Romans 4:4–12 - Credited Through Faith - by Scott Sperling

⁴ Now to the one who works, wages are not credited as a gift but as an obligation. ⁵ However, to the one who does not work but trusts God who justifies the ungodly, their faith is credited as righteousness. ⁶ David says the same thing when he speaks of the blessedness of the one to whom God credits righteousness apart from works:

⁷ “Blessed are those

whose transgressions are forgiven,

whose sins are covered.

⁸ Blessed is the one

whose sin the Lord will never count against them.”

⁹ Is this blessedness only for the circumcised, or also for the uncircumcised? We have been saying that Abraham’s faith was credited to him as righteousness. ¹⁰ Under what circumstances was it credited? Was it after he was circumcised, or before? It was not after, but before! ¹¹ And he received circumcision as a sign, a seal of the righteousness that he had by faith while he was still uncircumcised. So then, he is the father of all who believe but have not been circumcised, in order that righteousness might be credited to them. ¹² And he is then also the father of the circumcised who not only are circumcised but who also follow in the footsteps of the faith that our father Abraham had before he was circumcised.

Abraham, David, and Faith

In the preceding chapters, Paul established with relentless logic that there is no one righteous, not even one; that all have turned away and become worthless; that the entire human race, both Gentile and Jew alike, stands condemned before the bar of divine justice. Yet — and here is the paradox that contains the very heartbeat of the Gospel — God, in His unsearchable mercy, has ordained a pathway by which sinners may approach Him, by which the guilty may be justified, by which the wretched may be exalted. And what is this pathway? Nothing other than faith — that naked trust, that bare reliance upon the promises and the power of God, that receptive posture of the soul that takes what it cannot earn and receives what it does not deserve.

Now, as we look at Romans 4:4–12, let us come with minds prepared to see Abraham and David as witnesses to this eternal truth. For these men of old were not saved by works, nor by the ceremonies and rites of religion, but by that same saving faith that justifies us today. The righteousness that was credited to them as a gift from heaven is the very righteousness that shall be credited to all who believe. Therefore, let us attend carefully to Paul’s argument, that our own souls might be strengthened, our own faith established, and our own gratitude toward God kindled to a flame.

The Principle of Debt Versus the Principle of Grace (vss. 4–5)

⁴ Now to the one who works, wages are not credited as a gift but as an obligation. ⁵ However, to the one who does not work but trusts God who justifies the ungodly, their faith is credited as righteousness.

In verses 4 and 5, Paul establishes a distinction so fundamental, so illuminating in its simplicity, that we do well to pause and contemplate it with all the reverence it deserves. In verse 4, Paul states: “Now to the one who works, wages are not credited as a gift but as an obligation.” When a person labors for hire — when he bends his back to the soil, or plies his trade, or gives forth the strength of his limbs in service to another — what manner of paying wages takes place between boss and worker? It is crediting, true, but not grace; it is the dischargement of a debt, not the bestowal of a gift.

Consider the laborer in the field. He works from dawn to dusk; he sows and he reaps; and when the day’s work is accomplished, does the owner of the land come to him saying, “I am quite moved by your righteousness, and therefore I will reward you”? No, a thousand times no! The owner comes to him not as a benefactor, but as a debtor. The wage is not credited as generosity, but as obligation. It is the acknowledgment that labor has been rendered, and therefore something is due in return. Should the owner refuse to pay, the laborer might well take him before a judge and demand his due; for the owner has become the debtor of the laborer, by virtue of the covenant between them.

And this principle — so evident in the commerce of people — is what Paul employs to shatter one of the most pernicious delusions that ever has enslaved the human conscience. For there are those who imagine that they stand before God as laborers stand before their landowners; who believe that if they might only work hard enough, perform sufficient good deeds, exhibit righteousness enough through their own efforts, God would be obliged to reward them. But what blasphemy lurks in such thinking! What audacity, what presumption! For God, blessed and glorious, cannot become any person’s debtor.

Consider the very nature of God’s relation to those whom He has created. Has God received anything from us that He should owe us recompense? Does He need to beg for our service as a merchant begs for the service of his workers? The Psalmist cries out in wonder: “The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it” (Ps. 14:2). All things — absolutely all things — are of God, from God, and belong to God. How, then, could we ever place Him in our debt?

