Things I Don't Understand | Dana C. Baldwin

Introduction

There are things I don’t understand, but I still act as if they are true. I don’t understand how a car engine works, but I still drive a car. I don’t understand gravity, but I don’t jump off of tall buildings. I don’t understand the physics of airplane flight, but I still get on a plane. I don’t understand how humor works, but I still laugh. I don’t understand God, but I trust him.

Paul writes Romans to deal with the tension between Jews and Gentiles. He writes about the mysterious and wonderful grace of God—about God’s holiness and his desire to give us that same holiness. He writes about the depth of our sin and God’s willingness and desire to forgive it. He writes about how we can presume upon God’s grace and how we can live under grace so that we can experience freedom in ways we never thought possible. He writes that God’s love is unfailing and that the Holy Spirit is convincing. He writes that we groan and that the Spirit intercedes. With all of these words, we are allowed a glimpse into the mind of God, and there are things that we don’t understand. How can God forgive my sin? How can the blood of Jesus cover my sin? How can the Holy Spirit give me a new heart? How can I be God’s child when I know there are times that my heart isn’t what he created it to be? If nothing can separate us from God’s love, why do I still worry if he loves me when I sin?

We come to chapters 9—11. There are many who think that if these chapters weren’t here, then we could move straight on to chapter 12 and it would sound like this: “Nothing can separate us from God’s love that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Therefore, I urge you, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God.” We could read that and it makes good sense—praise for God’s love and our response in chapter 12, a seamless transition. But that isn’t the way Paul wrote it, and it isn’t the way God wanted it to be written. Chapters 9—11, albeit difficult to understand, allow us to see deeper into the mind of God. And it is challenging. Challenges are good. We get to push, expand, and deepen our faith.

God’s Choice

Chapters 9—11 form a unit. Take any part without the rest and mistakes in understanding take place. Today we are focusing on chapter 9. To look at chapter 9 without mentioning chapter 10 or 11 is to force chapter 9 to say more than is intended. Let’s quickly work our way through the text and then make some application.

In verses 1—5, Paul expresses the depth of his love for the Jews. Being Jewish, Paul wants his brothers through the lineage of Abraham to come to faith in Jesus. So deep is his anguish that in verse 3 Paul would gladly be separated from Christ if it meant that his Jewish family would be believers. That is deep anguish—much like a parent has for a child who is hurting. Parents would gladly take on the pain and suffering for their child. The reality is that his people have to make their own choices even though God has already chosen them (chapter 10).

In verses 6—18, Paul uses different biblical examples to demonstrate that God has not failed the people that he chose. As he writes in verse 6, “don’t blame God for your lack of faith.” Now comes the tricky part. God chose Israel to be his people and he has not forgotten that choice. God has been merciful to Israel (v. 16). Abraham had two children—he had more after Sarah died, but for Paul’s purposes he mentions the two. But God chose Isaac as the son of promise, and from that son came Israel. Ishmael, implied but not named, was not chosen. Jacob was chosen over Esau. God raised up Pharaoh in order to reveal his great mercy to Jacob’s generations—Israel.

In verse 19, the unnamed opposition appears. The questions are not born out of a desire to know God’s will more but come from a place of rebellion. The intent of the questions, coming from Paul’s argument that God is the one who decides who will receive his mercy and who will not, is this: “Why would God hold us responsible for his choices? If God has already chosen who receives his mercy and who doesn’t, then we are mere pawns and cannot be held for our own choices.” Paul’s response in verses 20—23 is to remind his readers that their response reveals an unwilling spirit to accept the sovereignty of God. Paul says God is the potter and we are the clay. Do you want to argue with God about his wisdom in making you as you are? That puts us back to the garden—we can know as much as God if we eat the fruit.

Paul will deal with human choices in chapter 10 and the intent of God for Israel in chapter 11, but for now he is stressing one significant point: God chooses who will receive his mercy and who will not. In that choosing, God reveals that he is sovereign—that he does what he wants with that which he has created. Our acceptance of that says more about us than about God.

So What?

If God gets to decide, then how is it that we are held accountable for our choices? If God has already chosen who is going to receive his mercy and grace and who will not, then what difference does it make what I do? These are the questions that arise out of chapter 9. The questions assume a certain fatalism—that my choices mean very little, that God has already decided and I don’t have any control over it. Isn’t that what this is really about—control?

Can we let God be God and be okay with that? This means we have to bow to him. This means that we have to relinquish control. It means that we have to admit that we aren’t in control. All of this makes us question God. In chapter 10, Paul will explain how our choices work in concert with God’s sovereignty, but in the meantime we are pressed to deal with our control issues.

We like being in control. We like calling the shots. Then we want to hold God accountable for making choices that we don’t agree with. We want to control God. We want to be God. It is hard to admit that we are not in control. Look closely at verse 20. The subtle reminder is in the final question: “Why did you make me this way?” Did you hear it? Do you see it? There has to be an admission on our part that we are exactly as God intended for us to be. To make that admission is to relinquish control to a degree. We aren’t pawns, but we are in the process of learning to trust God more and that he knows what he is doing.

Since God chooses—just as he chose before Jacob and Esau were born—then God’s ways are too lofty for us. Our God is beyond understanding. We get glimpses and revelational writings in scripture, and as these are unfolded, we begin to think that we know God, but we don’t. He is so much more than we can ever know. If I can control God, then I am God. If God is controllable, then he isn’t God. Submitting to God takes away having to know everything, control everything, or understand everything. Trusting God results in praise. Look at 11:33ff. The invitation stands.

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