Romans 4:13–16 - The Promise Comes By Faith - by Scott Sperling

¹³ It was not through the law that Abraham and his offspring received the promise that he would be heir of the world, but through the righteousness that comes by faith. ¹⁴ For if those who depend on the law are heirs, faith has no value and the promise is worthless, ¹⁵ because the law brings wrath. And where there is no law there is no transgression.

¹⁶ Therefore, the promise comes by faith, so that it may be by grace and may be guaranteed to all Abraham’s offspring—not only to those who are of the law but also to those who have the faith of Abraham. He is the father of us all. — Romans 4:13–16

An Immovable Foundation

Here in chapter 4, the Apostle is gathering up the threads of his mighty argument and weaving them into a tapestry of unspeakable glory—showing us that the promise of God, that covenant pledge made in ages past to our father in the faith, Abraham, came not by the works of the law, but by faith alone. And if it came in this way to Abraham, shall it not come thus to us also?

Consider what hangs upon this truth! Consider how many souls, in their spiritual blindness, do yet imagine that God’s promises hang suspended by the slender thread of their own obedience—that if only they should perform enough good works, cultivate enough virtue, or manufacture enough righteousness from their own exhausted resources, then at last they might inherit the blessings of God. But this is a chimera, a phantom, a lie most bitter! For God has chosen a better way, a way of grace, a way of faith—and in these four verses (Romans 4:13-16), Paul shatters every false hope and establishes upon an immovable foundation the one true doctrine of our salvation.

We do well, therefore, to pause and attend most carefully to what is said in these verses. For in committing ourselves to the study of these verses, we are not merely filling our minds with curious doctrines or abstract propositions—no, we are laying hold to the very anchor of our souls, the rock upon which all our confidence must rest.

Shortcomings of the Law (vss. 13–15)

¹³ It was not through the law that Abraham and his offspring received the promise that he would be heir of the world, but through the righteousness that comes by faith. ¹⁴ For if those who depend on the law are heirs, faith has no value and the promise is worthless, ¹⁵ because the law brings wrath. And where there is no law there is no transgression.

Mark well the structure of verse 13. Paul does not begin with a lengthy preface or an elaborate qualification. No, he rushes directly to the heart of the matter with an almost violent directness. “It was not through the law”—here is the negation, struck with the force of a hammer upon an anvil. And then, in its place, he sets the positive affirmation: “... but through the righteousness that comes by faith” (vs. 13). What precision! What economy of language! The Apostle does not say that the law is evil, or wicked, or unworthy of honor. He simply declares, with the clarity of noonday sun breaking through the clouds, that the law played no part whatsoever in the fulfillment of God’s promise to Abraham.

The answer is both historical and theological. Historically, the law had not yet been given when Abraham received the promise. Four hundred and thirty years—mark that number well!—would pass before God inscribed the commandments upon Mount Sinai. As Paul himself has written in his epistle to the Galatians: “The law, introduced 430 years later, does not set aside the covenant previously established by God and thus do away with the promise” (Gal. 3:17). How could that which had not yet come into being have had any role in the fulfillment of a promise already made? It is as if one should say that a potter’s wheel, not yet forged, had some hand in shaping a vessel already complete. The very chronology of salvation testifies against the notion that the law could have had any part in Abraham’s inheritance.

But Paul’s argument here in Romans probes deeper still. He does not rest content with the historical sequence. Rather, he lays bare the very nature of the promise itself and the very nature of the law itself—and in doing so, he reveals an antithesis so profound that it should transform our understanding of all that God has wrought. Note well the breadth of the promise to Abraham, as Paul lays it out: “Abraham and his offspring received the promise that he would be heir of the world” (vs. 13). “The promise,” you see, was given to Abraham with this scope: that his seed should be as the stars of heaven for multitude; that in him all the families of the earth should be blessed; in short, that he should be “heir of the world” itself. This was no small pledge! How, then, could Abraham ever inherit the world? By what means could he—an old man, with a barren wife, surrounded by impossibilities—lay claim to such transcendent promises? There was but one answer: by “faith.”

And Abraham did believe. Genesis records this great moment: “Abram believed the Lord, and he credited it to him as righteousness” (Gen. 15:6; Rom. 4:3). Mark well—it was the faith itself, the act of believing God, that was accounted to him as righteousness! Not the works of Abraham’s hands, but the trust of Abraham’s heart. And if this was true of Abraham, who is called the father of the faithful, shall it not be true of us also, who are his spiritual children?

