Scripture Studies - Romans 1:11-17

¹¹ I long to see you so that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to make you strong -- ¹² that is, that you and I may be mutually encouraged by each other's faith. ¹³ I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, that I planned many times to come to you (but have been prevented from doing so until now) in order that I might have a harvest among you, just as I have had among the other Gentiles.

¹⁴ I am obligated both to Greeks and non-Greeks, both to the wise and the foolish. ¹⁵ That is why I am so eager to preach the gospel also to you who are in Rome.

¹⁶ For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes: first to the Jew, then to the Gentile. ¹⁷ For in the gospel the righteousness of God is revealed -- a righteousness that is by faith from first to last, just as it is written: "The righteous will live by faith." -- Romans 1:11-17

The Threshold of the Cathedral

As we imagine this Epistle as a grand Sanctuary, harboring the deepest truths of the Spirit of God, we have passed the portico of the salutation, wherein Paul, the bondservant of Jesus Christ, has declared his separation unto the Gospel of God; we have seen the lintel of his office and the posts of his calling. Now, the heavy doors of the Epistle swing inward, and we are invited to tread the holy pavement of the Apostle's heart. This Epistle to the Romans is not a mere letter; it is a cathedral of theology, a fortress of doctrine, and a vast ocean of divine wisdom wherein the elephant may swim and the lamb may wade. But before the thunder of the eighteenth verse rolls forth to condemn the ungodliness of men -- before the lightning of wrath flashes against the suppression of truth -- there is a moment of tender intimacy. There is a pause, as it were, in the portico, where the Apostle lays bare his breast and reveals the beating affections that drive his pen.

In this passage, extending from the eleventh to the seventeenth verse of the first chapter, we find the prologue to the great drama of Justification . It is here that we discover the "Why" and the "Wherefore" of his writing. We see a man not merely intellectual, but emotional; not merely a doctor of the law, but a debtor to the lost; not merely a herald of power, but a beggar for mutual comfort. To understand the majestic arguments that follow, one must first understand the man who wields them. We must see the desire that burns like a lamp in his soul (vss. 11-13); we must feel the weight of the debt that presses upon his shoulders like a yoke (vss. 14-16); and we must gaze with him upon the revelation of the heart of Christian doctrine that breaks like the dawn upon the darkness of human merit (vs. 17).

Let us, therefore, with the candle of the Spirit in our hands, descend into the mines of this text. Let us dig for the gold of Ophir and the silver of Tarshish, extracting every nugget of truth, every vein of insight, and every jewel of comfort that lies hidden within these seven verses. We shall not rush as the horse into battle, but we shall linger as the bee upon the blossom, until we are laden with the honey of the Word.

Paul's Desire and the Mystery of Providence (vs. 11-13)

"I long to see you" (vs. 11), cries the Apostle. Mark well the word "long." It is not the tepid wish of a casual acquaintance, nor the polite sentiment of a courtier. The Greek verb translated as "long" (epipothō) implies a straining of the soul, a yearning of the bowels, a vehemence of desire that brooks no delay save that which Heaven itself imposes. It is the cry of the parent for the absent child; it is the thirst of the hart for the water brooks. Why does this great whale of the Gospel, swimming in the deep seas of revelation, desire to beach himself upon the shores of Rome? Is it to gaze upon the marble pomp of the Caesars? Is it to marvel at the Circus Maximus, where the blood of men is spilled for sport? Is it to walk the Appian Way and count the stones of imperial conquest? Nay, beloved. The eyes of Paul are blind to the glittering baubles of this dying world. He looks not at the stones of the temple, but at the living stones of the Church. His longing is spiritual, his purpose is edification, his aim is the strengthening of the saints.

