Scripture Studies - Romans 2:17-29

¹⁷ Now you, if you call yourself a Jew; if you rely on the law and boast in God; ¹⁸ if you know his will and approve of what is superior because you are instructed by the law; ¹⁹ if you are convinced that you are a guide for the blind, a light for those who are in the dark, ²⁰ an instructor of the foolish, a teacher of little children, because you have in the law the embodiment of knowledge and truth— ²¹ you, then, who teach others, do you not teach yourself? You who preach against stealing, do you steal? ²² You who say that people should not commit adultery, do you commit adultery? You who abhor idols, do you rob temples? ²³ You who boast in the law, do you dishonor God by breaking the law? ²⁴ As it is written: “God’s name is blasphemed among the Gentiles because of you.”

²⁵ Circumcision has value if you observe the law, but if you break the law, you have become as though you had not been circumcised. ²⁶ So then, if those who are not circumcised keep the law’s requirements, will they not be regarded as though they were circumcised? ²⁷ The one who is not circumcised physically and yet obeys the law will condemn you who, even though you have the written code and circumcision, are a lawbreaker.

²⁸ A person is not a Jew who is one only outwardly, nor is circumcision merely outward and physical. ²⁹ No, a person is a Jew who is one inwardly; and circumcision is circumcision of the heart, by the Spirit, not by the written code. Such a person’s praise is not from other people, but from God. — Romans 2:17-29

A Confrontation by Name

In this study, we find ourselves now at the seventeenth verse of the second chapter—a passage in which the Apostle, having already turned his pen upon the sins of the Gentile world in the first chapter, does now turn it with equal and unsparing force, by name, upon the Jews themselves.

Let us call to mind, as we enter upon this text, the grand design of the Apostle in these opening chapters. In chapters one through three, Paul is building—stone by stone, argument upon argument—toward a great and glorious declaration of the Gospel message: the doctrine of justification by grace, through faith; the message that we have forgiveness for our sins by the grace of God, through faith in the sacrifice that Jesus Christ made for us upon the cross. But before the Apostle can proclaim the remedy, he must first establish the disease. Before he can declare the salvation, he must demonstrate the desperate need of it. And so he convinces us, first, that the Gentile world is steeped in sin—that was the burden of chapter one—and then he turns to the Jews, and convinces them that they, notwithstanding all their boasts and privileges, are likewise steeped in sin and stand in equal need of the forgiveness offered through Christ. That is where we find ourselves now, in chapter two.

In this present section, Paul directs his writing squarely upon the subject of the Jews and—let us speak plainly—their arrogance and hypocrisy in religious matters. And though these words were written in the first instance to the Jews of the Apostle’s own time, let not the Christian reader suppose himself exempt from their sting. For this is, at its root, a passage against all arrogance in religion: against the presentation of such a face to the world that says, “Because of my religion, I am better than you.” Christ Himself, though He had every qualification as the Son of God to present Himself to the world with all the arrogance and self-righteousness that His divine nature might warrant, did instead present Himself with humility and grace. And if Christ was not arrogant, who are we—vessels of clay, fashioned by His hands—to be so? Let us, then, read this passage as an instruction to ourselves: to be less arrogant and more humble toward others; to be, ever and always, a reflection of the grace of God.

The Advantages of the Children of Israel (vs. 17-20)

Take note of the Apostle’s words here, for they are at once an inventory of blessings and an indictment of the misuse of those blessings. Paul does not deny the advantages of the Jews; no, he enumerates six of them with care, for they were true and real advantages, bestowed upon Israel by the hand of the living God. At the same time, Paul shows that the children of Israel took these advantages—which were given to them as instruments of to serve and worship the Lord—and transformed them into instruments of pride. They used them not to bring others into a close relationship with God, but rather to exalt themselves above those around them. And this, dear reader, is a danger to which all who possess the truth are subject. For arrogance and self-righteousness are the natural outgrowths of our sinful nature, whenever we become convinced that we are, in some way, better than our neighbors.

Let us consider, then, each of the six enumerated advantages in turn, that we may see both the greatness of the gift and the peril of its abuse.

