Romans Chapter 1 (part 6)

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! ☀️

I hope you’ve got your coffee poured.
This one’s long.
We’re starting with two verses today, Romans 1:16 and 17, because together, they carry the heartbeat of the whole book.

Paul doesn’t clear his throat.
He drops a truth so heavy it divides the world.

God’s power,
the kind that raises the dead and wrecks your pride,
lights a fire in these two lines.

And it doesn’t go out.

These verses aren’t just an opening statement.
They light the fire that burns through the entire letter.

Every claim he makes… every hard truth… every beautiful promise…
It all burns back to this.

In just a few lines, Paul tells us what makes the gospel unshakable.

The gospel isn’t advice.
It’s not inspiration.

It’s power.

The kind that rips chains. Raises dead hearts.
And doesn’t come from you—it comes from God.

Salvation is for everyone who believes.

Jew or Gentile. Rule-follower or rebel.
Faith is the only door.

Not heritage.
Not hustle.

God gives righteousness.

We don’t earn it.
We don’t behave our way into it.
It’s given. Through Jesus.
To the undeserving. To the trusting.

And it’s all by faith.

Not faith that gets you in and effort that keeps you there.
Faith from beginning to end.
First breath to last.

Today we’re focusing in on just one of those verses, Romans 1:16.
Because the fire starts here.

Let’s break it down

“For I am not ashamed of the gospel,”

Why even say that?

Because Paul had every reason to be ashamed in the world’s eyes.
He’d been mocked. Beaten. Jailed. Dismissed.

And still he stood, like a man on a chair in the center of the empire, and said:

“I’m not ashamed.”

Not because he hadn’t been shamed.
But because he refused to wear it.

That’s what real courage looks like.
Staying loud when the world wants you quiet.

When I was 14, I got invited to the Halloween party of the year. Huge mansion. Fancy people. I showed up proud—dressed as a hobo.

Only to realize…

I was the only one in costume.

Everyone else was in designer jeans. I was wearing ripped clothes, carrying a stick with a bandana tied to the end, with coffee grounds on my face for a beard.

I wanted to disappear.

That’s shame.
Not because you’re wrong. But because you no longer fit in.

Because you look foolish.

That’s what Paul embraced.

He stood out. He looked foolish. He kept preaching.

Because he knew what he owed.

Paul saw himself as a man in debt. A man who owed the gospel to those still chained to sin.

And if we’ve been rescued, we’re in debt too.

To the angry.
To the hurting.
To the loud and the lost.
To the family member who says you’ve changed.
To the friend who rolls their eyes every time you bring up Jesus.

We owe them the truth. Even if it costs us something.

Especially, when it costs something.

Jesus endured shame. Paul endured shame.
Not because they liked pain.
But because they saw the joy on the other side.

The joy of obedience.
The joy of the Father’s will.
The joy of rescuing sinners like you and me.

He was looking past the pain, past the shame, straight to the joy.

Because when you see that kind of joy on the other side,
shame loses its grip.

So what is this “power of God”?

It’s the power to make believers out of unbelievers.
To tear through pride.
To open blind eyes.
To raise the dead.

The power of the gospel broke into your unbelieving heart and did what nothing else could.

It opened your eyes.
It pierced through pride.
It gave you life.

But Romans 1:16 doesn’t sound like Paul is only talking about a one-time conversion.

Read the verse again.
It sounds like he’s saying the gospel is the power of God, to save those who believe.

Wait. What?

The gospel isn't just for unbelievers.
It's the air we breathe as believers until we see him face to face.

Paul saw the gospel as the beginning and the end.
Not a doorway you walk through once, but a foundation you build your life on.
We don’t outgrow it.
We don’t graduate from it.

We need the gospel every day.
To dig deep roots.
To stand firm when the winds hit.
And they will hit.
To let it sink so far into us that it becomes who we are.

The gospel doesn’t just rescue us.
It shapes us.

Paul says,

He wasn’t writing to unbelievers.
He was writing to the saints.

Because even the saints need saving.

Every day.

And the gospel is the power to get us all the way home.

Let’s slow down.

Paul could’ve said: The gospel is for everyone who believes.

