Scripture Studies - Romans 4:17-21

¹⁷ As it is written: “I have made you a father of many nations.” He is our father in the sight of God, in whom he believed—the God who gives life to the dead and calls into being things that were not.

¹⁸ Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations, just as it had been said to him, “So shall your offspring be.” ¹⁹ Without weakening in his faith, he faced the fact that his body was as good as dead—since he was about a hundred years old—and that Sarah’s womb was also dead. ²⁰ Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, ²¹ being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised. — Romans 4:17–21

A Mirror for Our Faith

In this passage, the Apostle Paul draws aside the veil of human weakness and reveals to us the very anatomy of faith itself. We stand, as it were, in the vestibule of Abraham’s soul, beholding the architecture of that unwavering trust which set him apart as the father of all those who believe. The matter before us is not merely a historical narrative, but rather a living testimony—a mirror wherein each of us must gaze upon our own faith and inquire earnestly whether it bears the marks of the faith that Abraham possessed.

In the verses preceding our passage, Paul established that Abraham was justified not by the works of the law, but by faith in God’s promises. Genesis itself declares this truth: “Abraham believed the Lord, and he credited it to him as righteousness” (Gen. 15:6; Rom. 4:3). But now, in Romans 4:17–21, the Apostle turns his attention to something yet more profound—the very nature and character of Abraham’s faith, that we might understand what our own faith ought to be and how it ought to manifest itself in our hearts and lives. Here is no abstract doctrine, no bloodless philosophy, but rather the lived experience of a person who believed God against all the clamor and contention of the visible world. Let us therefore attend with reverent care to these words, for in them hangs the destiny of our own souls.

The God Who Gives Life to the Dead (vs. 17)

Up to this point in chapter 4, Paul has established that Abraham received the fulfillment of the promises to him by faith, and has extrapolated this to our situation, stating that “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” (Rom. 4:16). Abraham is our father in the faith. We receive the promises of God, just as Abraham did, and that is “by faith.”

Paul now turns to the character of Abraham’s faith, in order that we may know what the character of our faith should be. In these verses, Paul first establishes that Abraham is indeed our father in the faith, by reciting a key promise that God made to Abraham: “I have made you father of many nations” (vs. 17). Now mark well this phrase, for therein lies a mystery that has confounded many. The promise does not speak of Abraham becoming the father of one nation, but of “many nations.” How shall we reconcile this with the historical fact that the Jews—Abraham’s descendants according to the flesh—constitute but a single nation? Herein we perceive the breadth of God’s covenant purpose, extending far beyond the narrow confines of earthly geography and temporal succession.

This promise to Abraham, Paul tells us, encompasses all those who throughout the earth profess faith in Christ and follow in the footsteps of Abraham’s belief. The many nations are the peoples scattered across the globe—in Europe and Asia, in Africa and the Americas, upon every shore and in every climate—who have heard the Gospel and embraced it. When the risen Christ commanded His disciples, “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit” (Matt. 28:19), He was setting in motion the fulfillment of the very promise that God had spoken to Abraham millennia before. The Great Commission and the Abrahamic Covenant are thus woven together in the tapestry of God’s redemptive design.

In the early days following Christ’s Ascension, did not the disciples—nearly all of them Jews by birth and training—confine their preaching primarily to their own people? Verily, so it was. Yet our Lord, in His sovereign wisdom, appointed a man called Saul, who became Paul, and designated him specifically to be the apostle to the Gentiles. Through the ministry of Paul, with extraordinary labor and countless perils, God broke open the doors of the Gospel so that the nations—those dead in their trespasses and sins—might hear the glad tidings of salvation and live. In our own time, note, the number of believers drawn from the Gentile nations vastly exceeds those of Jewish descent. Thus has God kept His covenant with Abraham: through Abraham’s faith, through Christ’s commission, and through Paul’s apostolic labors, Abraham has indeed become “the father of many nations,” bringing spiritual life to those who were otherwise dead.