He writes: "... so that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to make you strong" (vs. 11). Observe the humility in his vagueness. He says "some spiritual gift ." He does not presume, from his distant station in Corinth, to diagnose the precise malady of the Roman church or to prescribe the exact pharmaceutical of grace. He waits to see their faces, to feel their pulse, to know their estate. It may be that he speaks of a specific miraculous endowment -- a tongue, a prophecy, a healing. Or, perhaps, he speaks of the broader grace of teaching, the exposition of mysteries, the establishment of doctrine. Whatever the vessel, the content is the same: it is the Pneuma , the Breath of God, mediated through the Apostle to the strengthening of the brethren.

The purpose of this gift, so he tells the Romans, is "to make you strong" (vs. 11). Even the Roman Christians, whose faith was spoken of throughout the entire world (see Rom. 1:8), stood in need of buttressing. There is no wall so high in this mortality that it needs no shore; there is no tree so deep-rooted that it needs no watering. If they were steadfast, Paul would make them immovable; if they were strong, he would make them indestructible. It is the nature of true apostolic ministry not merely to plant, but to water; not merely to lay the foundation, but to build the walls.

But wait! The Apostle, as if catching himself in a breath of arrogance, checks his speech. He will not appear as a Lord over God's heritage, dispensing bounty from a throne of isolation while needing nothing in return. In the twelfth verse, he adds a correction, or rather, an expansion of marvelous humility: "That is, that you and I may be mutually encouraged by each other's faith" (vs. 12).

Here is a wonder to make the angels stare. Paul the aged, Paul the chosen vessel, Paul who had been caught up to the third heaven and heard inexpressible words -- this same Paul confesses that he expects to be comforted, encouraged, and fed by the faith of the ordinary believers in Rome? He places himself upon the level ground of brotherhood. He acknowledges that the river of grace does not flow only from the head to the feet, but circulates through every vein and artery of the body. There is a divine quid pro quo in the economy of the Kingdom. The teacher is taught by the scholar's attention; the physician is healed by the patient's recovery; the Apostle is strengthened by the convert's steadfastness. Paul knew that he would benefit from their prayers, from their hospitality, from the sight of their zeal in the midst of a pagan furnace.

Let this rebuke the pride of any pastor or preacher who thinks himself a fountain that needs no replenishment. If the great Apostle casts himself upon the encouragement of the Roman brethren, how much more ought we to seek the fellowship of the saints? For as iron sharpens iron, so does the countenance of a man his friend; and in the mingling of faith with faith, the spark of zeal is fanned into a consuming flame.

In the thirteenth verse, the Apostle opens a window into the secret counsels of his own history, revealing a tension between the will of man and the sovereignty of God: "I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, that I planned many times to come to you (but have been prevented from doing so until now)" (vs. 13).

Herein lies a profound lesson on the Providence of Prevention . Paul "planned." In the freedom of his will, in the burning of his zeal, he devised a course. His motives were pure as the driven snow; his aim was the glory of God; his desire was the salvation of souls. Surely, such a plan, conceived in the womb of piety and birthed in the fires of evangelism, would meet with the immediate favor of Heaven? Surely, the gates would open of their own accord.

Yet, he was "prevented" (vs. 13). He was cut off, hindered, forbidden. By whom? By Satan? Perhaps, for the enemy often hinders the works of service. By the Holy Spirit? Most assuredly, for the steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and his stops are ordered also. We are not the masters of our circumstances, though we are the masters of our purposes. God is the Master of the map. It is a common thought that God frustrates the tokens of liars and makes diviners mad, that He breaks the teeth of the ungodly and overturns the counsels of the wicked. But here we learn a harder, darker truth: God, at times, spoils the efforts of the godly. He places a bar across the path of the righteous. He shuts the door in the face of His most faithful servant.

Why? Why would the Sovereign Lord prevent the greatest preacher of the age from entering the greatest city of the age? Was not Rome the heart of the world? Was not Paul the chosen vessel? Why the delay? Why the frustration of Paul's purposes? We answer with the silence of Job: We know not. The reasons of God are buried in the depths of His infinite wisdom, far beyond the reach of our finite plumbing.

