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Part 20 of 20
Romans 7
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Romans holds the most historically comprehensive message of the gospel—the good news of Jesus—that we have today, even 2,000 years later. The Apostle Paul began his journey of faith by pursuing the most rigid and rigorous form of Judaism until a resurrected Jesus met him face to face and showed him that He was the savior, the risen Messiah, and the rescuer of the entire world.
In Romans, Paul tells the story of God's redemption for the entire world. Though we all rebelled and continue to live in rebellion from the will and ways of God, He never stopped loving us. Instead, He sent His Son Jesus to live the perfect life we aren't capable of, to die the death we all deserve, and to come back from the grave. Now we can be part of the forever kingdom of God simply by choosing to turn our lives from our will and our way to His—which are better anyway—by grace through faith. It's all a gift, and we couldn't earn it even if we tried.
When you grow up in a dysfunctional family, you don't know how weird your family is until you have another family to compare yours to. I remember being very young and staying with a family friend while my parents were out of town. Their house was different—nobody yelled, nobody seemed scared. After dinner, the mom asked me to get my homework so she could help me.
My parents did the very best they could with the messy backgrounds they had, but they never once helped me with my homework. I didn't have a category for this kind of help. When you have broken patterns in your life, even helping can feel like hurting. Even healthy can feel like toxic.
Some of you have left a good man or a good woman. You've rebelled against your parents or showed up poorly at work. It wasn't because they were bad—it's because you don't know how to always function in good. And that's exactly what Paul is going to show us in Romans 7: why that's the case.
Paul is going to give us an unvarnished picture of what he went through. Softening the struggle of our life, softening how we're really doing and what's really going under the hood might feel good in the moment. But there's a truth I want you to understand:
If we're not that bad, then God's not that good.
If you soften your understanding of your own brokenness, you diminish your understanding of God's love. God didn't come to give an allergy test to a sick person, but to a corpse that didn't realize how dead it was and how much it needed His grace.
Paul begins by emphasizing that the law locates even the sin we can't see—the invisible things. He says:
What then shall we say? That the law is sin? By no means. Yet if it had not been for the law, I would not have known sin. For I would not have known what it is to covet if the law had not said, "You shall not covet."
Children teach us something profound about this. When we tell a child "Don't go over there," that boundary suddenly becomes the number one goal in their life. The rule is basically just an instruction for something they want to do. Paul points out that this instinct is actually present in all of us—we just get more sophisticated in how we push back as we get older, more nuanced in how we rationalize it.
Without the law, we would be living in blind spots with no frame of reference for right or wrong or how we might live in a way that connects to God. Think of it like this: a culture in general is what living without the law would look like. As 19th-century preacher Charles Spurgeon said:
The law detects, but it cannot correct.
The law is like a moral allergy test. When you have an allergy test done on your skin, the exposure doesn't make you allergic—but it makes your skin worse if you are. Similarly, when the law exposes us to God's standard, it reveals what's already there.
For Jewish people, there were more than 600 commands in the Hebrew scriptures and upwards of thousands in Jewish culture. They divided these into three categories: the moral law, the ceremonial law, and the civil law.
The moral law is what's most relevant to us today. When the law says "Don't covet," it's not just calling an action wrong—it's calling us coveters. When we present a better version of ourselves online than in real life, we're not just lying; the law says we're liars. When we borrow a Netflix password, inflate an insurance claim, or tweak our tax return hoping we don't get caught, the law doesn't call that stealing—it calls us thieves.
The law as a moral allergy test gives us a definition to our dysfunction. It lets us know how much we really need Jesus.
Paul addresses the objection: "How could the law be good and kill us at the same time?" He explains:
Did that which is good then bring death to me? By no means. It was sin producing death in me through what is good, in order that sin might be shown to be sin.
In California, when heavy rain comes, it reveals soil problems that were always there but weren't visible before. It isn't that the problems weren't there before—the rain just makes us pay attention to them. That's exactly what happens with sin. The law doesn't create sin; it reveals how pervasive sin already is.