Let us next consider the magnificent description in this passage that Paul provides of the God in whom Abraham believed: “the God who gives life to the dead and calls into being things that were not” (vs. 17). What a sovereign assertion! What a bold proclamation of divine omnipotence! This is not a god fashioned after the imagination of men, not a weak deity confined by the laws of nature nor the limitations of the material world. Rather, this is the God of all creation, the God whose word calls forth existence from nothingness, the God whose power penetrates the grave itself and summons forth the living from among the dead.

And does not this very characteristic of God form the bedrock of our Christian faith as well? We too believe in a God “who gives life to the dead.” We believe that He raised Jesus Christ from the dead, that He broke the chains of death and brought forth the Author of Life in resurrection glory. We believe further that through our union with Christ, we too shall be raised from the dead, that “the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies because of his Spirit who lives in you” (Rom. 8:11). Thus Abraham, in believing upon the God “who gives life to the dead,” stands as our father in faith, for he believed precisely what we believe—that death is not the final word, that the power of God reaches beyond the grave, that life eternal breaks forth from what the world counts as final and irrevocable loss.

What mighty power this is! It is a power that belongs to God alone, a creative power, a power that mirrors the very act by which He framed the heavens and the earth from chaos and void. When God spoke and said, “Let there be light,” there was light. When He commanded, “Let the earth bring forth vegetation,” the earth obeyed. This power to bring forth existence from non-existence—this is God’s alone. We humans, for all our learning and our ingenuity, cannot bring life from the dead. We may craft artificial intelligence with our computers and our machines, but what is it but a pale shadow, a mere simulation of thought? There is no soul in it, no true life, no existence that proceeds from God. Only God can bring forth true life from the realm of death and non-being. Abraham believed this truth, and thereupon his faith was grounded as upon a rock.

The “Irrationality” of Abraham’s Faith (vs. 18)

¹⁸ Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations, just as it had been said to him, “So shall your offspring be.”

Here now the Apostle presents to us a paradox, a mystery that seems to confound human wisdom: Abraham hopes “against all hope” (vs. 18). Mark the exquisite tension in this phrase—“against all hope, Abraham in hope believed.” From the vantage point of human reason, from the perspective of what the world calls common sense and reasonable expectation, there was no ground whatsoever for Abraham to maintain hope. His body was ancient and worn, no longer capable of engendering life. Sarah, his beloved wife, had long ceased from her natural function; her womb was as a sepulcher. The law of nature, that ancient and inexorable decree, seemed to declare that their hope was vain, their expectation impossible. And yet—and yet—Abraham maintained his “hope,” sustained his belief, persevered in his conviction that God would do what He had promised.

This is the irrationality of true faith, beloved, the glorious folly of a faith that transcends the wisdom of this world. For the Christian, faith and hope are inseparable companions, twin pillars upon which the edifice of our redemption rests. We possess faith in events that have already come to pass—the incarnation of the eternal Son, His earthly ministry of teaching and healing, His sacrificial death upon the cross, His glorious resurrection from the dead. These are historical facts, grounded in the testimony of eyewitnesses and sealed by the testimony of the Holy Spirit. Yet there is another dimension to Christian faith, and that is hope—confidence in what shall come to pass, assurance concerning things not yet seen, trust in the promises of God that lie before us in the future.

And what is it that we, as Christians in this day and age, “hope” for? Oh, hear this, I beseech you! We “hope” that our existence does not terminate with the cessation of our heartbeat. We “hope” that we shall not stand condemned in the judgment, that the weight of our sins shall not press upon us in that day when all things are revealed. We “hope” to enter into glory, to be clothed with the righteousness of Christ, and to dwell forever in the presence of our God. These hopes are not, as the unbeliever mocks, mere wishful thinking or comforting fictions. Rather, they are grounded in the faithful promises of God, in the testimony of Scripture, and in the Person and work of Jesus Christ.

