جارٍ تحميل الأرشيف الحي.
Part 2 of 7
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We gather each week as believers seeking God's instruction and guidance. If you're new here, know that you're welcome to bring your hard questions—the questions that scratch your head, even frustrate or confuse you about faith and God. What you'll discover is that faith that is tested becomes faith that can be trusted. You can't truly develop as a Christian if you're afraid to wrestle with difficult things. That's going to be essential as we study Romans, which shows us how to get right with God.
Today we're looking at Romans 3:21-31, a passage Martin Luther called the center and heart of the entire Bible's message and the foundation of the Protestant Reformation. Before verse 21, Paul has spent several chapters unveiling a grim reality: we are all broken, all sinful, all falling short, all at odds with our Creator, all heading toward eternal wrath.
Then Paul reaches verse 21 and says "but now"—a massive transitional statement that lays out two things:
Paul takes a wrecking ball to religious hierarchy, saying we are all on level footing at the foot of the cross. Whether you're an atheist, a devoted Christian, or someone who follows all the rules, we all stand equally in need of God's righteousness.
But now a righteousness from God apart from law has been made known to which the law and the prophets testify. (Romans 3:21)
Paul emphasizes: this is not new, but it is now available. The Jewish community might have thought Paul was introducing some new theology or cult movement. But he insists that the law and the prophets—all of Scripture—testify to this reality. Every page, every chapter, every sentence points to Christ.
Despite our broken situation, there is hope in Christ. This is good news. After chapters of wrath, Paul now begins discussing God's righteousness and the hope available to anyone and everyone.
This righteousness from God comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference. (Romans 3:22)
Notice Paul says the righteousness comes through faith, not by faith. This distinction matters immensely. There are many things we do by faith—prayer, worship, generosity—that require our discipline and effort. But this righteousness is different.
We have been oriented around our performance our whole lives: I must earn God's love. I must do something to be worthy. I must do something to belong. Paul is saying no. This has nothing to do with you. It is all about His goodness. You cannot earn it. You have not deserved it. It is an entirely free gift.
Faith is simply the conduit, the connection. The object of faith is the finished work of the cross. As a believer, your faith should rest on:
When you identify with the cross of Jesus Christ and the empty tomb, you place your faith not in your performance but only in what He has done.
Religion has figured out that fear is a great motivator. But the gospel has figured out that gratitude is an even better motivator.
When you truly understand what Christ has done, you live differently—not from fear or obligation, but from profound gratitude. The pressure is off. You don't have to pretend. You don't have to perform. This is not about you; it's about what Christ has done. Your life is transformed from the inside out by this reality.
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 Christ. (Romans 3:25-26)
God sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice to demonstrate something crucial: He is both just and the justifier. He will handle sin. He will punish sin. But He is also the justifier—the one who makes us right.
When Adam and Eve allowed sin to enter the world and break God's wonderful creation, God could have simply wiped everything out. Instead, to redeem the world, He raised up a man who raised up a family, then a tribe, then a nation. Through Israel came the prophets, all the foretelling, the law—and then came the Son of God. After humanity became conscious of its inability to fulfill God's standard, Jesus arrived and fulfilled everything. He paid and fully satisfied the wrath of God.
On the cross, an incredible exchange happens: Jesus gives you everything He has, and He takes everything you have. He comes and says: Give me all your shame, all your shortcomings, all your sin, all your imperfection, all your guilt, all the nagging lies, all your brokenness, all your frustration. In exchange, He gives you all His righteousness, all His goodness, all His love, all His hope, all His joy, all His peace. You receive His perfect standard.
When God looks at you, He sees Jesus. When God looks at Jesus, He sees you. On the cross, God both punishes sin and preserves the sinner. This is the brilliance of the cross.
For those who say, "I can't get on board with Christianity and this idea that Jesus is the only way," consider this: He's the only one making this claim. Muhammad isn't claiming to be the only way. Buddha isn't. No other religious figure in the entire world makes this exclusive claim. Jesus alone says, "I am the way, the truth, and the life."
When everyone realizes we're all doomed, we all fall short, we all have this awareness that we're at odds with God and moving toward eternity without Him—we all come to the same realization. But because of Christ, now a righteousness is being made known. It's truly amazing.
