Romans Chapter 3 (part 3)

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.

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 3:19-20)
Or go back to the beginning - [Here's the intro to Romans], and [here's the full archive] so you can start with 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 3:19-20 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 laid you on the side of the road. Bloodied. Broken. Beaten down by nine verses that dismantled every defense you thought you had.

Your throat is a grave.
Your tongue deceives.
Your lips carry venom.
Your feet are swift to shed blood.
And at the root of it all: no fear of God.

You might think Paul would stop there. He doesn't.

This week, he's taking you somewhere worse.

The courtroom.

Romans 3:19-20 is where the diagnosis becomes a verdict. Where the evidence becomes a sentence. Where every excuse you've been rehearsing in your head gets silenced.

Not by force. By truth.

Because when you're standing before a perfectly just Judge who knows every thought you've ever had, every word you've ever spoken, every motive you've ever hidden,

you
don't
have
a
case.

You have silence.

And that's exactly where Paul is taking us.

Let's go.

Remember: Paul wrote this letter to Christians in Rome. Believers. People who had already put their faith in Jesus.

So why is he spending two and a half chapters hammering them with how guilty they are?

Because you can't appreciate what Christ did for you until you understand what He saved you from.

You won't worship Him the way you should. You won't love Him the way He deserves. You won't serve Him with your whole life, unless you grasp the reality of where you'd be without Him.

So as we walk through these two verses, do what one pastor said:

“Forget you're a Christian.”

Forget you have Christ as your advocate.
Forget the cross.
Forget grace.

Look at where you'd be without Him.

And then you'll understand why Paul spent so much time on the bad news before he gave you the good news.

Paul's been quoting the Old Testament for nine verses. Psalm after Psalm. Isaiah. The Law and the Prophets.

And now he tells you why.

Who's under the law?

You might think he's talking about the Jews. They're the ones who received the law at Sinai. They're the ones who had the written Torah. So "under the law" must mean them, right?

Not quite.

Look at what Paul says next: "so that every mouth may be stopped, and the whole world may be held accountable to God."

Not just Jews. Everyone.

Paul's saying: if you have the written law, you're under it. If you don't have the written law, you still have the work of the law written on your heart (Romans 2:14-15). Either way, you're under it.

You're responsible for God's law.

Think about that for a second.

You didn't ask to be born. You didn't choose to exist. You didn't decide to be made in the image of God with a conscience that knows right from wrong.

But here you are.

And God says: You're responsible.

How many Bibles do you have access to? How many sermons have you heard? How many times have you read the Ten Commandments?

You know what God requires.

And on judgment day, when you stand before Him, there will be no, "I didn't know" or "Nobody told me."

God will say, “You knew.”

Exodus 34:7 says it plainly: "I will by no means leave the guilty unpunished."

God is just. And justice demands accountability.

But here's where it gets real, "So that every mouth may be stopped."

Imagine a courtroom.
The trial is over.
All the evidence has been presented.
The witnesses have testified.
The defense has rested.

And now the judge looks at the defendant and says, "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Silence.

Not because the defendant doesn't want to speak. Because there's nothing left to say. The evidence is overwhelming and your mouth is stopped.

This is what the law does. It strips away every excuse you've ever rehearsed in your head. Every defense you thought would work. Every argument you were planning to make.

Gone.

You can't say, "I'm a good person." The law says you're not.
You can't say, "I tried my best." The law doesn't grade on effort.
You can't say, "I'm better than most."

The law doesn't compare you to other sinners.

It compares you to God's perfect standard.

And when you stand before that standard, fully exposed, completely known, with no place to hide, your mouth stops.

Paul says this is the purpose of the law. Not to make you righteous. To make you speechless.

“And the whole world may be held accountable to God.”

Accountable is a legal term. And this is the only place in the New Testament it's used.

It means: liable for punishment.
Or more simply: guilty.

Every human being.
Jew and Gentile.
Religious and irreligious.
Moral and immoral.

Everyone, apart from Christ, is living on death row.

The verdict has already been given. John 3:18 says, "Whoever does not believe is condemned already."

Judgment has already happened. The day of judgment is just a formality.