But he didn’t.
He said: To the Jew first.
That’s not random.

And if you read it too fast, you’ll miss it.

So what does it mean?

Paul isn’t saying Jews are better.
Or that they’re more valuable.
He’s tracing the fingerprints of God’s faithfulness.

Because God chose them.

He chose them because He loved them.

He gave them the promises.
He gave them the prophets.
He gave them the covenants.
He gave them the Scriptures.

Paul doesn’t just drop a casual, “Yeah, the Jews had some blessings.” He says, “Much in every way.” And then starts with the most important one:

“They were entrusted with the oracles of God.”

That word, “entrusted,” is deep.
In Greek, it’s episteuthēsan, from the root pisteuō, meaning to believe, to trust, to put confidence in.

God didn’t just give them His Word.
He entrusted them with it.

Like handing someone a newborn child and saying, “Protect this. Guard this. Don’t lose a word.”

And they did.

Think about this.

The Hebrew Scriptures — our Old Testament — were written over roughly 1,500 years. From Moses to Malachi. By more than 30 authors, on 3 continents, in 3 languages.

And every single one of those human authors?
Jewish.

Kings.
Prophets.
Shepherds.
Poets.
Priests.
Scribes.

They carried this sacred flame for generations.

And this was long before the New Testament.
Malachi’s last word came around 400 BC.
Then silence.
For four centuries.

Until John the Baptist broke it open again with:

“Prepare the way of the Lord.”

So when Paul says, “To the Jew first,” he’s not throwing a bone to Jewish pride.
He’s honoring the fact that everything the Gentiles are now tasting — every line of grace, every whisper of Jesus in the Old Testament — came through the Jewish people.

Here’s what we often miss:

When Jesus quoted Scripture, He was quoting the Hebrew Scriptures. When He taught on the road to Emmaus,

“beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, He interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning Himself.” (Luke 24:27)

Every prophecy He fulfilled?
Every Psalm He embodied?
Every law He completed?

All Jewish. All theirs. All entrusted.

That means when you crack open your Bible and read Isaiah 53, or Psalm 22, or Genesis 22 — you’re stepping into something that’s been protected for thousands of years.

That’s no accident.
That’s divine preservation.
That’s covenant faithfulness.

Most Christians have no idea this even happened. It’s something we learned on our trip to Israel.

The Jewish scribes were so serious about copying the Torah that if they made one mistake, they’d burn the entire scroll and start over.

Not tear out a page.
Not cross it out.

Burn it.
The whole thing.

Because God’s Word wasn’t theirs to edit.
It was theirs to guard.

They counted every letter.

Whenever they came to YHWH (God’s sacred name), they would stop, wash their hands, or sometimes bathe completely, then pick up a fresh quill just to write that one word.

Then they’d discard the quill.

And for what?

So that you could read it today in your own language.

So that I could stand here and say: “This isn’t myth. This is real. And God used the Jews to carry it.”

That’s the weight behind Romans 3:2.
That’s the beauty of “to the Jew first.”

This isn’t just history.
It’s sacred ground.

So next time you open your Old Testament, take off your shoes.

During Jesus’ life on earth, He focused almost entirely on the Jews.

Jesus explicitly told the Twelve not to go to the Gentiles or Samaritans, but only to:

“the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” Matthew 10:6

That was His primary mission during His life.

He came as the Jewish Messiah, fulfilling Jewish law, Jewish prophecy, and Jewish expectations, so that no one could say the promises of God had failed.

He healed Jewish lepers (Luke 17), taught in Jewish synagogues, quoted the Jewish Scriptures, and often said things like:

“Don’t go tell anyone yet…” (Because His time hadn’t come. Because the full mission hadn’t been revealed.)

But then something happened.
Something uncomfortable.

Jesus withdrew to Tyre and Sidon—Gentile territory. And a Canaanite woman came to Him crying:

“Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David; my daughter is severely oppressed by a demon.” Matthew 15:22

He didn’t answer her.

The disciples were annoyed. “Send her away,” they said.

And then Jesus said it out loud:

“I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.”

That should’ve ended it.
But she came and knelt.

“Lord, help me.”

And the, He said something that would’ve sent most of us walking away angry.