Even David, that man after God’s own heart, who had been utilized by the Almighty to accomplish great things, understood this truth with perfect clarity. When he purposed to gather materials for the building of the Temple — gold and silver, precious stones and wood — he prayed this to the Lord: “But who am I, and who are my people, that we should be able to give as generously as this? Everything comes from you, and we have given you only what comes from your hand” (1 Chron. 29:14). Mark the wisdom in those words! David recognized that even his generosity is but a returning to God of that which God had first given to him. The gift that appeared to be from David was in truth from the hand of God alone.

And the great apostle Paul himself, when he gives voice to one of the most majestic doxologies ever to have been penned, expresses the same truth with incomparable eloquence:

“Who has known the mind of the Lord?

Or who has been his counselor?

Who has ever given to God, that God should repay them?

For from him and through him and for him are all things.

To him be the glory forever! Amen.” (Rom. 11:34–36)

What a crescendo of truth! “From Him” — all things originate in God. “Through Him” — all things are sustained and governed by God. “For Him” — all things exist for God’s glory and His purposes. And therefore, “who has ever given to God?” Who could ever make God a debtor?

When, therefore, a person walks before God and declares, “I am a good person, and therefore I deserve salvation,” what is he truly saying? Is he not, in effect, claiming that God is his debtor? Is he not standing before the Almighty as a laborer stands before the landowner, waiting to be paid what he has earned? And when the Jew of old boasted that he was circumcised, and therefore acceptable to God, was he not guilty of the very same presumption? He was effectively saying, “I have fulfilled the covenant sign; therefore God owes me His favor.”

But such reasoning crumbles to dust when confronted with the truth Paul here presents. Our justification — that grand and glorious declaration by which God pronounces us righteous in His sight — is not a wage earned through our labors. It is not the payment of a debt owed us. Rather, it is a gift, pure and simple, offered freely by the grace of God, and receivable only through the empty hands of faith. We do not stand before God as hired servants, waiting for our wages. We stand before Him as beggars, as bankrupt sinners, as those who have absolutely nothing to commend us, and who can only cast ourselves upon His mercy.

And what is the practical consequence of this truth? It is this: our attitude toward God must be forever transformed. We must lay aside all pretense of earning, all claims of deserving, all boasting in our own righteousness. Our posture must be that of the tax collector in the Temple, who, standing afar off and unable so much as to lift his eyes toward heaven, cries out in anguish, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” (Luke 18:13). For it is the humble, the broken, the contrite in spirit who shall inherit the kingdom of heaven, not those who stride before God’s throne with the confidence of a laborer demanding his wages.

In verse 5, Paul characterizes those whom God justifies. In doing so, Paul utters words that must have struck the ear of his readers like thunder in a clear sky: “However, to the one who does not work but trusts God who justifies the ungodly, their faith is credited as righteousness” (vs. 5). Mark well the particular phrase — “justifies the ungodly.” Paul could have written, “justifies the righteous,” or “justifies those who believe,” or “justifies those who seek Him.” But nay; he chose the most jarring, the most offensive, the most seemingly absurd expression that could be employed. He declares that “God justifies” — that is, pronounces righteous, accepts, welcomes into communion with Himself — “the ungodly.”

What does this word “ungodly” mean? It refers to those who are without God, alienated from God, hostile to God, living in open rebellion against His holy will. It speaks of the wicked, the impious, the profane, those who have turned their backs upon the Almighty and pursued their own desires in defiance of His commandments. And yet — who can fathom the depths of divine grace? — it is precisely such creatures that God does “justify.” It is the ungodly, the very dregs of humanity, the most notorious sinners, unto whom the righteousness of God is credited through faith.

This truth must have seemed to many as sheer madness. Even to us, who may have heard the Gospel from our infancy, who understand ourselves to be sinners saved by grace, does it strain belief to declare that “God justifies the ungodly?” Yet this is the heart and center of Paul’s proclamation. And why does he make such a declaration? Because it is true. Because it must be proclaimed. Because the human conscience, enslaved by pride and self-deception, must be brought to see that none of us is righteous, that all of us are ungodly before we come to faith, and that the only hope for any soul is the justifying grace of God.

There are extreme cases in history that demonstrate God’s willingness to “justify the ungodly.” Consider, if you will, a man named Jeffrey Dahmer — a creature so steeped in wickedness, so devoid of human compassion, that his very name does conjure images of unspeakable evil. This man, in the darkness of his soul, took the lives of seventeen human beings. He perpetrated crimes so heinous, so contrary to every law of God and nature, that they scarcely bear speaking of. What person could be called more ungodly? What sinner could claim to be more deserving of the wrath of God?

