous as the deeds they're denunciating, how often their own attitudes cause lesser believers to stumble. While they're busy pointing out every fault in others, they fail to see how many people are tripping over their outthrust fingers.

Which of these two do you find yourself struggling with more—avoiding "food offered to idols" (harmless though it may be) to present the best example to the world, or calling down judgment on others as they sit at the dinner table?

ROMANS 15:1-13

We who are strong ought to bear with the failings of the weak and not to please ourselves. Each of us should please his neighbor for his good, to build him up. For even Christ did not please himself but, as it is written: "The insults of those who insult you have fallen on me." For everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that through endurance and the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope.

May the God who gives endurance and encouragement give you a spirit of unity among yourselves as you follow Christ Jesus, so that with one heart and mouth you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.

_Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God. For I tell you that Christ has become a servant of the Jews_ _on behalf of God's truth, to confirm the promises made to the patriarchs so that the Gentiles may glorify God for his mercy, as it is written:  
"Therefore I will praise you among the Gentiles;  
I will sing hymns to your name."_

Again, it says,  
"Rejoice, O Gentiles, with his people."

And again,  
"Praise the Lord, all you Gentiles,  
and sing praises to him, all you peoples."

And again, Isaiah says,  
"The Root of Jesse will spring up,  
one who will arise to rule over the nations;  
the Gentiles will hope in him."

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

It's amazing how misunderstood the example of Jesus is in today's society, both for believers and unbelievers. I would put money on the table that most people's first impulse, if asked what Christ best exemplified during his life and ministry, would be to formulate something around the subject of righteous living. "He showed us how we ought to live." "He gave us the perfect example of how to walk as a godly person." "Everything he did was righteous." Not to mention—heaven help us—"He was a great moral teacher." Of course, it can't be said that any of these are inaccurate . . . and yet each one inspires the image of Jesus sadly shaking his head as he seems to have done so often with his disciples. We're missing the point. And it's such an easy point to see, too, though as examples go it's a lot harder to follow.

I may be presuming a lot here, but I think when it comes to understanding the heart of Jesus' teachings, the deaf man has the advantage over the blind man. The man without sight can listen to the words of Christ; he can comprehend their meanings; he can apply them to the prior scriptures read in his presence; he can analyze the whole, and come to realize a philosophy of love that will surpass anything the world has to offer. The deaf man would, of course, miss a lot in not being able to hear any of that. But he's the one who could _watch_ Jesus in action. He could see the needs of the needy, and could observe those needs being met through the mercies of God's Son. He could see the sick healed, the broken made whole, the lost found. He could take in their joyful reactions. He could watch the bloodied body of the Savior hung in disgrace for the sake of his sins.

Most of us have the benefit of both, of course. "For everything that was written in the past was written to teach us. . . ." We need the words of Christ as the anchor for our lives. But if that's all we have, it's easy to rationalize so many things that weren't a part of his ministry. Through a well-considered "belief system," we can be right without behaving righteously. "Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you. . . . For I tell you that Christ has become a servant of the Jews on behalf of God's truth." For the sake of the words and their meaning, Christ put the words into action, both actively—by serving—and even passively, by simply accepting others as they were. Passion and patience both have their place in the kingdom. We can come to a deep understanding of scripture, but we'll never see it fulfilled until we turn what we're keeping in our minds into energy to fuel our limbs. As _The Message_ says in verse 8, "Just think of all the Scriptures that will come true in what we do!"

If you're honest with yourself, do you think those whom you encounter in everyday life are more likely to discover the influence of Christ's Spirit on your life from your words or your actions? Do you see an imbalance there that might need correcting?

ROMANS 15:14-22

I myself am convinced, my brothers, that you yourselves are full of goodness, complete in knowledge and competent to instruct one another. I have written you quite boldly on some points, as if to remind you of them again, because of the grace God gave me to be a minister of Christ Jesus to the Gentiles with the priestly duty of proclaiming the gospel of God, so that the Gentiles might become an offering acceptable to God, sanctified by the Holy Spirit.

Therefore I glory in Christ Jesus in my service to God. I will not venture to speak of anything except what Christ has accomplished through me in leading the Gentiles to obey God by what I have said and done—by the power of signs and miracles, through the power of the Spirit. So from Jerusalem all the way around to Illyricum, I have fully proclaimed the gospel of Christ. It has always been my ambition to preach the gospel where Christ was not known, so that I would not be building on someone else's foundation. Rather, as it is written:  
"Those who were not told about him will see,  
and those who have not heard will understand."

