Romans Chapter 1 (part 7)

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! ☀️

Today I’m covering one verse again and I’m not gonna lie. It feels like a mountain.

Many people treat Romans 1:16–17 like a summary. A thesis. A tidy theological bookmark.

But this isn’t a summary.
It’s an explosion.
It’s the doorway into everything Paul is about to drag us through.
And it’s dangerous to read it lightly.

It unsettled me.
It reshaped me.
It refused to leave me the same.
And if you let Paul slow you down, you might feel it too.

Verse 16 tells you what the gospel does.
Verse 17 tells you how it works.

All of it keeps circling back to this:
God saves sinners.
Not by works.
Not by birthright.
But by grace, through faith.

So yeah… it’s a mountain.
But it’s not just any mountain.

It’s where Paul takes you higher than you expect, and thinner air starts to show your limits.

And once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

I believe that.
It changed how I see God.
It changed how I see myself.

And I’m praying it does something real in you too.

Verse 16: The gospel is the power of God for salvation.
Salvation from what?
From God’s wrath on judgment day.
For what?
For His heavenly kingdom.
How?
By faith, to everyone who believes.

That’s
the
gospel.

None of us outrun death.
It is the one appointment nobody misses.
Some sooner. Some later.
I’m 59.
Closer today than yesterday.
And after that comes judgement.

You’re gonna want to know:

How does God save believers?

We say we know the answer.
But Paul pushes us deeper.

What if the most terrifying thing about the gospel… is also the most beautiful?

“The righteousness of God is revealed…” Romans 1:17

That phrase carries a ton of weight.

It refers to God’s character.
He is just and holy and right.

Paul uses the word dikaiosynē.
A word that doesn’t just mean “righteousness.”
It means justice so pure it burns.
Justice that exposes everything we try to hide.
Justice that could crush us.
Or save us.

Justice that declares guilty people righteous through faith in Christ.

This isn’t something people earn.
It’s revealed in the gospel.
God shows us how He saves and declares guilty people righteous.
Not by law. Not by anything we can do.

By faith.

In the gospel, God shows us something.

Not just His love.
Not just His mercy.
He reveals His righteousness.

Let’s take a second right here.

That phrase once crushed Martin Luther.
“The righteousness of God.”

He thought it meant: God is righteous, and I’m not, and there are ten Grand Canyons between us, and I’m about to get judged for it.

And if that’s what Paul meant, we’re all in trouble.

Martin Luther was a German pastor and professor who accidentally ignited a movement that changed the world.

He wasn’t trying to start a revolution. He was trying to find peace with God.

And the more he read Scripture, the more he realized the church of his day had drifted far from what the Bible actually said.

He was a monk driven by fear.
He confessed constantly.
He fasted.
He punished himself.
He tried everything to feel forgiven.

But nothing worked.

Then Romans broke him open.

He saw it. Salvation wasn’t earned. It wasn’t bought. It wasn’t achieved by punishments or penance. It was a gift received by faith in Christ.

That one realization changed the direction of his life.

He wrote out ninety five problems he saw in the church and pinned them to a church door in Wittenberg. It wasn’t dramatic. It was the academic way of saying “we need to talk.”

But the world read it.

And everything shifted.

Luther pointed people back to Scripture.
Back to grace.
Back to Christ.

He translated the Bible into German so normal people could read it.
He preached constantly.
He wrote hymns.
He helped everyday Christians realize they didn’t need a priest to approach God.
They could come to Him through Christ.

Luther wasn’t perfect. Far from it. But God used him to pull the church’s eyes back to the gospel.

Before we go any further, we need to step into Luther’s shoes.

Not the version from the history books.
The version of the man who couldn’t sleep at night.
The man who feared God so deeply he bled trying to earn forgiveness.
Because his story is the story of every person who thinks they can climb back to God on their own.

Luther’s struggle isn’t far from ours.
Different century.
Same fear.
Same exhaustion.
Same longing to be right with God.

Here’s what I imagine he might have felt.

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

Yes, yes. It came to the Jews first.
But I’m not a Jew.
I’m a monk.
A sinner in a robe.

“For in it the righteousness of God is revealed…”

The righteousness of God.
I know what that means.
It means His justice.
His blinding holiness.
It means the standard I can never reach.

I pray.
I fast.
I confess.
I whip my own back until it bleeds.

But I’m still not righteous. And if the gospel reveals God’s righteousness… then I’m doomed. That’s not good news to me. That is condemnation.

“…from faith to faith…”

Faith.
But what kind of faith?
My faith is weak.
It wavers.
It trembles.

If God’s righteousness is revealed by faith, then what happens when my faith is feeble?

“As it is written: The righteous shall live by faith.”

Live by faith? How can I live if I cannot be righteous? Is Paul saying that only the righteous—those who already have faith—will live?

Then I’m dead.

This verse torments me.
It feels like God is holding up a mirror I cannot bear to look into.
He is righteous.
I’m not.
And the gospel, instead of rescuing me, seems to expose me.