And yet — and this is the wonder and the scandal and the glory of the Gospel — in a prison cell, this man heard the Word of God. He understood, through the preaching of Christ, that there was One who had died for him, who had shed His blood for his sins, whose sacrifice was sufficient even for such an accumulation of wickedness. And he believed. He was baptized. And though his earthly life continued in imprisonment and was ended in death, there is reason to believe that he came to know the forgiveness of God, that his soul was justified, that he was accepted before the Almighty through faith in Christ Jesus.

Now, is this not a living, breathing illustration of the text before us? “God justifies the ungodly.” Who could be more ungodly than such a one? And if God could justify such a creature — if the blood of Christ could cleanse such a stain, if the grace of God could penetrate such darkness — then what sinner among us has any cause to despair? There may come a moment in your life, dear reader, when the weight of your sin presses down upon your conscience with such force that you cry out in your heart, “God could never forgive me. I have done such wickedness, I have harbored such thoughts, I have stained myself with such pollution, that even the mercy of God cannot reach me.” And in that dark moment, I bid you remember: “God justifies the ungodly.” The sacrifice of Christ is sufficient for any and all who come to Him in faith. There is no sin so great that it cannot be forgiven through the blood of Christ.

Paul himself, in a later chapter of this very epistle, underscores the love of God for sinners with words of extraordinary beauty and power: “You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom. 5:6–8). Mark well those words: “Christ died for the ungodly.” While we were “still sinners,” He died for us. It is the very depth of our need that measures the height of His love.

David’s Witness (vss. 6–8)

⁶ David says the same thing when he speaks of the blessedness of the one to whom God credits righteousness apart from works:

⁷ “Blessed are those

whose transgressions are forgiven,

whose sins are covered.

⁸ Blessed is the one

whose sin the Lord will never count against them.”

To illustrate this glorious truth yet further, Paul turns to the example of King David — a man of great faith, a man of mighty deeds, a man chosen by God to establish a kingdom that should endure forever. And yet David was also a man who fell grievously into sin. He saw Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah, and he desired her. He lay with her in sin, committing adultery. And when he discovered that she was with child, what did he do? Did he confess his sin and cry out for mercy? Alas, no. Instead, he contrived to murder the innocent man whose wife he had defiled. He caused Uriah to be placed in the forefront of the battle, in the place of greatest danger, that he might be slain. And when Uriah fell, David took Bathsheba to himself as his wife, covering his sin with a shroud of deception.

Paul now cites the testimony of David himself, drawing from the Psalms to demonstrate that even this fallen man, this adulterer and murderer, experienced the justification of God through faith and repentance: “David says the same thing when he speaks of the blessedness of the one to whom God credits righteousness apart from works: ‘Blessed are those whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered. Blessed is the one whose sin the Lord will never count against them’” (vss. 6–8). These are the words of one who has known the depth of sin and the height of God’s forgiveness. David speaks of blessedness — that profound state of joy and peace that flows from the knowledge that one’s sins are forgiven, that they are covered, that God will not reckon them against us.

David prayed repentantly for the forgiveness that he knew only God could grant. In the fifty-first Psalm, he cries out: “Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love; according to your great compassion blot out my transgressions. Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin” (Ps. 51:1–2). The language of washing, of cleansing, of blotting out — these are not the metaphors of one who imagines that he can earn his way back into God’s favor through good works. Rather, they are the cries of one who throws himself entirely upon the mercy of God.

And David continues, later in the Psalm: “You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings. My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise” (Ps. 51:16–17). Here is the deepest insight into the nature of true repentance. It is not the offering of costly sacrifices. It is not the performance of religious ceremonies. Rather, it is the breaking of the human spirit, the crushing of pride, the laying bare of the soul before God in all its wretchedness and unworthiness.

And indeed, David did receive the forgiveness of God, by the grace of God. Paul cites the thirty-second Psalm, in which David speaks of this forgiveness: “Blessed is the one whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered. Blessed is the one whose sin the Lord does not count against them” (Rom. 4:7–8; Ps. 32:1–2). And later in Psalm 32, David writes: “Then I acknowledged my sin to you and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.’ And you forgave the guilt of my sin” (Ps. 32:5). David came to God in complete humility. His salvation rested strictly on the grace of God — not on anything that David did, though he had done great things for God.

So again, Paul is pointing out that this salvation, this righteousness from God, is available to anyone — even those who, from a worldly point of view, do not deserve it. People like you and me. If David could be forgiven for his grave sins, then we can too, for ours.