The First Advantage: They Were “Jews.” Paul addresses them directly, as such, in verse 17: “Now you, if you call yourself a Jew.” Wrapped within that single word—“Jew”—was a world of privilege and of honor. The children of Israel had been selected by the Almighty God, out of all the nations and peoples of the earth, to be His peculiar people. They were entrusted with His Law and His Word. They were given instruction in the proper worship of the only true God. They had revealed to them the very nature and personality of the Almighty—His holiness, His justice, His mercy, His faithfulness. These were great and glorious things, and the Jews were right to esteem them highly. And so, yes—the Jews had the advantage of simply being Jews, of bearing that name which signified a covenant with the Creator of heaven and earth.

The Second Advantage: They Possessed the Law of God. Paul continues: “...if you rely on the law.” The children of Israel alone, in all the earth, were the people to whom God chose to reveal His Law—that holy and perfect standard of righteousness, that mirror in which the soul might see its own deformity, that lamp unto the feet and light unto the path. And reliance upon that Law was well and good, so long as their reliance included obedience. But here was the ruin of it: the children of Israel relied upon the mere possession of the Law, while they strayed from obedience to the Law. They thought themselves appointed to a special place with God because they held the scroll in their hands, whether or not they held its commandments in their hearts.

And if this was a danger to them, then we, as Christians, stand upon the edge of a danger greater still. For we rely not only upon the Law of God, but also upon the grace of God; and because God’s grace is so expansive, so boundless, so fathomless in its mercy, we are tempted to fall into sin with the assurance that we will be forgiven for it. This is the particular peril of the Christian: the advantage-taking of God’s grace, the presuming upon God’s love. It is a snare against which every soul among us must be perpetually upon guard.

The Third Advantage: They Knew God. Paul states: “...[you] boast in God.” They knew the only true and living God. They boasted in God. And here we must make a distinction which the Scriptures themselves make plain, for there is a good boasting in God, and there is a boasting in God which is corrupt and abominable.

The good boasting in God is that which the Lord Himself describes through the prophet Jeremiah: “‘Let not the wise boast of their wisdom or the strong boast of their strength or the rich boast of their riches, but let the one who boasts boast about this: that they have the understanding to know me, that I am the Lord, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight,’ declares the Lord” (Jer. 9:23–24). That is the good boasting: not to glory in one’s own strength, nor in one’s own wisdom, nor in one’s own riches, but to glory first and foremost in one’s God—in how great He is, in how He exercises kindness, justice, and righteousness upon the earth.

But there is also a corrupt boasting in God, and it goes something after this fashion: “I know God, and you do not; therefore I am better than you, I am more righteous than you, and you are as nothing.” Mark how the corrupt boasting turns the eye away from God and fixes it upon the self. It is, in truth, not a boasting in God at all, but a boasting in one’s own supposed wisdom under the cloak of God’s name. And the Lord’s own words forbid it expressly: “Let not the wise boast of their wisdom” (Jer. 9:23). The good boasting in God precludes and forbids all boasting in oneself—even if that boasting has to do with the knowledge of God. For to say something like, “I know God, am I not wise?” is, in effect, to boast in one’s own wisdom, and that is the very thing that the Lord condemned.

The Fourth Advantage: They Knew His Will. Continuing in verse 18, Paul observes that the Jews “know [God’s] will.” They knew the will of God, because they had been given the great gift of the Word of God through the prophets and patriarchs. They alone, among all the cultures and peoples upon the face of the earth, had been given the revelation of Almighty God. They alone had been spoken to directly by the true and living God. In this, God showed them a favor that no other nation had received—a light that shone in the midst of universal darkness.

The Fifth Advantage: They Approved of What Is Superior. Paul continues in verse 18: “...and approve of what is superior because you are instructed by the law.” Because they possessed the Law of God, they were instructed in how to live a life that was superior—a life lived in accordance with the will and the ways of God. They could discern what manner of life was pleasing to the Lord, and what manner of life was destructive and abominable. The non-Jews, those who were without the revelation of God’s Law, had no such objective standard of right and wrong, no such compass by which to navigate the treacherous waters of human existence.