I know sin runs in my blood.
I know my nature is twisted from the womb.
But I believe it’s my duty to climb back.

So I try.

I don’t deny I fall short,
I just believe it’s my job to fix it.
To confess more.
To punish my flesh.
To remove every stain of sin through suffering and penance and fasting and obedience.

And when I can’t do that to satisfaction, when the guilt still clings to me, I don’t think God is wrong.

I think I am.
That I’m not repentant enough.
That my sorrow isn’t sincere enough.
That maybe I haven’t hated my sin quite enough.

Luther originally HATED verse 17.

God’s righteousness is revealed.
God demands righteousness.
And I don’t have it.

If we stop there, “For in it the righteousness of God is revealed”, 

that’s
not
good
news.

Not at first.

Because if all we’re told is that God is righteous, and we’re not…

That’s terrifying.
Or it should be.

It means judgment is real.
Wrath is coming.
And we have no way to stand.

If the gospel only reveals how holy and perfect God is, without telling us what He’s done for sinners, then it’s not hope.

It’s a warning.

That’s why the rest of the verse matters so much.

“…from faith to faith…” That’s the key that unlocks it.

Before we move any further, something has to land hard.

Paul isn’t preaching to outsiders.
He’s preaching to believers.
Saints.
People who already trust Jesus.
Because believers need the gospel as much as unbelievers.
Maybe more.

Yes, the gospel saves.
But the gospel isn’t a one-time thing.

If you’re saved by the power of the gospel, and then live according to the world…

how’s that working out for you?

We have to live on daily nourishment of the gospel until it seeps deep into our bones.

We must be filled with the gospel.
We must be desperate for the gospel.
We must get our daily strength from the gospel.

But I feel like most of my life, I got strength from my own efforts.
I didn’t depend on the gospel.
I built a life so comfortable that I didn’t really need the gospel.

But let me be honest.
Today, I’m desperate for the gospel.
Not in theory, but in the cracks of my real life.
My marriage.
My kids.
My heart.

If God doesn’t carry me, I don’t stand.

From faith,
from the moment you first believed,
to faith,
all the way to the finish line.

From salvation to glory.
The whole way.

You’re not saved by faith and then sanctified by effort.
You’re not rescued by grace and then left to climb the rest on your own.

It’s faith at the start.
Faith in the struggle.
Faith in the dark.
Faith when you fall.
Faith when you rise again.

The gospel doesn’t just carry you across the starting line.
It keeps carrying you… even when you can’t feel the lift.
Even when it feels like you’re crawling.

But faith in what?

That’s the question that makes or breaks everything.
Because if your faith rests on yourself, you’re already sinking.

Faith that God will give us what He requires from us.
His righteousness.
Because the gospel has the power to save anyone who believes, Jew or Gentile, for one reason.
In the gospel, God gives what He demands.

Righteousness.
Justice.

Not earned.
Not achieved.
Received by faith.

But what is the righteousness of God?

Is it our right standing before Him, covered by Christ through the cross?

Or, is it our transformation and sanctification through the Spirit, after the seed of faith has been planted?

Yes.
Both.

Paul is quoting Habakkuk 2:4.

And when he says, “as it is written,” he is not tossing in a verse to sound holy.
He’s anchoring the gospel in a story soaked in fear, violence, and judgment.

Habakkuk didn’t write those words from a cozy study.
He wrote them with Babylon’s footsteps shaking the ground.
He watched his nation crumble.
He didn’t get answers.
He got a command.
Trust Me.
Live by faith when nothing makes sense.

That’s the world Paul reaches back to.
A world where faith isn’t a feeling.
It’s not a philosophy.
Not a nice idea that sits on a bookshelf.

Faith is what you hold when the ground splits under your feet.
Faith is what keeps you standing when God feels hidden.
Faith is what carries you when nothing in your life adds up.

And Paul is telling the Romans, he’s telling us, that same faith is how God saves.
From the first moment you believe to the final breath you take.

Faith.

The Greek word is pistis.

Pistis doesn’t mean “agree with a doctrine.”
It means grip.
It means clinging when you can’t breathe.

It’s handing God the weight of your life, because He’s the only One who won’t drop it.

Paul isn’t just giving us a theology course in verses 16 and 17.
He’s dragging us underwater before he pulls us up.
He wants you to feel the weight of God’s justice crushing your lungs.
Only then does grace feel like oxygen instead of a church word.

When you see how far you fall short,
you stop bargaining.
You stop pretending.
You stop performing.

And that’s when the cross becomes everything.
Not a motivational speech.
A rescue.

Paul drags us to the bottom so we’ll finally let go of our strength and cling to His.

If you feel like you’re drowning, don’t swim harder.

Look up.

He’s not waiting on your strength. He’s offering His.

Next week goes deeper.
Not to weigh you down.
To help you see the strength that holds you up.

We’re just getting started.

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.