Perhaps the time was not yet ripe.
Perhaps the harvest was not yet white.
Perhaps Paul had work to do in Corinth, or chains to wear in Jerusalem, before he could wear the crown of martyrdom in Rome.
Perhaps the Lord would teach us that success in ministry depends not on the prowess of the planner, but on the fiat of the Master.

We learn from this that we must take all our plans to the foot of the throne. We cannot assume that because our heart is right, our path will be smooth. We cannot presume that because we intend to serve God, God intends for us to serve Him in that place or at that time . We must bring our blueprints to the Master Builder and be content if He rolls them up and lays them aside. It is a part of faith to submit not only to the commandments of God but to the hindrances of God; to kiss the hand that blocks the way as fervently as the hand that opens the door.

The Apostle's purpose was to "have a harvest" (vs. 13) among them. Paul was ever the husbandman, looking upon the world not as a playground, but as a field. He saw the souls of men not as distinct political entities, but as wheat to be gathered into the garner of the Lord. He hungered for fruit -- not the fruit of gold or applause, but the fruit of repentance and faith. This desire for a harvest was the driving force of his life, the wind in his sails, and the fire in his bones. And it is this very drive that leads him to declare his universal obligation in the verses that follow.

The Universal Debt and the Unashamed Gospel (vs. 14-16)

¹⁴ I am obligated both to Greeks and non-Greeks, both to the wise and the foolish. ¹⁵ That is why I am so eager to preach the gospel also to you who are in Rome.

¹⁶ For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes: first to the Jew, then to the Gentile.

We come now to the great impetus, the motive power that propelled the Apostle across seas and mountains, through dangers of robbers and perils of waters. He declares in the fourteenth verse: "I am obligated both to Greeks and non-Greeks, both to the wise and the foolish" (vs. 14). The phrase here translated "I am obligated" is more literally translated from the Greek as "I am a debtor." The Greek word for "debtor" here has the same root as is found in the word "debt" in Lord's Prayer: "Forgive us our debts." When Paul says, "I am a debtor," he feels the weight of a commercial obligation, a bond signed in blood, a promissory note that must be paid.

And to whom is Paul a "debtor" ? It is to "the Greeks and non-Greeks, both to the wise and the foolish" (vs. 12). But observe the structure of the original tongue, for the translators have smoothed over the rugged force of the Greek. The original reads: "To Greeks and to barbarians, to wise and to foolish, a debtor I am." By placing the objects of his debt in the forefront, Paul emphasizes the breadth of his obligation. He looks out upon the sea of humanity, and he sees a bond written against his soul. He does not say, "I am a debtor to Christ, and therefore I preach." No, he says, "I am a debtor to them ... to that sea of humanity."

He groups these creditors into two pairs, encompassing the totality of the Gentile world:

"The Greeks and the barbarians -- This is the division of culture. Since the days of Alexander the Great (c. 330 BC), the prominent Greek emperor, the world had been washed in the tide of Hellenism. The Greek tongue was the language of learning, of commerce, of philosophy. To be a “Greek” in the sense that Paul uses was to be cultured, refined, a lover of arts and wisdom; it was to appreciate the symmetry of a column and the syllogism of a rhetoric. To be a “barbarian” was to be outside this class — rough, uncouth, speaking a tongue that sounded like “bar-bar” to the sensitive Athenian ear. It denoted the uncultured, the wild, the savage.
"The wise and the foolish" -- This is the division of intellect and education. The philosopher in his academy and the peasant in his hut; the scholar with his scrolls and the laborer with his spade. The “wise” were the educated elite, the literati of the empire. The “foolish” (or uneducated) were the masses, the hoi polloi, those without letters or degrees.