The Sixth Advantage: They Were Given the Wisdom to Teach Others. As Paul declares in verses 19 and 20, the Jew could be “a guide for the blind, a light for those who are in the dark, an instructor of the foolish, a teacher of little children, because you have in the law the embodiment of knowledge and truth.” Here was the crown of their privilege: not merely to possess the truth for their own sake, but to be bearers of it to the world—guides to the blind, lamps in the darkness, instructors of those who sat in ignorance. And yet this highest privilege carried with it the heaviest burden. For those who are light must of necessity provide an example to others; and those who are light, and yet stumble, do cause others to stumble with them. And this was precisely the problem that Paul does next expose, beginning at verse 21.

Indictment of the Hypocrite (vss. 21-24)

²¹ ... you, then, who teach others, do you not teach yourself? You who preach against stealing, do you steal? ²² You who say that people should not commit adultery, do you commit adultery? You who abhor idols, do you rob temples? ²³ You who boast in the law, do you dishonor God by breaking the law? ²⁴ As it is written: “God’s name is blasphemed among the Gentiles because of you.”

Now the Apostle’s tone changes. The inventory of blessings gives way to a series of questions so piercing, so relentless, so devastating in their simplicity, that no honest person could hear them and remain comfortable in his self-righteousness. The long, rolling sentence of verses 17 through 20—with its rising tower of “if” clauses, each one laying another stone of Jewish privilege upon the last—suddenly breaks off, and the Apostle turns upon his readers with the sharp edge of the sword. Question upon question; accusation upon accusation; each one a dart aimed at the conscience of the religious man who says one thing and does another.

The first piercing question: “... you, then, who teach others, do you not teach yourself?” It is the universal disease of the hypocrite—he gives instruction which he himself will not follow. He preaches what he will not practice. He holds up the standard of righteousness to others, and then, when the world is not watching, lays that standard in the dust and treads on it. He “preaches against stealing,” yet steals. He “preaches against adultery,” yet commits that very sin. He “abhors idols,” yet shows that his own idol is money, by “robbing temples.” And the dishonor of committing any or all of these sins falls not only on those who commit the sins, but upon God, who gave the Law: “You who boast in the law, do you dishonor God by breaking the law?” (vs. 23).

With greater light comes greater responsibility—not only because, if you know what is right, you ought to act accordingly, but even more importantly, because those who possess the light become, by that very fact, an example to others. Their lives are watched; their steps are observed; their failures are magnified. And when they stumble, their fall is not a private matter—it becomes a public scandal, and the damage extends far beyond their own souls.

We as Christians stand in the same perilous position. The world looks to us for moral leadership—and therefore our lapses in moral leadership are magnified a hundredfold. Indeed, the world does revel in our failures. The world loves, it seems, when a Christian leader or pastor or preacher is caught in serious sin. The world loves to see the saints of God stumble and fall, for every such fall is seized upon as evidence that the faith itself is false.

And so Paul delivers the most grievous consequence of all, in verse 24, quoting from the prophet Isaiah: “As it is written: ‘God’s name is blasphemed among the Gentiles because of you.’” When we sin, it is not merely our own name that is sullied. God’s name—His holy, glorious, and awesome name—is blasphemed among those who do not believe, because of us. The shame falls not upon us alone, but upon the very cause of Christ in the entire world.

The great scholar Albert Barnes, whose notes upon the sacred text have instructed so many, describes this responsibility with piercing clarity: “It matters little what a man’s speculative opinions may be; his practice may do far more to disgrace religion, than his profession does to honour it.” And Charles Hodge, that prince among systematic theologians, presses the point yet further, reminding us that since the unbelievers of this world read not their Bibles, they read our lives instead. We become, as it were, their Bibles. Here is what he wrote: “Christians should ever remember that they are the epistles of Jesus Christ, known and read of all men; that God is honoured by their holy living, and that his name is blasphemed when they act wickedly.”

That is so well stated that it bears repeating and meditating upon. “We are the epistles of Jesus Christ.” The unbeliever reads not the epistles of Paul, nor the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Rather, he reads our lives to know what Christianity means. He reads our actions to know what godly living is. He listens to our words to know what Christ said and taught. And so, to the extent that we live and act and speak holiness, to that extent God is honored. But to the extent that we live and act and speak ungodliness, to that extent God’s holy name is “blasphemed among the nations.” What a weight of responsibility rests upon us! As our Lord Himself declared: “You are the light of the world” (Matt. 5:14). It is a great privilege, and a fearful responsibility—is it not?

