Romans Chapter 2 (part 2)

If this is your first time receiving Covered in His Dust, welcome.

We had over 150 new subscribers join us last week, so if you're new, you're in good company.

I'd love to hear where you're reading from. Just reply and let me know.

Quick note for new subscribers: We're in the middle of Romans right now. If you just joined us, you might feel like you're walking into the middle of a movie. You are. Here's what I recommend:

• Keep reading below if you want to start where we are (Romans 2:6-11)

• Or go back to the beginning - [Here's the intro to Romans], and [here's the full archive] so you can start from Chapter 1

Either way works. I just don't want you to feel lost.

Before diving into my notes, I encourage you to read Romans 2:6-11 first (or the whole chapter if you have time).

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.

Peace to you, brothers and sisters.

Last week, Paul turned the mirror around.

He looked straight at the people nodding along to Romans 1, the ones saying "Yes, Paul, preach it. Tell them how lost they are," and he said, "You too."

You judge others for what you do yourself.
You misread God's kindness as approval.
You're storing up wrath with every unrepentant day.

If it was uncomfortable. It was supposed to be.

But here's what Paul did that most of us miss: he set a trap.

When you judge someone else, you're not just pointing out their sin. You're admitting there's a standard. You're saying "I know right from wrong." You're putting yourself under the very law you're using to condemn them.

But here’s the thing: you're condemned either way.

If you judge, you're admitting you know the standard, which means you have no excuse when you break it yourself.

If you refuse to judge, if you say "I'm not going to condemn anyone," you're giving approval. And Romans 1:32 says that approving evil is just as damning as doing it.

You're trapped.

Judge or don't judge. Condemn or approve. Either way, you're guilty.

We're all liable.

But here's what happens when you feel the weight of that. When you realize there's no escape hatch, no loophole, no way to talk yourself out of this.

You start asking the question Paul wants you to ask:

"If judgment is coming for everyone… how does anyone escape it?"

That's where we are this week.

Romans 2:6-11.

And I need to warn you, this passage feels brutal if you read it too quickly.

On the surface, it sounds like Paul just contradicted everything we know about grace. It sounds like he's saying you earn eternal life by being good.

But he's not.

He's doing something far more brilliant, and far more terrifying.

He's describing the standard of God's judgment. Not the way anyone is saved.

Miss that, and you’ll read the whole passage wrong.

So stay with me. This one's going to hurt before it heals.

But that's exactly what Paul intended.

Let's get into it.

Read it again.
Slower this time.

You feel it, right? That tightness in your chest?

Here's what Paul just said, as plainly as anyone's ever said it: You are going to die. And when you do, there are only two places you're going. Glory and honor and peace. Or tribulation and distress. Heaven or hell. Eternal life or wrath.

There is no middle ground. No "I think I'll be okay." No "God knows my heart." Paul is describing two paths, and everyone you've ever loved is on one of them right now. Including you.

Notice what Paul does here. He doesn't just say it once and move on. He says it twice, in two different ways, like he's grabbing you by the shoulders to make sure you hear him.

Verse 7: eternal life to those who persevere in doing good.
Verse 8: wrath to those who are self-seeking and disobey the truth.

Then he flips it.

Verse 9: tribulation and distress to everyone who does evil.
Verse 10: glory and honor and peace to everyone who does good.

This is ancient Hebrew poetry. It's called chiasm. The Jews reading this would have recognized it immediately. Paul is using the literary form their Scripture was written in, the pattern that helps you remember, the structure that says this matters so much I'm going to say it twice so you can't miss it.

Same truth. Different words. Mirrored so it sits in your mind and won't let go.

Paul’s showing you the only two destinations that exist. And he's telling you that the path you're on right now, the one you're walking today, the direction your life is moving, is taking you to one of them.

And Eternal life isn't something you stumble into because you meant well. And wrath isn't something that sneaks up on you out of nowhere. Your life is moving. Every day. Every choice. Every moment you're either seeking God or seeking yourself.

And Paul says God will render to each person according to his deeds.

Wait.
What?