This is why I have often been hindered from coming to you.

Back when I was first writing these weekly commentaries for our Friday morning men's group, I discovered, during the very week I was slated to write this entry, that it had been exactly a year since we'd decided to alter the course of our morning meetings and start heading into Friday mornings with these brief, pre-prepared conversation-boosters. I took the opportunity to look back through some of what we'd gone over together. It proved an interesting experience. I found it amazing how reading through those e-mails brought discussions from nine or ten months earlier instantly to mind, as if only a week had passed. I remember being keenly aware of what a blessing and a privilege this project had been from the start—especially considering my feeling that in many cases I was speaking to folks a lot further down the road of spiritual maturity than myself. Who was I to be "leading" a group like that?

This seemed a good place to insert Paul's words from verses 14 and 15, since "I myself am convinced, my brothers, that you yourselves are full of goodness, complete in knowledge and competent to instruct one another. I have written you quite boldly on some points, as if to remind you of them again, because of the grace God gave me. . . ." I'm a little less certain about the next verse—the bit about trying to get all you Gentiles to "become an offering acceptable to God"—and I'm really reluctant about the next couple of verses. Can I honestly say that "I glory in Christ Jesus in my service to God"? I have to make an honest confession here: as I looked back, I did feel pretty good about some of what I wrote. How good? Good enough to call it . . . pride?

I found it ironic this passage came up during that of all weeks. It put me back in territory we've covered before: questioning my motives. As a firm advocate of spiritual gifts, I believe there's nothing wrong in acknowledging those abilities God created in us from the beginning. The trouble more often lies in remembering who deserves the credit. We live in a society that promotes self-awareness on a religious level; our purpose in life is to "find ourselves," to discover our inner potential, build our self-esteem, all of that. Self-awareness may be a good place to start, too, but it should never end there. As Christians, our goal should be to promote Christ-awareness in ourselves, to understand the ways in which the Holy Spirit is working through us (by way of our gifts) to influence the situations in which _he's_ placed us to do _his_ work for the sake of _his_ glory. In everything we do, from epic mission trips to afternoon barbecues, we ought to be looking for Christ—in ourselves and in others. When we do so, we have a chance to get a unique glimpse of the Savior we can't get anywhere else . . . and so will those around us. "Those who were not told about him will see, and those who have not heard will understand."

As you lend yourself to the ministry of the Holy Spirit to those both in and out of the body of Christ, how easily can you relate to Paul's words here? Do you fully "glory in Christ Jesus" in your service to God? If not— _why_ not?

ROMANS 15:23-33

But now that there is no more place for me to work in these regions, and since I have been longing for many years to see you, I plan to do so when I go to Spain. I hope to visit you while passing through and to have you assist me on my journey there, after I have enjoyed your company for a while. Now, however, I am on my way to Jerusalem in the service of the saints there. For Macedonia and Achaia were pleased to make a contribution for the poor among the saints in Jerusalem. They were pleased to do it, and indeed they owe it to them. For if the Gentiles have shared in the Jews' spiritual blessings, they owe it to the Jews to share with them their material blessings. So after I have completed this task and have made sure that they have received this fruit, I will go to Spain and visit you on the way. I know that when I come to you, I will come in the full measure of the blessing of Christ.

I urge you, brothers, by our Lord Jesus Christ and by the love of the Spirit, to join me in my struggle by praying to God for me. Pray that I may be rescued from the unbelievers in Judea and that my service in Jerusalem may be acceptable to the saints there, so that by God's will I may come to you with joy and together with you be refreshed. The God of peace be with you all. Amen.

I hold in my mind two images. The first is of an event I attended many years ago, a speaking engagement by a nationally renowned teaching pastor at a large local church. Afterward, many of the people in the audience lined up to speak briefly with the pastor. I wasn't in line myself, but I stood nearby and observed a few of the conversations. Thanks were offered, questions asked, a book or two signed. But mostly I recall the prayer requests. A number of the folks in line asked the man to pray for one thing or another in their lives. I remember how exhausted he looked; he was rounding off another long day of ministry and travel, and probably had only a short night of rest ahead before diving into more of the same. Still, he listened intently to each supplication, patiently writing them on a pad he had on his lap. I knew that, regardless of whatever else his itinerary held for him the next day, he would faithfully bring every matter on that little pad before God along the way.