Outward Rites Made Worthless (vss. 25-27)

And now the Apostle drives home the great point toward which his argument has been tending: that true godliness has its foundation in an inner purity which manifests itself through outward actions—and that the religious rituals of Judaism mean absolutely nothing if the life does not embody the reality to which the ritual was pointing. Paul states in verse 25: “Circumcision has value if you observe the law, but if you break the law, you have become as though you had not been circumcised.”

Paul speaks here of the rite of circumcision, which was, of all the outward marks of Judaism, the most sacred and the most defining. It literally and physically distinguished the Jew from the non-Jew. It was the sign of the Abrahamic covenant, the badge of membership in the household of God. And many Jews of Paul’s time believed that the mere participation in this rite—the mere bearing of this mark in the flesh—would not only distinguish them as children of God, but would shield them from any judgment whatsoever.

Paul informs them, with the plainness of one who will not flatter, that circumcision conveys no such privilege. It is, for the Jew, an outward sign of the covenant between God and His people—no more, no less. Just as the mere possession of the Law would not shield them from judgment, so also the mere participation in the rite of circumcision would not convey righteousness upon them. “Circumcision has value if you observe the law”—that is, it has value when it is accompanied by the obedience which it symbolizes. “But if you break the law, you have become as though you had not been circumcised.” The mark in the flesh becomes nothing—indeed, as the original Greek expresses it, the circumcision becomes “uncircumcision”—when the life does not correspond to the covenant.

And then, in verse 26, Paul says to the Jews the most shocking thing they could conceive of hearing—a thing more startling even than the assertion of the previous verse: “So then, if those who are not circumcised keep the law’s requirements, will they not be regarded as though they were circumcised?” To the Jewish mind, this was scandal and impossibility. For in their opinion, there was no pathway, outside of circumcision, by which any person could become a child of God. It was, to them, unthinkable. And this was why, even in the early Christian Church, there arose those Jewish Christians—who caused Paul no small vexation—who demanded that every Gentile convert must submit to circumcision before he could be reckoned a true Christian. In their way of thinking, there was absolutely no manner in which a man could be a child of God without this rite.

And yet Paul tells them plainly, and his rhetoric leads them inexorably to the conclusion they would least desire to reach, as he declares in verse 27: “The one who is not circumcised physically and yet obeys the law will condemn you who, even though you have the written code and circumcision, are a lawbreaker.” The uncircumcised Gentile who keeps the spirit of the Law shall stand in judgment against the circumcised Jew who breaks it. The person without the badge shall condemn the person who wears it but yet dishonors it. This is a complete inversion of everything the Jewish mind had assumed—and it is exactly the inversion that the Gospel of Christ demands.

Circumcision of the Heart (vss. 28-29)

And now the Apostle arrives at the summit of his argument, the point toward which previous verses have been ascending. And it is this: that the outward rituals of religion mean nothing—nothing whatsoever—if they are not accompanied by an inward purity, an inward godliness, a heart that ever seeks to obey God’s ways, to follow God’s will, to accomplish God’s purposes. Whatever one does on the outside is as sounding brass and tinkling cymbal, if the inward reality does not exist. Let us hear Paul’s own words, for they are among the most searching he ever penned: “A person is not a Jew who is one only outwardly, nor is circumcision merely outward and physical. No, a person is a Jew who is one inwardly; and circumcision is circumcision of the heart, by the Spirit, not by the written code. Such a person’s praise is not from other people, but from God” (vss. 28–29).

Here is the essence of true religion, laid bare in two verses. To gain the approval of God, a person must possess inner purity; his godliness must spring from the heart. Circumcision, in its outward form, was a rite in which a person, by the sacrifice of the flesh, consecrated himself to be a child of God, to have membership among that company called the people of God. But the rite was always meant to be accompanied by an inner consecration—an inner dedication to moral holiness, an inner resolve to live out the will of God in every thought, word, and deed. Without this inner dedication, the rite of circumcision becomes as worthless as a seal upon an empty scroll. The outward sign, divorced from the inward reality, is not merely insufficient—it is nothing.