And Abraham’s “faith” was a demonstrated “faith,” a proven “faith.” He expressed his “faith,” not in a single act, but in a whole series of mighty deeds. When Abraham left Haran and journeyed toward Canaan, not knowing where he went—this was faith in action. When Abraham circumcised himself and all the males of his household—this was faith expressing itself in obedience. And most mightily of all, when Abraham, in his great age, bound his son Isaac upon the altar, prepared to offer him as a sacrifice unto the Lord—this too was an act born of faith, for God had said: “It is through Isaac that your offspring will be reckoned” (Gen. 21:12). By this extraordinary faith—a faith that pierced through the veil of death itself—Abraham became the pattern and exemplar of all who will ever believe upon the Lord.

Thus does Paul establish his first point with unmistakable clarity: Abraham received the promise—all of it, every part of it, the whole magnificent inheritance—not through obedience to law, but through faith in God. And in this, Abraham is not an exception or an oddity. Rather, he is the very model and prototype of how God has determined to deal with sinful humanity throughout all the ages. If we would be heirs of the promise, we must follow in the footsteps of Abraham. We must believe as Abraham believed. We must rest upon the faithfulness of God, in the same way that Abraham rested his whole weight upon it.

In verses 14 and 15, Paul speaks about the reasons that the law cannot be the means of inheriting the promise: “For if those who depend on the law are heirs, faith means nothing and the promise is worthless, because the law brings wrath. And where there is no law there is no transgression.” Paul sets before us here a reasoning that is at once irrefutable and humbling. Pay attention to the logical structure of Paul’s argument. He says: “For if those who depend on the law are heirs, faith means nothing and the promise is worthless” (vs. 14). Paul takes the proposition that the law is the means of inheriting the promise, and he follows it to its logical conclusion. And where does it lead? To a conclusion so manifestly unreasonable that we must reject the very premise from which it flows.

For consider: if the promise depended upon the law, upon obedience to the law, then faith would become utterly superfluous. Faith means nothing if we are dealing with a transaction based upon our own deeds and works. What need have we for faith when we can calculate and measure and verify our own righteousness? But more—the promise itself would become worthless! For the promise of God is meant to be the foundation of our confidence, the immovable rock upon which we might build our house of hope. Yet if that promise were made conditional upon our own flawless obedience to the law, would it not hang suspended by the frailest of threads? Would it not dangle above us, always out of reach, always threatened with withdrawal? We could never possess it. We could never rest in it. It is in these ways that, for those who depend on the law, “faith has no value and the promise is worthless” (vs. 14).

And this brings us to the true reason why the law cannot be the instrument of our salvation. Paul names it directly: “... because the law brings wrath” (vs. 15). What a frightful and majestic statement! “The law brings wrath.” Not blessing. Not elevation. Not the fulfillment of promise. But “wrath.” Nothing but “wrath.”

Why is this so? The answer lies in the very nature of the law itself. The law is an all-or-nothing proposition, an absolute and uncompromising standard. There is no middle ground, no gray area, no possibility of negotiation or compromise. God is infinitely righteous and holy—and He demands perfection. Not nearness to perfection. Not a reasonable approximation of perfection. But perfection itself, absolute and complete. The epistle of James expounds this principle with singular clarity: “For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles at just one point is guilty of breaking all of it” (James 2:10). Mark that phrase—“stumbles at just one point.” A single misstep, a solitary transgression, a momentary lapse—and the whole edifice of righteousness crumbles to dust.

This principle is reinforced again and again in Scripture. In Galatians, Paul cites the very words of Deuteronomy: “Cursed is everyone who does not continue to do everything written in the Book of the Law” (Gal. 3:10; Deut. 27:26). Everything! Not most things. Not the important things. But “everything”—the whole and entire law, without exception or mitigation. And should a person stumble in even the smallest particular, he falls under that curse. He is accursed. He is cut off from the fellowship of God. And the wages of such estrangement is death.

Consider the vivid illustration that might be drawn from common human experience. When a child is born, he comes into the world with what might be called a clean slate. But mark what follows. In his childhood, he breaks the law. He acts in disobedience. With each transgression, he is lowered in the regard of justice. And here is the terrible thing: the law does not have the power to restore him. The law cannot elevate him back to his former state. The law can only condemn. The law can only accuse. The law can only bring him lower still. The law demands perfect obedience, and it knows no concept of grace or forgiveness.