Circumcision: The Sign and Seal, Not Savior (vss. 9–11)

⁹ Is this blessedness only for the circumcised, or also for the uncircumcised? We have been saying that Abraham’s faith was credited to him as righteousness. ¹⁰ Under what circumstances was it credited? Was it after he was circumcised, or before? It was not after, but before! ¹¹ And he received circumcision as a sign, a seal of the righteousness that he had by faith while he was still uncircumcised...

Now Paul presses forward with a question that must have been burning in the minds of his Jewish readers: “Is this blessedness only for the circumcised, or also for the uncircumcised?” (vs. 9). For to the Jew of that age, circumcision was not merely a physical rite, not merely a ceremonial requirement, but the very mark of belonging to God’s people. It was the sign of the covenant. It was the badge of religious identity. And many Jews believed — indeed, many were convinced with absolute certainty — that only the circumcised could stand in right relationship with God. Only those who bore this mark could be counted as part of God’s covenant people. Only these could be justified.

But Paul turns this understanding upside down. With relentless logic, he asks: “... We have been saying that Abraham’s faith was credited to him as righteousness. Under what circumstances was it credited? Was it after he was circumcised, or before? It was not after, but before!” (vss. 9–10). What a simple question — yet what a devastating answer! Abraham, the father of all who are circumcised, the founder of the covenant community — Abraham was justified before he was circumcised. This is not a matter of dispute or debate. It is plainly written in the record. Abraham believed God. God credited his faith to him as righteousness. And only after this act of faith and this crediting of righteousness did Abraham receive the sign of circumcision. Therefore, circumcision cannot be the basis of justification.

What, then, is the purpose of circumcision? Paul explains this with clarity: “And he received circumcision as a sign, a seal of the righteousness that he had by faith while he was still uncircumcised...” (vs. 11). A “sign” and a “seal” — these two words carry profound meaning, and we must not pass over them lightly. A “sign” is that which represents and instructs. When you see a “sign” upon a road that points you toward a distant city, the “sign” itself is not the city, but it represents the city and instructs you as to the direction you must travel. Similarly, circumcision was a “sign” that represents a spiritual reality — the casting away of the desires of the flesh, the commitment to obedience to God, the dedication of one’s entire self to the service of the Almighty.

But circumcision was also a “seal”. A “seal” is that which ratifies and confirms. When a king places his “seal” upon a document, he does thereby ratify and confirm its authenticity and its binding force. Similarly, when Abraham received circumcision, he did thereby ratify and confirm his faith in God. By submitting to this rite, he “sealed” his faith, he confirmed it, he demonstrated it to all who knew him. But mark this well: the “seal” itself did not create the thing that it sealed. The “seal” did not bring into being the righteousness that it confirmed. Abraham’s righteousness already existed, in the form of his faith. The circumcision came afterward, as the outward expression and confirmation of that inward faith.

God Himself, through the prophet Jeremiah, had long before made clear what He truly desired: “Circumcise yourselves to the Lord, circumcise your hearts, you people of Judah and inhabitants of Jerusalem” (Jer. 4:4). The circumcision that God desires is not a circumcision of the flesh, but a circumcision of the heart. He desires the removal, not of a physical part, but of the fleshly desires: the pride, the rebellion, the self-will that does corrupt the human soul. The outward rite is meaningless — indeed, it is worse than meaningless, it is a mockery — unless it be accompanied by an inward transformation, a genuine turning of the heart toward God.

For us who are followers of Christ, we have received rite similar to circumcision: the sacrament of baptism. And here we must be careful to understand the relation between these two rites. While both are “signs” and “seals”, the reality that each signifies and seals is different. Circumcision signified the dedication of oneself to the God of Abraham, the commitment to live according to the law of Moses, the desire to cast away the lusts of the flesh and to walk in obedience. It was, in its essence, a sign of incremental obedience, of reformation of life, of gradual improvement through the keeping of the law.

But baptism — baptism signifies something far more radical and far more glorious. When we are baptized into Christ Jesus, we are baptized into His death. We are buried with Him. We die. And then, in the resurrection of Christ, we too are raised to newness of life. Paul himself summarizes this later in the book of Romans: “Or don’t you know that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life” (Rom. 6:3–4). Here is the difference, stated with absolute clarity. Baptism is not merely a sign of obedience; it is a sign of death and resurrection. It represents not the incremental improvement of the flesh, but the utter and complete destruction of the old self and the rising up of a new creation in Christ.