Table: The Creditors of the Apostle

Category	Greek Term	Description	Modern Equivalent
Greeks	Hellesi	The cultured, the refined, the civilized.	The Sophisticates
Barbarians	Barbarois	The uncultured, the foreigner, the rough.	The Outsiders
Wise	Sophois	The educated, the philosophers, the learned.	The Intelligentsia
Foolish	Anoētois	The uneducated, the simple, the ignorant.	The Common Man

Paul declares himself a debtor to them all. He owes the Gospel to the philosopher in Athens as much as to the Scythian in the wilderness. He owes it to the senator in Rome as much as to the slave in the galleys. The debt knows no boundaries of class, caste, or culture.

But whence comes this debt? Paul did not borrow money from these people. He did not sign a contract with the Roman Senate. Why then does he feel this crushing weight of obligation to every rank and station of mankind? The scholars wrestle with this, but let us propose the reasons that stir the heart:

The Debt of Office: As the Apostle to the Gentiles, he owes his ministry to his flock. A steward is indebted to the household to dispense the master’s goods. If he withholds the bread, he starves the children and robs the master.
The Debt of Restitution: Paul had been a persecutor, a blasphemer, and injurious. He had wasted the church of God. Perhaps, in the secret chambers of his conscience, he felt he owed the salvation of the world to Christ as a repayment for the havoc he had wrought. He would build up with a thousand hands what he had torn down with one.
The Debt of Possession: Deeper still, he is a debtor because of the treasure he possesses. If a man were entrusted with a cure for a plague that was sweeping the city, would he not be a debtor to every dying man to dispense it? Would he not be a murderer if he withheld it? Paul held the remedy for the plague of sin. He held the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven. The possession of the Gospel creates an obligation to the world. We are debtors to every person who has not heard the name of Jesus.

Now step back, for a moment, and look at the city of Rome through the eyes of the Apostle. When a traveler approaches that Eternal City, what does he see? He sees the sun glinting off the golden roofs of the Capitol; he sees the marble columns of the Forum; he sees the engineering marvel of the aqueducts, stretching like stone giants across the Campagna, bringing cool water to the fevered city; he hears the roar of the Circus Maximus and feels the pulse of imperial power. He sees the Seven Hills crowned with palaces, and the Seven Roads that lead to the center of the earth.

But Paul? Paul looks at Rome and sees none of this. He is blind to the architecture, indifferent to the pomp. He sees only the people . And he sees them not as citizens, soldiers, or senators, but as souls . He sees the cultured "Greek" and the uncultured "Barbarian;" he sees the "wise" philosopher and the "foolish" beggar. And looking upon this teeming mass of humanity, sinking under the weight of their own depravity, he cries out, "I owe them! I owe them Christ! I am a debtor to them all!"

He does not fear the wise; he does not despise the foolish. He is ready to scale the heights of intellect to win the scholar, and he is ready to stoop to the depths of ignorance to win the simpleton. As he says elsewhere, "I have become all things to all people so that by all possible means I might save some" (1 Cor 9:22). He will speak the language of the court or the slang of the street; he will quote their poets or ply a trade with their canvas-makers. He is a man obsessed, a man pursued by a debt he can never fully discharge until he has poured out his life as a drink offering.

From this sense of debt springs his eagerness: "That is why I am so eager to preach the gospel also to you who are in Rome" (Rom 1:15). And from this eagerness springs his confidence, expressed in that immortal declaration of verse sixteen: "For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes: first to the Jew, then to the Gentile" (vs. 16).

"I am not ashamed" -- Let these words ring in the ears of a timid generation! Consider the audacity of this claim:

Rome was the seat of power; the Gospel was the message of a crucified carpenter.
Rome was the home of philosophy; the Gospel was “foolishness” to the Greek.
Rome was the epitome of pride; the Gospel demanded humility.
Rome was the city of conquest; the Gospel was the story of submission.

To carry the story of a Galilean peasant, executed as a criminal by a Roman procurator, into the very teeth of the Caesars -- was this not a cause for shame? Would not the wits of Rome laugh him to scorn? Would not the power of Rome crush him like a moth?