The other image I see is of a veteran soldier deep behind enemy lines, mud-soaked, dog-tired, taking fire from all sides as he desperately tries to advance on his target. His radio beeps. He pauses to receive the transmission. It's from a private back at headquarters, a guy stationed behind a desk and tasked with fetching coffee for the generals. He's wondering if the soldier in the field has a few minutes to talk. Things haven't been going so well at home, y'know, what with the wife taking the new job and a second child on the way. . . .

Ever since the night I witnessed the first scene, it's been inexorably linked with the second. I know, I know . . . it's a pretty arrogant connection to make. The man had a calling, and it's really none of my concern how God chose to use him. But I confess it's always fascinated me, this notion that the prayers of a professional Christian are somehow more powerful or effective than those of the layperson. Many believers seem to harbor the idea that soliciting the intercessions of a pastor—or even better, a celebrity Christian!—will guarantee better results. These people have the ear of God, after all. The higher their place on the mountain, the shorter the pitching distance.

There are two major problems with this line of thought. First, it's ludicrous on its face. God doesn't in any way prioritize his incoming calls. He doesn't even have a receptionist to screen them. He listens to us all with precisely the same interest and love. The other problem, perhaps more marked in its consequences, is that we tend to forget how often those people need and covet _our_ prayers.

In this passage we see Paul, the hardy but war-weary soldier, laying out his invasion plan for Spain. He hasn't even started the long march, and already he's calling in air support. He knows the power of the prayers that rise from the hearts of those who, if not as experienced, wise, or widely-known as he is, are every bit as _saved_ as he is. When those who are blessed by a minister's ministry testify as much to God, and ask that said ministry may continue to bless others in the same way, I think God treats them as character witnesses. When those impacted ask for the same for others, why wouldn't He move to support their wishes?

So . . . along with the time you reserve in your quiet time for your family, your friends, and for yourself, how much time do you give in your prayers to those who have blessed you in their ministry?

ROMANS 16

I commend to you our sister Phoebe, a servant of the church in Cenchrea. I ask you to receive her in the Lord in a way worthy of the saints and to give her any help she may need from you, for she has been a great help to many people, including me. Greet Priscilla and Aquila, my fellow workers in Christ Jesus. They risked their lives for me. Not only I but all the churches of the Gentiles are grateful to them. Greet also the church that meets at their house. Greet my dear friend Epenetus, who was the first convert to Christ in the province of Asia. Greet Mary, who worked very hard for you. Greet Andronicus and Junias, my relatives who have been in prison with me. They are outstanding among the apostles, and they were in Christ before I was. Greet Ampliatus, whom I love in the Lord. Greet Urbanus, our fellow worker in Christ, and my dear friend Stachys. Greet Apelles, tested and approved in Christ. Greet those who belong to the household of Aristobulus. Greet Herodion, my relative. Greet those in the household of Narcissus who are in the Lord. Greet Tryphena and Tryphosa, those women who work hard in the Lord. Greet my dear friend Persis, another woman who has worked very hard in the Lord. Greet Rufus, chosen in the Lord, and his mother, who has been a mother to me, too. Greet Asyncritus, Phlegon, Hermes, Patrobas, Hermas and the brothers with them. Greet Philologus, Julia, Nereus and his sister, and Olympas and all the saints with them. Greet one another with a holy kiss. All the churches of Christ send greetings.

I urge you, brothers, to watch out for those who cause divisions and put obstacles in your way that are contrary to the teaching you have learned. Keep away from them. For such people are not serving our Lord Christ, but their own appetites. By smooth talk and flattery they deceive the minds of naive people. Everyone has heard about your obedience, so I am full of joy over you; but I want you to be wise about what is good, and innocent about what is evil.

The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet.  
The grace of our Lord Jesus be with you.

Timothy, my fellow worker, sends his greetings to you, as do Lucius, Jason and Sosipater, my relatives.

I, Tertius, who wrote down this letter, greet you in the Lord.

Gaius, whose hospitality I and the whole church here enjoy, sends you his greetings.  
Erastus, who is the city's director of public works, and our brother Quartus send you their greetings.

Now to him who is able to establish you by my gospel and the proclamation of Jesus Christ, according to the revelation of the mystery hidden for long ages past, but now revealed and made known through the prophetic writings by the command of the eternal God, so that all nations might believe and obey him—to the only wise God be glory forever through Jesus Christ! Amen.