Abraham: The Father of All Who Believe (vss. 11–12)

¹¹ ... So then, he is the father of all who believe but have not been circumcised, in order that righteousness might be credited to them. ¹² And he is then also the father of the circumcised who not only are circumcised but who also follow in the footsteps of the faith that our father Abraham had before he was circumcised.

Now Paul does bring his argument to its magnificent conclusion. To the people of Paul’s day, Abraham was indeed the father of the Jewish nation, the founder of their faith, the one through whom God had established His covenant people. But Paul expands this understanding. He states: “... So then, [Abraham] is the father of all who believe but have not been circumcised, in order that righteousness might be credited to them” (vs. 11). Abraham is not the father only of the physically circumcised. He is the father of “all who believe” — whether they be Jewish or Gentile, whether they be male or female, whether they be physically circumcised or uncircumcised.

For this Abrahamic fatherhood is determined not by physical descent, not by the bearing of a particular mark in the flesh, but by the sharing of the faith of Abraham, just as Paul decares: “And he is then also the father of the circumcised who not only are circumcised but who also follow in the footsteps of the faith that our father Abraham had before he was circumcised” (vs. 12).

And what is this faith? How does one “follow in the footsteps of the faith that our father Abraham had”? It is the faith described in the very first biblical reference to belief — “Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness” (Gen. 15:6). This is the foundation of all subsequent faith in the Bible. This is the prototype. This is the pattern after which all genuine faith must be fashioned. “Abraham believed God.” He trusted in God’s promises, even when those promises seemed impossible to fulfill. He cast himself upon the mercy and the faithfulness of God. And God credited his faith to him as righteousness. And this is the very same faith that we, as Christians, are called to exercise. Therefore, Abraham is our “father” in the faith. We are the heirs of the promises made to Abraham. We are the children of God in the same way that he was a child of God — not through works, not through external rites, but through faith in God and in His promises.

So then, let us gather up the threads of Paul’s magnificent argument and behold them woven together into a pattern of extraordinary beauty and power. Paul has demonstrated, with irrefutable logic and with the support of the highest authorities — Abraham and David themselves — that righteousness is not something that can be earned through works, nor something that is granted on the basis of external ceremonies and rites, nor something that is the prerogative of a particular people or nation. Rather, righteousness is a gift freely bestowed by God upon those who believe. It is credited to the account of faith, not of works. And it is available even to the ungodly who cast themselves upon the mercy of God.

What is the response that this truth demands of us? It is not a response of pride or self-confidence. It is not a response that boasts in our own righteousness or our own works. Rather, it is a response of faith — naked, vulnerable, trusting faith. It is the posture of Abraham, who believed God even when the promises seemed impossible. It is the posture of David, who came before God with a broken and contrite heart, acknowledging his sin and seeking only mercy.

Each of us must examine our own hearts and ask: Upon what do I rely for my standing before God? Do I imagine that my own good works have commended me to Him? Do I suppose that by conforming myself to certain external standards, I have placed God in my debt? If we are honest with ourselves, we must confess that we are all, in our natural state, among the ungodly whom God justifies. We have all sinned. We have all fallen short of the glory of God. None of us can claim to have earned God’s favor through our own efforts. And therefore, all of us — without exception — must come before God as suppliants, as beggars, as those who have nothing to offer but our faith, our trust, our willingness to believe in His promises and His grace.

What we have seen in this study is the marvel, the scandal, and the glory of the Gospel: our God who owes nothing to any creature, who cannot be placed in anyone’s debt, who is answerable to no one — this very God has chosen to justify us. He has chosen to credit us with righteousness. He has sent His own Son into the world, to take upon Himself our sin, to shed His blood for our redemption, to rise again from the dead in triumph over sin and death. And therefore, on the basis of faith in Christ Jesus, on the basis of trust in His promises, on the basis of a repentance and contrition like David’s, we can stand before God with joy and confidence. Not confidence in ourselves, but confidence in the faithfulness of God. Not confidence in our own righteousness, but confidence in the righteousness of Christ, which has been credited to us as a gift through faith.

The truth that Paul declares in these verses concerns not merely the experience of Abraham in the distant past, nor merely the experience of David in the days of the Old Testament. It concerns not merely the first-century believers to whom Paul wrote. It concerns us, this very day, in this year of our Lord and in all the years that lie before us. For the principle by which God justifies is eternal. It was true in the days of Abraham. It was true in the days of David. It was true when Paul wrote these words. And it remains true now.

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