The Epistle to the Hebrews offers us a definition of faith that is intimately bound up with this very hope. There the Apostle writes: “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see” (Heb. 11:1). Mark how faith and hope are woven together. Faith is not mere intellectual assent to a set of doctrines; it is rather a confident trust in what we do not yet possess, a firm conviction regarding that which remains invisible to the eyes of the flesh. The Apostle Paul, writing to the church at Colossae, emphasizes that hope is a necessary and inseparable component of living faith: “But now he has reconciled you by Christ’s physical body through death to present you holy in his sight, without blemish and free from accusation—if you continue in your faith, established and firm, and do not move from the hope held out in the gospel” (Col. 1:22-23). Observe well that phrase: “do not move from the hope held out in the gospel.” True faith clings to hope with an unshakeable grip.

And what of those that do not believe? What is their condition? How dreadful, how sorrowful is the estate of those who lack the anchor of Christian hope! Paul, in the Epistle to the Ephesians, wrote these words to the Gentiles, concerning their former state, before they were brought into the covenant of grace: “Remember that at that time you were separate from Christ, excluded from citizenship in Israel and foreigners to the covenants of the promise, without hope and without God in the world” (Eph. 2:12-13). Mark those terrible words—“without hope.” This is the defining characteristic of the unregenerate soul, this absence of hope, this darkness unrelieved by any glimmer of assurance concerning eternity. The unredeemed person may possess health, wealth, pleasure, and human companionship, yet is destitute of that hope that alone can sustain the soul in the face of death and judgment.

But we, beloved—we who have heard the Gospel and embraced its truth—we “hope,” even as Abraham hoped. Abraham hoped against the testimony of his senses, against the evidence of his aging flesh, against all that the world would deem reasonable and possible. Yet he hoped, because he believed in the promises of God. And so do we hope for things that to the carnal mind seem impossible: that our sins have been forgiven through the blood of Christ, that there is more to our existence than our material bodies, that we shall continue to exist after our hearts cease their beating, that we shall rise from the dead even as Christ rose. These things seem too good to be true, and yet we embrace them with hope, hope “against all hope,” because we rest upon the sure foundation of God’s word.

The Consistency of Abraham’s Faith (vss. 19–20)

¹⁹ Without weakening in his faith, he faced the fact that his body was as good as dead—since he was about a hundred years old—and that Sarah’s womb was also dead. ²⁰ Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, ...

Here we arrive at a truth that profoundly challenges, yet also encourages the believing heart. As the years stretched forth, as decade followed upon decade, as Abraham and Sarah grew ever more ancient and the possibility of offspring became ever more distant and improbable, what occurred in Abraham’s faith? Did it diminish? Did it languish, as a plant deprived of light and moisture? Did it waver and grow uncertain, as the witness of his own body—that aging, weakening vessel—cried out against the promise? No, beloved! Contrary to what the flesh might expect, Abraham’s faith did not weaken but was strengthened, just as Paul states: “Without weakening in his faith, he faced the fact that his body was as good as dead—since he was about a hundred years old—and that Sarah’s womb was also dead” (vs. 19). His conviction did not waver but grew ever more firm. There is here an irony of such poignancy that we can scarcely grasp it: as Abraham’s body grew weak, his faith grew mighty; as his flesh deteriorated day by day, his trust in the promises of God was fortified and established.

Yet the careful reader of Scripture may have paused here and raised an objection. Does not Genesis record that Abraham laughed when God appeared unto him with a renewed promise? Is not that laughter a sign of doubt, a manifestation of wavering faith? How shall we reconcile this apparent contradiction? The answer, my friend, lies in the careful observation of the sequence of events, for the timing of Abraham’s laughter is most significant and has often been misunderstood.

Let us trace the narrative carefully through the sacred text. In the fifteenth chapter of Genesis, when Abraham was yet approximately eighty years of age—still a man of vigor and physical capability (as normal during that phase of humanity), still in the years when his body possessed its natural powers—God first spoke to him, saying that he would have a son. At that time, Abraham did not balk at this promise. He did not yet fully comprehend that this son must come through Sarah, his barren wife. So urgent was his desire for an heir, and so persuaded was he that he could bring to pass the promise through his own efforts, that he and Sarah sought to fulfill the covenant through another way. At Sarah’s urging, Abraham took unto himself Hagar, the Egyptian handmaid, and from that union came Abraham’s son Ishmael. Abraham was eighty-six years old when Ishmael was born.