That the standard demanded is absolute perfection is confirmed by none other than our Lord Jesus Christ Himself. In the Sermon on the Mount, after giving a standard of behavior so exalted that it confounds our pride—do not be angry, do not lust, turn the other cheek, go the extra mile—Jesus sums it all up in these words: “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matt. 5:48). “Be perfect”—“as your heavenly Father is perfect!” What standard could be higher? What requirement more impossible of attainment? And yet this is God’s standard. And this is why we must be driven to Christ, for He alone met that standard on our behalf.

Paul elaborates: “... where there is no law there is no transgression” (vs. 15). The point is this: “transgression”—the willful violation of a known command—can only exist where there is a command to violate. In the animal kingdom, wherein there is no law, there can be no “transgression.” If a tiger kills another tiger, we do not say that the tiger has sinned. For there is no law given to the tiger. The tiger is not made in the image of God, and therefore it is not subject to the law.

But humanity is different. Humanity alone, of all God’s creatures, bears the image of the Almighty. And because we bear that image, we are subject to law. We have a conscience—that faculty whereby we perceive the difference between right and wrong. And this conscience, this inner law, is written upon our very hearts by the hand of God. Paul spoke of this in Romans chapter 2: “When Gentiles, who do not have the law, do by nature things required by the law, they show that the requirements of the law are written on their hearts, their consciences also bearing witness, and their thoughts sometimes accusing them and at other times even defending them” (Rom. 2:14-15). Even those who have never heard the written Torah possess a knowledge of the law written upon their hearts.

The law, therefore, is a mirror. It is that which reveals to us our own spiritual condition. When a person looks into a mirror, the mirror does not cleanse him. It does not wash away the dirt upon his face. It only shows him what is there. This is what the law does. It shines the light of God’s holiness into the dark corners of our souls, exposes our sin, demonstrates our utter inability to achieve righteousness through our own efforts. And having done this—having revealed to us the full extent of our spiritual disease—the law points us toward the only remedy: grace, the unmerited favor of God, the free gift of forgiveness and restoration through Christ alone.

The Promise by Faith, Grace, and for All (vs. 16)

¹⁶ Therefore, the promise comes by faith, so that it may be by grace and may be guaranteed to all Abraham’s offspring—not only to those who are of the law but also to those who have the faith of Abraham. He is the father of us all.

Mark that single word with which Paul begins verse 16: “Therefore.” It is a word of consequence, a word that gathers up all that has gone before and drives forward to the conclusion. Because the law can only bring wrath; because the law is an all-or-nothing proposition; because we are utterly unable to keep it—“therefore,” Paul says, “the promise comes by faith” (vs. 16). It is the inevitable and necessary conclusion.

And here, let us pause to contemplate what it means that “the promise comes by faith.” Faith is not a work. Faith is not an achievement. Faith is not something that we do in order to merit the favor of God. Rather, faith is the response—the trust, the receptivity, the opening of the hand to receive what is freely given. Faith is not the earning of a wage; it is the acceptance of a gift. Robert Mounce, the learned expositor of Scripture, has put the matter most excellently: “Faith is the response that makes the promise effective.” Ponder this! The promise is there, already made, already secured by the oath of the Almighty. But that promise must be received. And the means by which it is received is faith. We believe God. We trust in His word. We commit ourselves to His faithfulness. And in that act of trust, the promise becomes our possession.

But Paul goes further still. He says that the promise comes by faith “so that it may be by grace” (vs. 16). What a cascade of divine mercy is contained in those words! The promise is not merely given by faith; it is given in order that it might be “by grace.” That is to say, the very structure of the arrangement—that we receive by faith rather than by works—ensures that the promise remains always the gift of God’s “grace,” never the wage of our labor, never the reward of our merit. For what is “grace”? It is the undeserved, unmerited, uncalculated favor of God extended toward those who have no claim upon it and no right to it. “Grace” demands nothing of us except that we receive it. “Grace” asks only that we accept the gift with open hands and humble heart.

And this brings us to the next phrase of extraordinary weight: the promise “may be guaranteed to all Abraham’s offspring” (vs. 16). In this phrase is a word that calls forth our deepest relief and gratitude. The promise is “guaranteed.” It is not provisional. It is not conditional upon our continued good behavior. It does not hang above our heads like the sword of Damocles, ready to fall should we stumble. No, the promise is “guaranteed.” It is secure. It is stable. It is immovable. Why can it be so? Precisely because it depends upon grace, and grace depends upon the character of God. God is faithful. God is true. God does not lie. God does not renounce His own word.

