- Covered In His Dust
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- Romans Chapter 1 (part 4)
If this is your first time receiving Covered in His Dust, welcome.
I’d love to hear where you’re reading from. Just reply and let me know.
Before diving into my notes, I encourage you to read Chapter 1 first.
I include all the scripture below, but there’s something about sitting with the whole chapter first — giving yourself room to be curious.
What catches you off guard?
What doesn't make sense?
Where is that?
Who's that?
Why?
Those questions will make the notes hit deeper.
"When disciples followed a rabbi, they followed him closely so they would never be out of his sight, never be someplace where they couldn’t hear him speak. They followed him so closely that his sandals often kicked up dust."
May you be covered in His dust.
Good morning Saints! ☀️
Let’s slow it down again.
Line by line.
Because the truth deserves more than a quick read.
First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for you all, that your faith is spoken of throughout the whole world.
Paul doesn’t just say,
“I thank my God.”
He says,
“I thank my God through Jesus Christ.”
That one word, through, means everything.
Before Jesus, getting close to God was terrifying.
You didn’t enter His presence, you tiptoed.
One man. Once a year.
And if he got it wrong, he didn’t walk out alive.
People couldn’t just come near.
But Jesus changed that.
"For there is one God, and there is one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus." —1 Timothy 2:5
We needed a mediator.
Someone perfect.
Someone who could stand in the gap between a holy God and sinful people.
Jesus became that bridge, through His death and resurrection.
When Jesus died, the curtain in the temple was torn in two. That curtain had always represented the barrier between God and man. And in one moment, Jesus tore it wide open.
“Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus… let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith.” —Hebrews 10:19–22
I grew up lighting candles and confessing through a screen.
But Scripture showed me something better.
I don’t need a priest.
I come through Christ.
You’re standing on His authority.
His righteousness.
His blood.
Paul is thanking God for the believers in Rome.
For their faith.
Man, I feel this one.
One of the reasons I love going to Cuba is because of the pastors and their families.
It’s not their food or culture, even though I love that too.
It’s the way they trust Jesus.
It stirs something in me.
Their faith humbles me.
It convicts me.
They’re living for eternity, not just talking about it.
When I first saw it, I didn’t know what I was looking at.
I had only read about that kind of faith in Acts.
I didn’t know it still existed.
But it does.
And once you’ve seen that kind of faith, you can’t unsee it.
You can’t go back to comfortable Christianity.
I think Paul felt that too.
Encouraged to know there were others.
Living it out.
Faith is invisible.
You can’t touch it or hold it.
But when it’s real, you can’t ignore it.
It shows up in decisions.
In obedience.
In sacrifice.
So how did the whole world hear about theirs?
Real faith is visible. It moves, breathes, and obeys.
“Faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead.” —James 2:17
You can’t see faith without obedience.
But when faith and obedience meet,
you
can’t
miss
it.
Jesus said, “Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.” —Matthew 5:16
Don’t hide your light. Don’t blend in. Don’t be an invisible Christian.
Do people even know you’re a Christian? Could they tell if you never said a word?
Because when we believe, truly believe, God moves in.
And when He does, something begins to change.
Maybe slowly. Maybe all at once.
But He doesn't stay silent.
That’s what Paul saw in the believers in Rome.
They weren’t just saying they believed.
They were living it. Obedient believers. Visible faith.
And the world was talking about it.
“But thanks be to God, that you who were once slaves of sin have become obedient from the heart to the standard of teaching to which you were committed.” —Romans 6:17
I want that.
Not just Paul's boldness, but his obedience.
Your will, Lord. Not mine.
For God is my witness, whom I serve with my spirit in the gospel of His Son, that without ceasing I make mention of you always in my prayers, making request if, by some means, now at last I may find a way in the will of God to come to you.
Paul isn’t trying to sound spiritual here.
He’s being honest.
He sounds a little desperate.
Not because he doubts.
But because he aches to be with them.
You can feel it in the way he prays—over and over, without letting up.
He calls God as his witness.
Not the people around him.
Not his friends.
God.
Because no one else would know how often he prays for them. No one else would see him on his knees, begging for a way to go.
Not just praying once or twice.
Praying without ceasing.
It makes me wonder how many times he whispered their names while in chains.
How many nights he lay awake, staring into the dark, saying, "Please God... if there's a way."
But then he says something that most of us leave out of our prayers.
Something Jesus Himself taught us to pray.
“…in the will of God…” or “…thy will be done.”
That line holds it all.
Because Paul didn’t just want to go, he wanted to go when God said, “Now.”
“Not my will, Lord. Yours.”
That’s what faith does.
It lets go of the outcome.
It asks boldly, and then waits, hands open.
Even the great apostle submitted to the timing of God.
Why does Paul want to go to Rome so badly?
For I long to see you, that I may impart to you some spiritual gift, so that you may be established— that is, that I may be encouraged together with you by the mutual faith both of you and me.
Paul wasn’t just waiting to go to Rome.
Man, he ached for it.
You can feel it in his writing.
Deep, rooted desire.
There’s something sacred about being face to face.
Something that letters can’t replace.
Something that distance can’t carry.
Just ask any parent whose kids have moved out of the house.
Out of state.
Out of the country.
Paul says, “I want to impart to you some spiritual gift, so that you may be established.”
Not so they would start believing.
But so they’d stand firm in it.
The Greek word here is stērizō—it means to make firm. To support. To fix in place so it doesn’t move.
That’s what Paul wanted for them.
To be rooted. Strengthened. Secure.
Not blown around by every trial or teaching.
Not shaken by persecution or politics.
But grounded in Christ.
Paul wanted to help them live that way.
Not just inspired, but anchored.
And then Paul writes something that looks a little out of place.
He doesn’t just want to give.
He expects to receive.
“That I may be encouraged together with you…”
We need to stop here and look around.
Paul?
Needs encouragement?
He’s not a super-apostle?
He needs prayer?
He struggles?
He fights temptation?
What?
This is the man who stared down mobs, who kept preaching after being beaten with rods and who sang hymns in prison.
And he’s telling us, “Your faith encourages me too.”
That hits something deep in me.
Because we don’t always talk like that. We don’t admit it.
We act like missionaries don’t get tired.
Like pastors don’t doubt.
Like teachers don’t need to be taught.
Like Paul didn’t bleed.
But he did.
And he let people see it.
Paul wasn’t weak.
He was showing what strength looks like in the Kingdom.
No pretending.
No performing.
Just being real—so God gets the glory.
He knew their faith would strengthen him and that their obedience would refresh him. He knew that their love for Jesus would fill him back up.
Paul still craved fellowship.
He still needed encouragement.
He still wanted to sit in a room with believers and say,
“Look what God has done in you. Now look what He’s done in me.”
Why did Paul want to go to Rome so badly?
Because even apostles need the church.
And being around real faith brings life back to the places in us that were starting to shut down.
I love you,
George
Uncovering Scripture
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George Sisneros is a full-time missionary in Guatemala and the founder of Ordinary Missionaries and the El Rosario Christian Academy for Boys.
He’s been married to his wife, Vonda, for 27 years. He’s a father to nine children, five adopted.
In 2024, George and his wife expanded to Cuba, joining forces with nine pastors committed to transforming lives through the gospel.