Paul explains further:
For we know that the law is spiritual, but I am of the flesh, sold under sin.
Once we understand the function of the law in us and how it shows us how pervasive sin is, we can be honest about our problem and our real need.
Paul describes the struggle that characterizes the human condition:
For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not know what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. Now if I do what I do not want, I agree with the law that it is good. So now it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me.
There's a profound disconnect here. Paul knows what's right. He agrees the law is good. But he finds himself doing the very thing he hates. This isn't a lack of knowledge—it's a deeper problem.
He continues:
For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out.
This is the honest assessment Paul gives us. The desire to do what is right is there, but the ability to carry it out is missing. This is the reality we all face, and it's the reason we need something bigger than ourselves.
When heavy rain falls, it doesn't create new problems in a foundation—it simply makes existing problems visible. The water exposes what was already there. Sin works the same way. The law acts like rain, revealing what was already present but hidden.
Paul explains this dynamic: sin uses what is good (the law) to make itself known. The law is spiritual, but we are of the flesh, sold under sin. The purpose isn't to condemn us, but to reveal the true state of our struggle.
Paul gives us an unvarnished look at the internal war: he doesn't do the good he wants to do, and he keeps doing the evil he doesn't want to do. This isn't a matter of ignorance or lack of willpower. Even knowing the law is good, even agreeing it's right, he finds himself enslaved to a pattern he hates.
There are two categories of sin Paul highlights here. Sins of commission are the things we know we shouldn't do but we do them anyway—the impulses, addictions, and actions we wish we could stop. Sins of omission are the things we know we should do but leave undone—the ways God is calling us to show up at school, with friends, in marriage, with children, with parents, with coworkers, but we simply don't.
If you took out your phone right now and made two lists—one of sins of commission and one of omission—how long would it take to fill the screen? If we're honest, not very long.
If the Apostle Paul—the one-time persecutor of the church, the self-proclaimed expert in Jewish law with the entire Torah memorized—describes his ongoing struggle this way as a follower of Jesus, why do we lie about our own?
When someone asks "How are you?" and we say "Good" when we're not, that's not being nice—that's being dishonest. We know the "church answers": Blessed. Better than I deserve. These might be true, but they're not always honest.
What if we took Romans 7 as permission to be honest, especially with the people closest to us? We could talk openly about what's happening in our lives—our addictions, unhealthy impulses, the real state of our marriages and key relationships. Wisdom says we need to choose carefully who enters these spaces, but the question is: Do you have a circle like that? Are you part of a life group where you say, "I'm really going to lean in and make this my place"?
Author Joseph Meyers describes four types of relational space:
In church, we're good at public and social spaces. But we struggle with personal and intimate spaces. And here's why: these spaces require you. We can put you in the room, but you have to make room for people to actually be in your life.
Look at your own life right now. Do you have lots of people in public space, maxed-out social connections, but a wall right here? Where nobody gets deeper? Where the things really going on inside your head and heart, nobody knows? That might feel like a good way to manage your image, but it's a terrible way to manage your life.
Paul's invitation is for deeper and closer relationship—both with other people and with God.
John McCranie, in his book Live No Lies, identifies three enemies conspiring against us right now:
Some people think, "If we're not that bad, then God isn't that good." But Paul says the opposite: The reason we needed salvation is because we are this bad. We really do need Him.
If we could save ourselves—if we were really this good, this smart, if we could figure it out—then Jesus died for nothing. Paul stakes everything on the reality that we cannot fix ourselves. That's why His love is so incredible.
Paul doesn't leave us in despair. He gives us a picture of what's coming—a glimpse of hope.
Think of rewatching a favorite blockbuster movie. You already know how it ends. You know the hero makes it through. And yet when you watch it again, you still feel the tension. You still root for them. Your feelings are real, even though the outcome is secure.
That's what Paul is doing for us: reminding us that our feelings and temptations are real, but God's hope for our eternity is secure.
He finishes this way:
So I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand. For I delight in the law of God in my inner being. But I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Wretched man that I am, who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord. So then I myself serve the law of God with my mind but with my flesh I serve the law of sin.