Well, we're here at last: the final chapter of Romans—which also is likely the least-read chapter in the book. These are the end credits of Paul's greatest letter; at this point, most folks are too busy gathering up their popcorn and sodas and heading for the exit to do more than scan through a list of names that history has otherwise forgotten. The most significant thing about them, however, is precisely that Paul _didn't_ forget them. It's easy to picture such a towering apostle of the early church as a man alone, traveling the ancient Greek world with Christ in his heart and the gospel in his hands but without much in the way of companionship. After all, he stood head and shoulders above his contemporaries in so many ways; who could be counted worthy to share in his historic ministries?

Of course, we know this can't be the case. Even with the power of Christ on his side, no one could accomplish everything this man did all by his lonesome. These people weren't simply his colleagues, fellow members on the Worldwide Church-Planting Committee. Nor were they merely his friends and acquaintances. In the context of his life, they were what brought meaning to the phrase "brothers and sisters in Christ." They were his family, and he needed them like every one of us needs each of the others in our walk with the Savior. When Paul sends these greetings, he isn't just name-dropping. He's reestablishing the bond. He's making a personal link with each of them in a way that evokes the adventures that led to their unique relationship with him. Even the last bit of spiritual guidance he offers in the letter is focused on maintaining the purity of body by ensuring no untoward elements dilute or divide them.

When I look back on the last year-and-a-half of studying this book together, I have to confess most of it seems like a blur. I don't remember every conversation we shared. I don't remember most of what I've written about it. I'd have to think pretty hard to recall any of the specific revelations we encountered together in some of the early chapters. What I do remember with perfect clarity, and what can never, ever be taken away from me, are the faces of the brothers around me: the laughter we shared (constantly, even questionably at times, but never irreverently); tears shed in honesty and transparency; passion awakened to compulsion, not satisfied to sit still but to rise and act; the exhilarating sense of shared experience leading to new perspectives toward God's Word. If any great distance ever exiled me from this group, and if my communications were confined to using an actual pen to write an actual letter on actual paper (an ancient practice, but it has its appeal), I can easily imagine the immeasurable joy I would take in listing each of you by name, along with a recollection of what you meant to me and my faith during our time together.

Note also that Paul doesn't mention any of his friends as simply "being there," good ears to bend or shoulders to cry on (though doubtless they were these as well). Pay close attention to his language: "great help" . . . "risked their lives" . . . "in Christ" . . . "tested and approved"—and he repeatedly uses the phrase "worked hard." He loved them for who they were, but he remembered them for what they did. As we gather with fellow believers daily, or weekly, or even if it's only once a month or less, our purpose should be to lift one another up to this standard. Even though we've all heard it before, Solomon nonetheless said it best when he spoke of iron sharpening iron. (There's the mark of a truly wise man: even given 3,000 years, the frequently-plucked fruits of his wisdom have never over-ripened into cliché.) If we're serious about this, it means heading out into a world that will do its best to blunt us with its hardness. It's vital that we strive to keep each other sharp.

Have you ever taken the time to make a list of those who've had an impact on you through their love for Christ? What sort of memories might such an activity bring to mind? If you could say one thing to each of these people, what would it be? Is there anything _preventing_ you from doing just that. . . ?

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Scott Fields is an author, editor, teacher, and motivational speaker. He's been writing and teaching curriculum for Bible classes since 1996 on a variety of topics, including _Themes Behind the Scenes of Revelation, Righteous Living 101, Route 66_ (an overview of the 66 books of the Bible), _Wrestling With the Difficults,_ and _The Basics of Biblical Interpretation._ He's a member of the leadership team of the South Fellowship Men's Ministry in Littleton, Colorado, for which he writes the weekly devotional blog _Manpower_. He has served as coordinator and speaker at a number of men's retreats, mini-conferences, and special events. He's currently at work on his second novel, _Dead Men Walking,_ and is writing an accompanying blog that journals his journey through the book (you can follow along at www.writingdead.com). Scott lives in Littleton, Colorado with his wife Penny and four children.

Connect with Me Online:

**Regarding Rome Home Page:** http://regardingrome.com

**Twitter:** http://twitter.com/#!/Writer_Scott

**Facebook:** http://www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=1736912638

**Smashwords:** https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/scottfields

**My blog:** Dead Man Writing – http://writingdead.com