And when that day comes, you will stand before God with no defense, no appeal, no lawyer, no loophole.

Just silence.

Unless you have Christ.

One sentence.

And it dismantles every plan you've ever had to get yourself right with God.

Here's what most people believe, somewhere deep down, whether they'd say it out loud or not:

“If I'm good enough, God will accept me.”

Not perfectly good, but good enough. Better than some.

They have a plan, and Paul just torched it.

"By works of the law, no human being will be justified in his sight."

No human being. The number is zero.

Not the missionary who spent thirteen years in a Guatemalan village. Not the pastor who preached for forty years. And not you.

The Greek word for "justified" here is also a legal term. It means to be declared righteous by a judge. Acquitted. Found not guilty. Cleared of all charges.

Paul is saying: no amount of doing will ever produce that verdict.

Not ever.

Not even close.

Imagine someone standing at the base of Mount Everest, staring up at the summit.
They say, “I’m going climb that.”

But instead of climbing the mountain, they start stacking chairs.

One chair.
Then another.
Then another.

At first it feels like progress. The pile gets higher. They’re no longer standing on the ground. Every chair makes them feel a little closer to the summit.

Soon they’re ten chairs high. Then twenty. Then fifty.

And people around them begin to admire the effort.

“Look how high he’s climbed.”
“Look how many chairs he’s stacked.”
“Look at the work he’s put in.”

But Everest is still Everest.

The summit is still miles above them.

No matter how carefully they stack the chairs, no matter how disciplined they are, no matter how impressive the tower becomes, the distance between them and the top never really changes.

That’s what trying to reach God through good deeds looks like.

From a distance, it can look impressive. A life full of good behavior, generosity, service, and discipline can feel like real progress. People might even admire it. The tower gets taller and taller.

But the problem isn’t effort, the problem is the distance.

God’s holiness isn’t a mountain we can climb with enough determination.

It’s a height we can’t reach at all.

That’s why the gospel doesn’t tell us to stack higher.

It tells us that Christ came down the mountain to rescue us.

God’s standard is perfection.

The question isn’t whether you tried hard or did more good than bad. The question is whether you are perfectly righteous.

And none of us are.

“No, not one.”

If the law can't save us, why does it exist?

Why did God give it?

Paul answers it in the second half of the verse.

"Through the law comes knowledge of sin."

That's the job.

Not salvation, but knowledge.

Think about a mirror. A really honest mirror. The kind of lighting you don't want, every pore visible, nothing hidden.

The mirror can't clean your face.
That's not what mirrors do.
But it can show you how dirty you are.

The law is the mirror.

Every commandment is another light turned on. Another angle revealed. And the longer you look, the clearer your sin gets.

You thought you were doing okay. Then you read, "You shall not covet," and you realize your whole life is organized around wanting what other people have.

You thought you were honest. Then you read about bearing false witness and you remember every half-truth, every spin, every silence when you should have spoken.

You thought you were a good person.

Then the law turned on the lights.

Paul’s not saying the law is bad.

The law is holy. The commandments are good. There's nothing wrong with the mirror.

The problem is us.

The law was given to make us speechless. To take every argument we've rehearsed in our own defense and dissolve it.

So that when the good news arrives, we have room to receive it.

So where does that leave us?
Worse off than we thought.

Which is exactly where Paul wants us.

The law wasn't given to save you.
It was given to show you that you need saving.

And if you've been reading these newsletters for the past several weeks and the weight of that is pressing down on you… good.

That's the law doing its job.
That's the mirror working.

We've been in Romans 1:18 through 3:20 for weeks now. Paul has been making one relentless case.

You're guilty.
Your nature is corrupt.
Your mouth is stopped.

And the things you've been counting on to make you acceptable to God carry no weight in His courtroom.

That's the bad news.

But here's the thing about bad news. It's only unbearable if there's no good news coming.

Paul has spent two and a half chapters burying you.

Next week the grave doesn't hold.

I love you,
George

PS: If a friend shared this Bible study with you and you’d like to receive it straight to your inbox, just click HERE to subscribe—it’s free and always will be!

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.