Is Paul teaching salvation by works?
Because that's exactly what it sounds like.

Look at verse 7 again: "eternal life to those who by patient continuance in doing good..."

Paul's saying God will give eternal life to people who persevere in doing good.

Real people facing real judgment right now.

So what’s Paul doing?

Here's what most of us miss, and if you miss this you'll read the whole thing wrong:

He's not giving you a path to earn heaven. He's showing you the bar.

And he’s telling us that bar isn’t lowered for anyone. Not for Jews who have the law and know all the right answers. Not for Gentiles who didn't grow up in church. Not for you because you were raised Christian or because you know your Bible or because you're a good person compared to other people.

God judges according to deeds.
That's it.
That's the standard.
No exceptions.
No partiality.

But here's the thing: the people who actually clear that bar? The ones who persevere in doing good and seek glory, honor, and immortality? The ones whose lives show evidence of transformation?

They're the ones who've been saved by faith and transformed by the Spirit.

Their good works aren't the reason they get eternal life. Their good works are the evidence that their faith was real all along.

Think about it like this.
You don't become a tree by growing apples.
You grow apples because you're an apple tree.
The fruit doesn't make you what you are.
The fruit reveals what you already were.

Paul's not saying works save you. He's saying if you're saved, your life will show it. If you have real faith, if the Spirit of God truly lives in you, there will be fruit.

Maybe not perfect fruit.
Maybe not impressive fruit by the world's standards.
But fruit.
Real change.
Evidence that something happened to you.

James said it like this: "Faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead" (James 2:17).

Dead faith. Not weak faith. Not baby faith that just needs time to grow up. Dead. Like a corpse. Cold and lifeless and rotting.

If there are no works, no fruit, no evidence, no change over time, then the faith was never alive to begin with.

You can say all the right words.
You can believe all the right doctrine.
You can go to church every Sunday and own seventeen Bibles.

But if your life never changes, if there's no perseverance in doing good, if you're not seeking God at all, then what you have isn't saving faith. It's dead religion.

And dead religion doesn't save anyone.

Remember the story about David and Bathsheba?

David.
The man after God's own heart.
The shepherd boy who killed Goliath.
The warrior king.
The one who wrote the Psalms.

David's walking on his rooftop. He looks down and sees a woman bathing. Bathsheba. Beautiful. Married to one of his most loyal soldiers, Uriah, a man who's out risking his life in battle for David's kingdom.

David sends for her. Sleeps with her. Gets her pregnant.

And when he realizes what he's done, he doesn't fall on his face and repent. He doesn't run to God and confess. He tries to cover it up. He calls Uriah home from battle, thinking Uriah will sleep with his wife and then the pregnancy will look legitimate. Problem solved.

But Uriah is too honorable. He refuses to go home and enjoy his wife while his men are still out there fighting and dying. He sleeps on the palace steps instead.

David’s desperate. He sends Uriah back to the front lines with orders to place him where the fighting is fiercest, then pull the troops back and leave him exposed. Uriah dies. David takes Bathsheba as his wife. And for a while, it looks like he's gotten away with it.

But God sees.

Years pass. David's living with this. Carrying it. Justifying it, probably. Convincing himself it wasn't that bad. He's the king. He has responsibilities. Bathsheba's better off now anyway. Uriah died a hero. These things happen in war.

And then one day the prophet Nathan shows up at the palace.

He tells David a story.

There were two men in a city. One was rich, with flocks and herds beyond counting. The other was poor. He had nothing except one little lamb. Just one. He raised it himself. Fed it from his own hand. It slept in his arms. It grew up with his children. He loved that lamb like it was his own daughter.

One day a traveler came to visit the rich man. And instead of taking one of his own sheep to prepare a meal, the rich man went to the poor man's house and took his lamb. Killed it. Cooked it. Served it to his guest.

David explodes. His face goes red. His voice shakes with rage. He stands up.

"As the Lord lives, that man deserves to die! He will pay for that lamb four times over because he had no pity!"

Nathan doesn't move. He looks at David. Doesn't blink. Doesn't soften it.