But thirteen more years passed—thirteen long years wherein Abraham contemplated the promise and yet perceived that it had been fulfilled through Ishmael. And then, when Abraham had reached the great age of ninety-nine, God appeared to him once more: “When Abram was ninety-nine years old, the Lord appeared to him and said, ‘I am God Almighty; walk before me faithfully and be blameless. Then I will make my covenant between me and you and will greatly increase your numbers.’ Abram fell facedown, and God said to him, ‘As for me, this is my covenant with you: You will be the father of many nations’” (Gen. 17:1-4). In this moment, Abraham supposed still that the promise pertained to Ishmael. Yet in this same chapter, the truth of the promise was revealed with startling directness to Abraham: “God also said to Abraham, ‘As for Sarai your wife, you are no longer to call her Sarai; her name will be Sarah. I will bless her and will surely give you a son by her. I will bless her so that she will be the mother of nations; kings of peoples will come from her.’ Abraham fell facedown; he laughed and said to himself, ‘Will a son be born to a man a hundred years old? Will Sarah bear a child at the age of ninety?’” (Gen. 17:15-18).

Behold, then, the cause of Abraham’s laughter! It was not the laughter of unbelief, but rather the laughter of astonishment, of wonder, of the sudden and clarifying recognition that God was presenting him with what appeared to be a wholly new promise—not one that could be fulfilled through human effort or natural capacity. All this time, Abraham had thought the promise was already in the process of fulfillment through Ishmael. Now, with the revelation that Sarah herself—barren, ancient Sarah—should bear a son, Abraham perceived the true and miraculous nature of what God was proposing. From the vantage point of Abraham’s understanding, it was as if the promise were being given anew, and this time in a form that transcended every possibility of human accomplishment.

Yet mark this marvel: although Abraham initially “laughed” in his astonishment, he did not withdraw from the promise. Rather, he acted upon it. Within a span of mere years, Sarah did conceive and bear a son, and Abraham did not hesitate to acknowledge that new child, Isaac, as the covenant heir. The laughter of Abraham, far from being evidence of wavering faith, was rather evidence of the very strength of his faith—for it testified that Abraham fully recognized the impossibility of what God was promising, and yet Abraham believed and acted accordingly. It is the act of obedience, in fathering the son, that proved the substance of Abraham’s faith.

As Abraham and Sarah aged, rather than weakening in his faith, Abraham “faced the fact that his body was as good as dead—since he was about a hundred years old—and that Sarah’s womb was also dead” (vs. 19). Here is a vision of faith that faces reality squarely, that does not shrink from acknowledging the impossible nature of what God has promised, yet nonetheless maintains unshakeable conviction in the God whose promises cannot fail. Abraham did not deny the reality of his age; he did not pretend that his body retained the vigor of youth. He saw clearly, with eyes unclouded by self-deception, that from a purely natural and biological standpoint, the conception of a child was impossible. And yet—and yet (as Paul tells us)—“he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God” (vs. 20).

Here is the consistency of Abraham’s faith, the unwavering nature of his conviction. As his circumstances grew more and more desperate, as the years accumulated and his body grew weaker, Abraham’s faith grew stronger. This is a paradox that the world cannot comprehend, yet it is the very paradox that marks the true believer in every age. We strengthen our faith not by denying the reality of our circumstances, not by pretending that obstacles do not exist, but rather by acknowledging those obstacles fully and then placing our trust in God’s power to accomplish what seems humanly impossible. “This is the victory that overcomes the world—even our faith” (1 John 5:4). This is the faith that glorifies God.