Paul describes the tension we all feel. But sometimes we don't know if it's okay to describe it. What does this war feel like to you? What is waging between the true and real you that longs to know God more deeply and the lesser desires you settle for?
Following Jesus is like peeling an onion: the closer you get to the core, the more bitter it gets. The longer you pursue and get to know Jesus, the more aware you become of your need for Him. C.S. Lewis put it this way:
No man knows how bad he is until he has tried very hard to be good.
Paul was aiming at something different in Jesus than he'd ever had before. And it brought the absolute best of God into his life and the worst of his flesh into his life at the same time.
This passage gives us a picture of three biblical realities:
Justification: God frees us from the penalty of sin. When God looks at you and me as followers of Jesus, He no longer sees your unrighteousness or sinfulness. He sees Jesus's righteousness imputed to you.
Sanctification: We experience the practical reality of walking closer with Jesus in everyday life. It's the work that's happening now.
Glorification: The beautiful picture of God's presence one day, someday. All the manifestations of a broken world are gone. Your only instincts will be to bring glory to God. Whatever addiction you haven't overcome, whatever dysfunction you live with, whatever medical challenge seems hopeless—your ultimate, forever healing is coming. You will live in perfect relationship with God exactly the way it was always designed to be.
If you're a follower of Jesus, glorification is coming for you.
We live in what some call the "already and not yet" moment. We have the status God has given us—our standing with Him through Christ. We experience the present pain and suffering in a broken world. And we have the one day, someday hope of a forever kingdom beyond this broken world.
I hope Paul's journey in this passage has made you curious about no longer faking it. Especially if you don't call yourself a church person—yes, it's really okay to talk this way. It's really okay to describe the suffering, pain, and temptation Paul talks about.
I hope you're curious about peeling back the layers of your own story to be honest about what's really happening in the messier places of your life. And I'm telling you: when you step forward in relationship with people, they will step toward you with their mess as well. The best disinfectant is sunlight. Whatever you think you're hiding, you're not. And as you share it with others, you'll discover that God is better than you can imagine. The gospel can bring hope and healing even there.
I want to finish with a prayer exercise. Put your hands palms up on your lap, wherever you are today—whether you feel like you're winning or failing, whether you're stuck in the cycle Paul describes or longing for freedom.
Take a moment to recognize your need for God. This posture says: God, whatever in my life you want to bless is here and available for you. Whatever in my life you don't want is open and available for you to take. I'm not going to make you pry my fingers open. We can stop pretending. We can stop hiding. We admit we can't fix ourselves. We can't fight this alone. We can't earn your love—but we don't have to, because Jesus has already won.
I want you to put your hands palms up on your lap, wherever you are today. Whether you feel like you're winning or failing, whether you're stuck in the cycle that Paul describes or longing for freedom—take a moment to recognize your need for God.
This posture of open hands is surrender. It says: God, whatever in my life you want to bless is here and available for you. Whatever in my life you don't want is open and available for you to take. I'm not going to make you pry my fingers open.
We can stop pretending. We can stop hiding. We admit we can't fix ourselves. We can't fight this alone. We can't earn your love—but we don't have to, because Jesus has already won.
Now put your hands up in the air. We step into the victory that Paul points us toward. Even as he explains his own struggle, he has confidence. He says, "Thanks be to God who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord." He has hope for the future. And so can you.
We don't walk in shame. We don't carry condemnation. We walk in the spirit knowing that in Christ we are no longer slaves to sin but free to live in him. We walk in the power of the Holy Spirit, secure in our ultimate victory.
Where walls have been created unnecessarily, where barriers to belief and deeper relationships have settled in, may God give us a fresh sense of the kind of relationship and flourishing life he wants for us—one that is honest, one where relationships go deeper, one where we discover things about ourselves we weren't willing to admit.
May those things left undone in our life, whatever God is pressing us toward, bother us by the power of the Holy Spirit. May we not be able to move forward without recognizing what God has been doing in our heart and soul. Help us to live different because of you, by your power.