"You are the man." (2 Samuel 12:1-7)

Do you see what just happened?

David looked at someone else's sin and saw it clearly.
He was outraged.
Righteous anger.
Perfect moral clarity.
That man deserves to die.

But when it came to his own sin? He couldn't see it. He lived with it for years and convinced himself it was fine.

We do this.
All of us.

We look at other people and we see their sin so clearly. We judge. We condemn. We shake our heads and think "How could they?" We see the greed in someone else's life but not our own. We see the pride, the selfishness, the coldness, the gossip. We point and we're certain we're right to point.

And all the while, we're blind to our own.

Paul’s doing what Nathan did. He's telling you a story. He's showing you the standard. He's letting you nod along and agree that yes, God should judge people according to their deeds. That's fair. That's right. That's just.

And then he's going to turn around and say, "You are the man."

You don't see your own sin.
None of us do.
Not really.
Not the way God sees it.

You think you're okay because you don't murder. You don't steal. You're not living in open rebellion. You go to church. You read your Bible. You're better than most people, right?

But God requires righteousness. Perfect righteousness.

And you don't have it.

None of us do.

David finally saw it when Nathan said, "You are the man."

And what did David say?
"I have sinned against the Lord."

No excuses. No justifications. No "but I'm the king and I have a lot of pressure." Just confession. Raw, honest and desperate.

And that's how God saves people.

Not by us being good enough. Not by us clearing the bar. But by us finally seeing that we can't. By us dropping to our knees and saying "I have sinned. I need mercy. I have no excuse."

God requires righteousness, and we don't have it. So we should be living lives of repentance. Daily. Constantly. Not once when we first believed and then never again. Repentance should be the rhythm of our lives.

And if you're not repenting, if you're comfortable, if you haven't confessed sin in weeks or months, then recognize something: God has kept you alive so that you can repent. His patience with you right now is not approval. It's an invitation.

Because when we live in unrepentance, we're storing up wrath.

Think of it like an investment account. The kind with automatic deposits. Every paycheck, money gets transferred. You don't even notice it happening. It's quiet. Invisible. But it's growing. Month after month, year after year, the balance climbs. And one day you check the account and you're shocked at how much is there.

That's what happens when you store up wrath.

Every day you refuse to repent, another deposit is made. Every time you justify your sin, harden your heart, compare yourself to someone worse and feel relieved, the account grows. You don't feel it. You don't see it. But it's building.

And if you don't reconcile, if you don't repent, one day you're going to cash out. And what you'll receive is exactly what you stored up. Wrath.

But here's the thing about God.
He is so kind.

So patient.
Abounding in steadfast love.

He's giving you time. Right now. Today. This moment. Time to see your sin. Time to turn. Time to run to Him.

If you have a life in Jesus Christ, it will result in a life of obedience. Not perfect obedience. Not sinless obedience. But intentional obedience. A life that's moving in His direction. A life that seeks Him, fights sin, and runs back to Him when you fail.

God has never taught that eternal life will be based on good deeds. Never. Not once. But He does teach that good deeds are a demonstration of the faith that unites us to Jesus, and it's on the basis of Jesus that we are saved.

So when Paul says God will judge according to deeds, he's not contradicting grace. He's showing you what grace produces.

Real faith changes you.

And on judgment day, those changes, that fruit, those works, they'll be the evidence God points to when He says, "This one is mine."

Last verse.

That's it.

One sentence.
Seven words in English.
Seven words in the Greek.

But don't let the brevity fool you. This is the foundation of everything Paul just said.

That word "partiality" in Greek is prosopolempsia.
It literally means "receiving the face."

What does that mean?

It's the idea of looking at someone (their face, their appearance, their status, their background) and letting that influence your judgment.

God doesn't do that.

This is why the standard is what it is. This is why no one gets a pass.

God doesn't play favorites.

He doesn't grade on a curve. He doesn't give you extra credit for being born into a Christian family. He doesn't weigh your sins against someone else's and say "Well, at least you're not as bad as them."