Yet Paul looks at the Praetorian Guard, he looks at the officers with their axes and rods, he looks at the golden eagles of the legions, and he says, "I am not ashamed." Why? Because he knows something that Rome does not. He knows that the legions can kill the body, but the Gospel can save the soul. He knows that Rome is a power of men, but the Gospel is the "power of God."

Think on this power! It is not the power of the sword that conquers by blood; it is the power of the Spirit that conquers by love:

It is the power that battles the dark forces of hell.
It is the power that takes a sinner, blackened by vice, ruined by lust, dead in trespasses, and raises him to newness of life.
It is the power that translates a soul from the kingdom of darkness into the kingdom of God's dear Son.
It is the power that snaps the fetters of iron and opens the gates of brass at the devil's jailhouse.

Rome had power to destroy; the Gospel alone has power of "salvation." Rome could enslave nations; the Gospel sets us free.

As William Plumer, that saintly scholar, has written: "It is incontestable proof of the deep depravity of man that he should be ashamed of the most glorious things -- the gospel and the Saviour." And Thomas Chalmers adds, "There is many a man who would march up to the cannon's mouth for the honour of his country -- yet would not face the laugh of his companions for the honor of his Savior." Let us pray for deliverance from this cowardice! For the Lord Jesus Himself has said, "Whoever is ashamed of me and my words, the Son of Man will be ashamed of them when he comes in his glory" (Luke 9:26).

And the "salvation" offered under an unashamed Gospel is universal in its scope, though ordered in its administration: "First to the Jew, then to the Gentile" (vs. 15). The Jew had the priority of election; they were the elder brother in the family of God. To them were committed the oracles; of them was Christ born according to the flesh. Therefore, the offer must go to them first -- a privilege of history, not of merit. But it does not end there. It flows over the walls of Jerusalem, down into the plains of the Gentiles, reaching the Barbarian, the Scythian, the bond, and the free. It is a river that knows no banks, a sun that knows no hemisphere.

The Righteousness of God and the Mystery of Faith (vs. 17)

¹⁷ For in the gospel the righteousness of God is revealed -- a righteousness that is by faith from first to last, just as it is written: "The righteous will live by faith."

We arrive now at the summit, the seventeenth verse, the thesis upon which the whole Epistle -- nay, the whole of our salvation -- hangs suspended like the earth upon nothing. Here is the answer to the world's riddle: How can a human be just before God? The Gospel is not merely a code of ethics or a system of rites; it is a revelation -- it is "revealed," as Paul states: "revealed by God." It draws back the curtain to show us what nature could never teach, what philosophy could never discover: the "righteousness of God" (vs. 17).

But what is this "righteousness " ? Is it the "righteousness " by which God is just? If so, it would be our terror; that righteousness would demand our condemnation, for we are unrighteous. That righteousness would be the fire that consumes the chaff.

No, beloved! This is the "righteousness " which God provides : a righteousness alien to us, wrought by Christ, and imputed to the believer. It is a robe woven in the loom of heaven to cover the nakedness of earth. It is the status of being right with God, granted as a free gift to those who have no "righteousness " of their own. It is God's own character credited to the account of the bankrupt sinner.

And how is this righteousness appropriated? The Apostle uses a phrase that has exercised the minds of scholars for centuries, a phrase deep as the ocean and high as the stars. The NIV renders it "... by faith from first to last" (vs. 17), but the literal Greek is more poetic, more ambiguous, and infinitely richer: "... from faith to faith " ( ek pisteōs eis pistin ).

The translators, in their zeal to clarify, may have engaged in an "over-translation," locking the meaning into a single sense ("from beginning to end") and thereby obscuring the multifaceted brilliance of the original idiom. Paul, guided by the Holy Spirit, likely coined this unique phrase to compel us to meditate on the pervasive, dynamic, and all-encompassing nature of faith. It is not static; it is a movement, a progression, a life.