“It’s not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.”

Wait. What?

She’s already begging.
She’s already on her knees.
And He calls her a dog?

But she doesn’t flinch.

“Yes, Lord. Yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.”

Even your crumbs are enough for me.

And Jesus turns.

“O woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire.” Matthew 15:28

And her daughter was healed instantly.

This wasn’t a gentle moment.
It was sharp.
Humbling.
Bold.

And it cracked the door wide open.
There were glimmers.

Like when He healed the Roman centurion’s servant (Matthew 8) — and said:

“I tell you, many will come from east and west and recline at table with Abraham…”

Or when He passed through Samaria and revealed His identity to a Samaritan woman — the longest recorded one-on-one conversation Jesus ever had (John 4).

So yes, His public ministry was almost exclusively to the Jews.

But the cracks were forming.
The flood was coming.

And after the resurrection, He made it unmistakably clear:

“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations…” Matthew 28:19

“...beginning from Jerusalem, but go to all nations.” Luke 24:47

So during His life — to the Jew first.

But not forever.
The plan was always bigger.

And you and I are living proof.

“to the Jew first and also to the Greek.”

He didn’t have to say it.

He could’ve just said, “The gospel is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes.”

But He didn’t.
He added it.
On purpose.

To the Jews:

“Yes, I chose you.
Yes, the promises came through you.
Yes, the Messiah is yours.
but this salvation is not yours alone.”

That line would have hit like a hammer to the chest.

For generations, the Jews had carried the promises.
The covenants.
The law.
The prophets.
The Scriptures.

It was their bloodline.
Their heritage.
Their whole understanding of God and how He worked in the world.

And now Paul is saying… You’re not the only ones.

That salvation you’ve been waiting for?
It’s for them too.
The Gentiles.
The outsiders.
The unclean.

This wasn’t a gentle shift.
It wasn’t an open table with a few extra chairs.

It was a spiritual earthquake.

They would have been offended.
To the bone.
Not just culturally, but theologically.

Because for them, God choosing them was the anchor of their identity.
Their badge.
Their story.
Their claim.

Now Paul’s saying: You were first. But you are not the only.

And that changed everything.

To the Greeks:

“Yes, you’re included.
Yes, this is for you too.
But don’t forget—your only hope hangs on the God of Israel.
Your salvation comes through the covenant made with them.”

God made a promise to Abraham. A covenant sealed with faith, not law. And we, Gentiles, were never meant to replace it. We were meant to be grafted in.

Most Christians today forget that. Or never learned it in the first place.

We treat the gospel like it came out of the New Testament. Like it showed up in America. Like Jesus started something brand new, instead of fulfilling something ancient.

We talk about “our faith” and “our gospel” without realizing that we’ve been grafted into someone else’s tree.

That’s what Paul says in Romans 11. We are the wild olive shoots. Not planted, but grafted. Not rooted, but held in place by mercy.

Most people think that root is Jesus.

But it’s not.
Not in this passage.

The root Paul’s talking about is the covenant.
The promises God made to Abraham.
The faith of the patriarchs.
The history and holiness of God’s dealings with Israel.

We weren’t grafted into a brand-new tree.
We were grafted into their tree. Their story. Their faith.

That means your salvation didn’t come out of nowhere.
It came through Israel.
Through God’s covenant with them.

And if you forget that, Paul says you’re already getting proud.

So stay humble. Stay grafted. And remember who this gospel came through, the God of Israel, faithful to His covenant, inviting the nations in.

He says both truths at once, and both groups are humbled.

No one gets to brag.
No one gets to say, “We’re the reason.” 
No one gets to say, “It’s about us.”

Not the Jew.
Not the Gentile.

“To the Jew first and also to the Greek.”

In just nine words, God lays all of us flat.
And then lifts us up—together—by grace.

That’s the beauty.
That’s the power of this little line we’ve skipped over so many times.

It flips the story we thought we were in.
It reminds us we are not the root, just a branch held in place by mercy.
And that changes everything.

My heart is full. My soul is quiet.

May we never forget who brought us in.

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.

You can get George’s newest digital book, Uncovering Scripture: The Gospel of Luke HERE.