And let no one think that this is a doctrine peculiar to the New Testament, or that Paul does here introduce a novelty unknown to the ancient faith. No, this was the teaching of Moses himself, who commanded the children of Israel: “Circumcise your hearts, therefore, and do not be stiff-necked any longer” (Deut. 10:16). And the prophet Jeremiah cried: “Jerusalem, wash the evil from your heart and be saved” (Jer. 4:14). And the Lord spoke through the prophet Hosea that principle which our Savior Himself would later cite: “I desire mercy, not sacrifice” (Hosea 6:6; cf. Matt. 9:13). God has always desired the inward attitude of mercy, and grace, and obedience—not merely the outward trappings of religious ritual. The rituals were given as symbols, appointed to guide the people toward the same inward purity that the outward rites demanded. But the symbols, tragically, became a substitute for the substance. The Jew said to himself: “If I am circumcised, and I offer up an animal sacrifice from time to time, I may go upon my way and live whatsoever life I please.”

And we Christians—do we not commit the very same error, in our own fashion? Do we not say: “If I have been baptized, and I attend church once in a while, and I give my money into the offering plate, then surely I have discharged my duty, and I may go upon my merry way?” But no. God would rather you labor to purify your heart than to perform all the outward rites of religion without a single drop of inward devotion. “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” Forget the outward, if you are unwilling to attend to the inward. Forget the ceremony, if you will not circumcise your heart. For it is the heart that God searches; it is the heart that God requires; it is from the heart that all true worship, all true obedience, all true godliness must spring.

The Apostle closes this section with this word of exquisite and penetrating beauty: “Circumcision is circumcision of the heart, by the Spirit, not by the written code. Such a person’s praise is not from other people, but from God” (vs. 29). There are two audiences before whom we may perform our religion: the eyes of humans, and the eyes of God. He who seeks the praise of humans may earn it by the outward show—a conspicuous offering, a public prayer upon the street corner, a Bible hanging from the belt. But the one who seeks the praise of God must go deeper—must submit to the surgery of the Holy Spirit upon his heart, must yield to that inner sanctification which alone gives true meaning to the outward action. If you desire to hear those words of commendation from thy Maker—“Well done, my good and faithful servant”—then seek this inner purity, this inner godliness, this circumcision of the heart by the Spirit of the living God.

The Mirror and the Remedy

We have now come to the end of our present study, having walked with the Apostle through a passage that spares no one—neither Jew nor Christian, neither teacher nor pupil, neither the outwardly religious nor the inwardly corrupt. Paul has held before us a mirror, and the reflection is not a flattering one. We see in it our own arrogance, our own hypocrisy, our own tendency to rest upon the outward marks of religion while neglecting the inward transformation that God demands.

The Jew possessed great advantages—the name, the Law, the knowledge of God, the discernment of His will, the approval of the superior way, the calling to be a light unto the nations. Yet these advantages, without the inner holiness to animate them, became instruments not of blessing but of condemnation. The circumcision of the flesh, without the circumcision of the heart, was as a lamp without oil—fair to look upon, but casting no light.

And we who bear the name of Christ possess advantages greater still—the full revelation of God, the completed Scriptures, the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, the assurance of forgiveness, the promise of eternal life. But let us beware, lest we, like the Jews before us, mistake the possession of these gifts for the practice of them. Let us beware, lest our baptism become like the hypocrite’s circumcision—an outward mark divorced from an inward reality. Let us beware, lest God’s name be blasphemed among the unbelievers because of us.

Rather, let us submit ourselves to the “circumcision of the heart, by the Spirit, not by the written code.” Let us labor, by the grace of God, to make our inward life correspond to our outward profession. Let us be, in truth and not merely in name, the epistles of Jesus Christ—known and read of all men—so that in our living, and in our speaking, and in our doing, the name of God may be honored among the nations, and His glory may shine through us as through vessels of translucent clay, unto the praise and honor of Him who has called us out of darkness into His wonderful light.

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