Let us walk through the gallery of interpretations offered by the saints of old, for in each we find a crumb of the truth:

Table: Interpretations of the Idiom "From Faith to Faith"

Interpreter / Era

Interpretation

Meaning

Early Church Fathers

Faith from Law to Gospel

Moving from the shadowy faith of the Old Covenant to the clear faith of the New.

Augustine

Faith from Preacher to Hearer

The faith originating in the heart of the speaker and igniting faith in the heart of the listener.

John Calvin

A Growth of Faith

The progression from a weak, trembling faith to a strong, assured faith; daily increase.

Johann Bengel

Faith as All-in-All

Pure faith, beginning and ending with faith, with no mixture of works.

Karl Barth

From God's Faithfulness to Man's Faith

From the fidelity of God (His Covenant loyalty) to the trust of the individual.

Matthew Henry

A Persevering Faith

An increasing, continuing faith that presses forward and conquers unbelief.

Thomas Robinson

The Many-Sidedness of Faith

From saving faith to sanctifying faith; from intellectual assent to heart reliance.

NIV (Translation)

Faith from First to Last

Faith is the sole instrument from the beginning of salvation to its consummation.

Which of these is the true meaning? I answer: All of them. The Spirit of God is not straitened by our grammar. He uses a phrase "from faith to faith" to encourage meditation on the myriad aspects of faith. And each of these interpretations contains truth about the faith of a Christian. Paul uses that phrase to show us that faith is the atmosphere in which the Christian lives, and moves, and has his being:

It is the key that opens the door (justification ).
It is the path that leads to the palace (sanctification ).
It is the beginning, the middle, and the end.
It flows from the faithfulness of God and fountains up in the faith of man.

As we walk in faith, we move from the faith of the intellect to the faith of the heart; from the faith that touches the hem of the garment to the faith that cries, "My Lord and my God!" It is a righteousness revealed more and more as our faith expands to apprehend it.

To end the verse, Paul anchors this new revelation in the bedrock of the old. "Just as it is written," he says, quoting the prophet Habakkuk, "The righteous will live by faith" (vs. 17).

See how the New Testament is hidden in the Old, and the Old is revealed in the New! Even in the dark days of the Chaldean invasion, when the fierce horsemen were sweeping across the land, the principle was the same. The just man shall not live by his sword, nor by his wit, nor by his own righteousness. He shall live -- he shall have spiritual life, he shall be justified, he shall be preserved -- by his " faith" in the promise of God.

This was the verse that shook the world. This was the bolt of lightning that struck the heart of Martin Luther. That monk, tormented by the fear of death, seeking to appease an angry God with the flagellations of the monastery, found no peace in sacraments or penance. He climbed the Scala Sancta in Rome on his knees, kissing each step, yet his soul was in chains. But when the light of this text -- " The righteous shall live by faith " -- broke upon his darkened mind, the dungeon doors flew open!

Here is how the historian Philip Schaff describes Martin Luther's reaction to reading this verse: "This experience acted like a new revelation on Luther. It shed light upon the whole Bible and made it to him a book of life and comfort. He felt relieved of the terrible load of guilt by an act of free grace. He was led out of the dark prison-house of self-inflicted penance into the daylight and fresh air of God's redeeming love. Justification broke the fetters of legalistic slavery, and filled him with the joy and peace of the state of adoption; it opened to him the very gates of heaven."

And so, my brothers and sisters, we stand with Paul, and with Luther, and with the saints of all ages, upon this solid rock. We are debtors to the world, yes; but we are debtors who have been given a treasure vast enough to pay the debt. We have the Gospel. We have the power of God. We have a righteousness that is " from faith to faith ."

Let us not be ashamed. Let us pay our debt to the Greek and the Barbarian. Let us live by faith. For in this Gospel, the righteousness of God is revealed, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.