Imagine, if you will, a different arrangement altogether. Suppose that God had said to you: “All you must do is to keep perfectly the law throughout this entire day, and the promise shall be yours.” You awake in the morning. You dress yourself carefully. You go to work and are mindful of every word, every thought, every deed. You endeavor with all the strength of your will to avoid transgression. And somehow—by some extraordinary discipline—you survive the day of work without committing an obvious sin. The sun begins to set. You are almost safe. But then you venture forth upon the roads, headed home. Another traveler drives with recklessness, cuts before you in a dangerous manner, shows you contempt. And in that moment, anger surges up within you. You cry out. You speak words that no person ought to speak. And in that single unguarded instant, you have lost the promise. Your day of obedience is shattered. All your careful effort, all your anxious striving, all your painstaking vigilance—all of it comes to naught because of this one transgression.

Is this not a picture of exceeding cruelty? Is this not a system so uncertain, so treacherous, so laden with peril that no one might ever rest in confidence? And yet this is precisely what would be the case if the promise depended upon the law. But God has chosen a better way. God has determined that the promise comes by “grace.” And therefore we may live in peace, knowing that our salvation does not depend upon our moment-by-moment performance. It depends upon the “grace” of God, which is eternal, unchanging, and sure.

And then Paul adds a final phrase of immeasurable significance: the promise is guaranteed “to all Abraham’s offspring—not only to those who are of the law but also to those who have the faith of Abraham” (vs. 16). Here is the great opening of the doors of salvation to all peoples and all nations! For Paul teaches us that Abraham’s offspring are not merely those who are his biological descendants. Abraham’s offspring are all those—whether Jew or Gentile, male or female, slave or free—who possess “the faith of Abraham.” And therefore, Paul concludes with words of transcendent majesty: “[Abraham] is the father of us all” (vs. 16). We who have believed in Christ, we are the spiritual children of Abraham. We inherit his blessing. We receive what he received—not by the law, but by faith. Not by works, but by grace.

Our Response

We have now traced through these four verses the magnificent progression of Paul’s argument, moving from the assertion that Abraham received the promise by faith, through the exposition of why the law cannot possibly fulfill the promise, to the triumphant conclusion that the promise comes by faith, and therefore by grace, guaranteed to all who believe. Let us now review conclusions we can draw from this passage.

First, this passage speaks to us of the sufficiency of faith. In a world that demands evidence, that requires proof, that looks for signs and wonders—God calls us to believe. Whosoever would be an heir of the promise must, like Abraham, lay hold upon the word of God and trust in it, even when all the visible circumstances seem to contradict it. This faith, simple though it may appear, is the gateway to all the blessings of God.

Second, this passage speaks to us of the futility of self-righteousness. No matter how earnestly we strive, no matter how vigilantly we guard our conduct, no matter how ardently we desire to please God—we cannot earn our way into His favor. The law demands perfection, and we are imperfect. The law demands sinlessness, and we are sinful. And therefore, our only hope, our only refuge, our only salvation must lie in the grace of God, freely given through Christ.

Third, this passage speaks to us of the security of the promise. Because the promise depends not upon our faithfulness but upon God’s, because it comes not by works but by grace, it is guaranteed to us. The future may be uncertain. Trials may come. Temptations may assail us. But our salvation, our standing before God, our inheritance in Christ—these are secure. They cannot be taken from us. They cannot be yanked away by some moment of weakness. They rest upon the immovable foundation of God’s grace.

And finally, this passage speaks to us of the glorious scope of the promise. Abraham’s offspring are not merely the descendants of his flesh. They are all those who possess the faith of Abraham. The promise is not the exclusive possession of the Jews. It is the inheritance of all believers—Jew and Gentile, male and female, slave and free, rich and poor. All who believe are the children of Abraham. All who believe are heirs of the promise. He is the father of us all.

Therefore, let us take hold of this truth with both hands. Let us rest in it. Let us build our lives upon it. For it is the very foundation upon which the entire structure of our salvation is built. And as long as we stand upon this foundation, as long as we trust in the grace of God and the sufficiency of Christ, we shall never be moved. We shall never be shaken. We shall never be separated from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

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