And what is the consequence, the inevitable result, of such a faith as this—a faith unwavering, a faith strengthened by impossibility, a faith anchored in the power and promise of God? Hear the Apostle’s proclamation: Abraham “gave glory to God” (vs. 20). Here we touch upon a truth of transcendent importance, a principle that ought to reshape our understanding of what faith is for and what its true aim and object must be. Our faith is not ultimately for our own comfort, though comfort it surely brings. Our faith is not chiefly for our own prosperity or earthly success, though God is pleased to bless those who trust in Him. Rather, the ultimate purpose of faith is to “give glory to God”—to honor His name, to acknowledge His sovereignty, to proclaim His faithfulness, to demonstrate to all creation that He alone is worthy of trust and praise. When Abraham believed “against all hope” (vs. 14), when he maintained his conviction despite the evidence of his aging body, when he was strengthened in his faith even as his flesh grew weaker—in all of this, Abraham was “giving glory to God.”

Reflect upon this truth carefully, for it has profound implications for your own spiritual journey. We glorify God when we believe in His power and His promises. We glorify God when we commit ourselves entirely to His will, when we trust that He will do what He has said that He will do. Conversely—and this truth ought to strike our hearts with solemnity—unbelief is a robbery of God’s glory. When we doubt God’s word, when we question His faithfulness, when we rely instead upon our own understanding or the counsel of the flesh, we are, in effect, declaring that God is unworthy of our trust, that His promises are insufficient, and that His power is inadequate. Unbelief impoverishes God of the glory that is rightfully His.

But strong faith—ah, there is the opposite and glorious reality! A faith that is unwavering, that is strengthened rather than weakened by adversity, that looks steadfastly upon the promises of God even when the visible world cries out against them—such a faith pours forth glory to God like a mighty river. Every believer who trusts in God against the opposition of circumstances, every soul that believes despite the clamor of doubt, every heart that maintains conviction in the face of apparent impossibility—each of these “gives glory to God” and proves by their very existence that the promises of God are true, that His power is real, that His faithfulness endures forever.

The Firm Foundation: God’s Power and God’s Promise (vs. 21)

²¹ ... being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised.

And now we come to the very foundation upon which Abraham’s faith rested—that firm, immovable ground upon which his entire conviction was constructed. The Apostle tells us that Abraham was “fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised” (vs. 21). Here, in this single phrase, we find the architecture of all true faith, the essential structure that must undergird the belief of every Christian soul. There are, beloved, two aspects to this foundation that we must examine with care and attention.

The first aspect concerns the power of God—His ability, His might, His divine capacity to accomplish that which He has declared. When Abraham heard the promise of God, he did not merely accept it as a pleasant possibility or a hopeful speculation. Rather, he became convinced—firmly, utterly, without wavering—that God possesses the power to accomplish what seems impossible to all created intelligence. For Abraham, the fulfillment of the promise required what no human power could provide: the quickening of dead reproductive capacity in both himself and Sarah. It required, in the language of Paul, that God should “give life to the dead and call into being things that were not” (vs. 17). Abraham did not question whether God possessed such power. Instead, he rested in the unshakeable conviction that the God who had framed the heavens and the earth, the God who had established the boundaries of the seas and hung the stars in their courses, the God who spoke creation into being—surely such a God could accomplish the raising up of a son from the loins of an ancient man.

There is profound teaching here for us who live in the present age of skepticism. What has our God not accomplished? What miracle has He not wrought? He sent His Son from the bosom of eternity and into time, to take upon Himself our flesh, and walk among us, teaching, healing, raising the dead. His Son then died upon a tree to bear our sins, and descended into the grave. And then—glory of glories!—our God rose Him from the dead on the third day, bursting the bonds of death asunder, fulfilling the Scripture that says that death would not be able to hold Him. God is the God “who gives life to the dead.” If God has done all this, then what impossibility can we present to Him? What obstacle can thwart His purpose? What circumstance can limit His power?