Where then is the boasting? It is excluded. On what principle? On that of faith. For we maintain that a man is justified by faith apart from observing the law. (Romans 3:27-28)
Where is there room for arrogance? An arrogant Christian is an oxymoron. The gospel marks all of us with humility. This isn't based on your performance. You're not that impressive or that good. Christ is that amazing. Christ is that wonderful. He paid the ultimate price and fulfilled the standard. You're riding the coattails of His goodness. You have nothing to brag about.
People often struggle with this because they cannot handle not being the center of attention. They want credit. But in the gospel, Jesus gets all the credit—and yes, He accepts responsibility for all the bad as well. He is everything.
Is God the God of the Jews only? Is he not the God of the Gentiles too? Yes, of Gentiles too. Since there is only one God who will justify the circumcised by faith and the uncircumcised through the same faith. (Romans 3:29-30)
Paul writes to a church divided between Jews and Gentiles, and there is real tension. Some think Paul is teaching a scandalous, reckless grace. But he's saying: the same way God saves the Jew by faith, God saves the Gentile by faith. It's not because of who you are; it's because of what He's done and who He is.
Do we then nullify the law by this faith? Not at all! We uphold the law. (Romans 3:31)
This might feel contradictory at first: we're not saved by the law, yet we uphold it. Paul is making an important distinction. The law is not a mold into which you pour yourself to be shaped by your own effort. Rather, the law is a model—the construct, the system, the prototype, the presentation of God's perfect standard and character.
When Paul says we establish the law, he's making a critical distinction. The term antinomianism describes a false Christianity that claims grace means abandoning all spiritual discipline and Christian virtue—the idea that "I'm under grace, so I don't have to do any of that stuff."
But Paul isn't saying that at all. To understand what he means, consider the difference between a mold and a model. A mold is an empty container you pour material into to shape something. A model is the concept, the construct, the system, the prototype—the actual standard itself.
The Jewish people had become obsessed with the mold—their religious heritage, the law, all the rules and standards. The law was meant to make them aware that we all fall short; it was meant to cue the conscience of sin. But they had become entranced with the empty shell of legalism rather than the substance behind it.
Paul tells the Jewish people: the model is not the law. The model is faith in Jesus Christ. And here's what that means: it's not about the mold—it's about the model. Through faith, anyone can receive this grace. It's not about being Jewish. Anybody could become a Christian, anybody could receive this grace. It's not about external heritage or ritual observance.
Before Christ, there was a gap. The law was the ceiling—we could never fulfill it. We all fall short. Then Christ arrives and accomplishes the unthinkable. He flips the paradigm upside down. Where the law was once the ceiling, the law is now the floor we stand upon.
When we establish the law, we mean something profound: we find our foundation in a law that has already been fulfilled. Every single time you come up short, every single time you fall short of God's standard, you fall back to a fulfilled law. The law has already been accomplished—not by you, but by Jesus.
Your faith is in what Jesus did, not in what you did. He already fulfilled the law. He already paid for the sins—past, present, and future. He already defeated death, hell, and the grave. You now stand on a fulfilled law. Even when you come up short, you still have a righteousness apart from the law that has been credited to you in Christ.
The gospel takes all the pressure off. Consider the caricature of God as some mean, wrathful deity. But here's the reality: God deals with all the sin, all the wickedness, all the evil, all the sorrow, all the pain, all the brokenness in the world—yet still preserves those responsible for it. Why wouldn't you want this God?
The moment you embrace this God, you are disarmed by grace. You can't boast about yourself. You can't talk about how bad you've been or how good you've been. You've got nothing. He's just that good.
This is why we practice communion and baptism—everything we do focuses on what Jesus did. As Christians, we must never miss that.
Jesus was born of a virgin. He lived a perfect life. He fulfilled the law and the prophets. He voluntarily gave up his life, died in our place, and resurrected from the grave. We identify with that death and resurrection. Somehow, that identification comes with a pressure that is lifted and a freedom to go after life—a motivation rooted in gratitude, not fear.
You just get to live for God. And even when you come up short, you fall back to a fulfilled law.