Jew or Gentile.
Churched or unchurched.
Raised in Sunday school or raised in the streets.
Moral or immoral.
Religious or pagan.

Same standard. Same judgment. Same two paths.

God
is
impartial.

Think about what that means.

It means every escape hatch you've been counting on just got sealed shut.

"But I grew up in church." Doesn't matter.
"But I know the Bible better than most people." Doesn't matter.
"But my parents were missionaries." Doesn't matter.

If there's no fruit, it doesn't matter.

You know what's scary about that tiny verse?

It means that on judgment day, there will be people who thought they were safe. People who assumed their background, their knowledge, their religious activity meant they were fine.

And they'll discover they were wrong.

That’s
a
warning.

The only thing that will matter on that day is whether your faith was real.
Whether the Spirit truly changed you.
Whether there's evidence of a life that sought God, not just a life that talked about Him.

So now what?

If you're sitting here feeling the weight of this, if your chest feels tight, if you're thinking "I don't know if I'm okay," that's not a bad sign.

That's a good sign.

That's the Spirit at work.

The world defends its sin.
The believer confesses theirs.

The world says "I'm fine."
The believer says "I need help."

If God were done with you, you wouldn't care. You'd read this and feel nothing. You'd justify. You'd compare yourself to someone worse and feel relieved. You'd move on.

But you're still here. Still reading. Still feeling it.

That means God hasn't given up on you.
His kindness is still extended.

Right now.
Today.

So what should we be doing?

We need to stop sleepwalking through life like eternity isn't real.

We have to swim against the tide of almost everything in this culture.

You know the feeling. It's Thursday night and you're exhausted. The couch is calling. Netflix has a new series. Your phone keeps buzzing with highlights, updates, sales, must-see posts. One episode turns into three. Three hours disappear. And somewhere in the back of your mind, there's a whisper you ignore: “I’m still empty.”

The world is being given over to entertainment and we’re ok with it. We're so distracted we've forgotten how to be still.

We've forgotten that 630,000 babies are being killed every year in our own country. That Christians are being slaughtered in Nigeria while we're scrolling. That Venezuela is collapsing while we're planning our next vacation.

We're not evil. We're just... entertained.

We've forgotten we're going to die.
We've forgotten that what comes after… lasts forever.

So wake up. Be on guard. Jesus said it in Mark 13:35-36: "Therefore stay awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come... lest he come suddenly and find you asleep."

Stop building your week around the next show you're going to binge. Stop organizing your life around comfort. Stop pretending that a nice retirement is the finish line.

You're going to die.
And what comes after that lasts forever.

Repent. Not just once when you first believed. Constantly. Daily. That should be the rhythm of our lives. Because if we're not repenting, we're storing up wrath like an investment account with automatic deposits. One day we'll cash out and the balance will be massive (and it's all wrath).

Dream something bigger than your own comfort. Ask yourself: what am I doing with this life that will actually matter in 10,000 years? Because most of what fills our days won't even matter next Tuesday.

And seek God, not just His stuff. Do you actually want God? Or do you just want forgiveness so you can keep living however you want? Do you love Him? Or are you just using Jesus as fire insurance?

This is the question that reveals everything. You can say you trust Christ to bring you to the Father. But do you even want the Father? Or do you just want His gifts (forgiveness, heaven, peace) without actually wanting Him?

Don't do that.

Love God.
Want God.
Cherish God.
Delight in God.

God Himself is the treasure and goal of saving faith.

Live like you believe Romans 2 is true.

God will judge according to deeds. Not to earn salvation, because you can't. But because real faith produces real change. If the Spirit's in you, your life will show it.

Start living for what lasts.

If you come to God empty-handed, desperate, saying "I have sinned against the Lord. I need mercy. I have no excuse," and you run to Jesus by faith, not trusting in your works but in His, then you will have eternal life. Glory. Honor. Peace.

But you have to come. You have to turn. You have to repent.

Today.
Right now.

Because God's kindness is not approval. It's an invitation.

And the invitation has an expiration date.

I love you,
George

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.