Yet there is a second aspect to the foundation of Abraham’s faith that is every bit as essential as the first, and that is his conviction regarding the promise of God—God’s willingness, His faithfulness, His steadfast commitment to do that which He has declared. This aspect addresses itself to the question not of ability but of intention. It is one thing to believe that God possesses power; it is quite another to believe that He will exercise that power on our behalf, that He cares sufficiently for us to accomplish what He has promised. Many there are, I fear, who believe intellectually that God exists and that He created the universe, yet who do believe in His personal care and providence. They imagine a God who wound up the cosmos as one winds a great clock, and then departed, leaving it to run its mechanical course with no further involvement or concern. This deistic philosophy has seduced many an otherwise intelligent mind. Such men believe in God’s power, yet they deny His love, His interest, His intimate involvement in the affairs of humans.

But this is grievously to misunderstand the character of God as revealed in Holy Scriptures. Our Lord Jesus Christ, in His earthly ministry, repeatedly assured His disciples of God’s personal care and providential oversight. For example, Jesus taught: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?” (Matt. 6:25-26). Here is the testimony of the Son of God: your Father in heaven cares for the birds, so shall He not care infinitely more for you? Again, our Lord declared: “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows” (Matt. 10:29-31). What intimacy, what tender concern is here revealed! Not one sparrow “falls to the ground”—that humble, insignificant bird—“without your Father’s knowledge.” And as for you, “the very hairs of your head are numbered” by His hand.

And note one more passage that has comforted the hearts of believers in every age: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). Mark here the foundation of everything: God’s love. God is not a cold, distant deity, indifferent to the suffering and needs of His creatures. He is rather a God of infinite compassion, a Father of mercies, who “gave His only begotten Son” that we might live. Abraham believed in this God—a God of power, certainly, but also a God of faithfulness, of love, and of personal concern. Abraham was “persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised”—that is to say, Abraham believed both in God’s ability and in God’s willingness, both in His might and in His mercy.

Lessons to Draw

And so we come to the end of our contemplation of Abraham’s faith, that towering example of unwavering trust in the promises of God. What lessons may we draw from this passage in order to bear fruit in our own lives?

First, beloved, let us understand that the faith of Abraham is not a relic of ancient times, a historical curiosity without relevance to our present circumstance. Rather, it is presented to us as a pattern, a model, a living standard against which we are to measure our own faith. “Abraham believed the Lord, and he credited it to him as righteousness” (Rom. 4:3). This very righteousness—this very justification before God—is offered to us through faith in Christ. We are told explicitly: “The righteous will live by faith” (Rom. 1:17). Not by our works, not by our moral achievements, not by our ecclesiastical status nor our religious observances, but “by faith”—by the same kind of faith that Abraham possessed.

Second, let us take to heart the truth that faith is not weakened by opposition but strengthened thereby. Abraham’s faith grew mighty not in the absence of obstacles but in the presence of them. His faith was not diminished by the passage of years and the weakening of his body, but rather was fortified and enlarged. So also in our own lives, the circumstances that seem most calculated to undermine our faith—our trials, our sorrows, our impossibilities—may become the very means by which our faith is deepened and strengthened. When we trust God in the darkness, when we believe His promises despite the evidence of the flesh, when we maintain our conviction that He is faithful despite the clamor of doubt, we prove the reality and substance of our faith.

Third, and perhaps most importantly, let us remember that the ultimate purpose of faith is not our own ease or comfort, but the glory of God. When Abraham believed against hope, when he maintained his faith despite all earthly opposition, he gave glory to God. His faith was, in a very real sense, a testimony to the power and faithfulness of the God in whom he trusted. Every act of faith is an act of worship, a proclamation to all creation that God is worthy to be trusted, that His promises are true, that His power is infinite and His faithfulness unshakeable. Do you want to glorify God? Then believe His Word. Maintain your confidence in His promises even when the visible world cries out against them. Trust His power even when impossibility seems to surround you. In so doing, you will give glory to God, and you will prove yourself to be a true child of Abraham, a member of that great cloud of witnesses who have believed God and been counted righteous.

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