Tag: Chruch health

Romans can be a complicated read.

It’s is not a letter you rush through. It is dense, pastoral, theological, and deeply practical. Trying to distill its message into a handful of lessons (in the way Romans is often taught) is a tall order…one I had to accomplish recently at an adult retreat for another church in our area.

In my experience, Romans is usually referenced, but not studied. It’s venerated for being “theological,” but never really wrestled with by church Bible studies.

But Romans was never written to be admired from a distance. It’s not supposed to be a theology textbook. It was written to shape a community.

And the struggle the Roman church faced is not all that different from the struggles our churches in the United States face today.

Before Paul ever gets into the weeds of doctrine, justification, or the Spirit, he is addressing a church fractured by power, privilege, and competing visions of righteousness. His aim is nothing less than replacing those things with the peace that comes from the gospel of Jesus Christ.

That purpose is captured succinctly in Romans 1:17:

“For in the gospel the righteousness of God is revealed—a righteousness that is by faith from first to last.”

If the righteousness of God is revealed in the gospel, then the gospel must transform us. God’s righteousness is not meant to be added onto our existing assumptions—it is meant to replace them.

Put simply:
If I want to be among “the righteous who live by faith,” I must adopt God’s definition of righteousness, not my own. And that only happens through faith in Jesus Christ, revealed through the gospel.

When “Righteous Community” Gets Complicated

Early in my ministry, I experienced firsthand what happens when a church says it wants to be righteous—but hasn’t fully allowed the gospel to redefine what righteousness looks like.

A church I was working for had been stagnant for a while. Leadership was dwindling. The preacher was nearing retirement. Elders were ill or passing away. Deacon was largely a title, not the description of “service” one would expect. Growth had long since plateaued.

A few months after being hired as a youth minister fresh out of college, I unexpectedly became the preaching minister.

We wanted to be a righteous community—followers of Jesus committed to growing the kingdom and reaching the lost. And once we started doing that, people showed up.

New residents. Longtime locals turning their lives around. Newlyweds. Newly remarried. Newly re-remarried.

People were being baptized, and attendance grew.

Then one Sunday afternoon, the phone started ringing.

One tearful call after another. People telling me they would never step foot in our church again—maybe any church ever again.

A longtime member had taken it upon herself to call these new people and tell them they were not welcome at “her church.”

That same day, an elder resigned after receiving threats from the same person—because, in her mind, leadership was letting “ruining” her church.

That story still haunts me. Not because it’s unique—but because it’s far too familiar.

When the church we know starts to look different, we can begin acting in profoundly un-Christlike ways. If we are not intentionally shaped by the gospel, we will default to protecting our preferences, our comfort, and our sense of control—and we will destroy our witness about Christ in the process.

The Problem in Rome

The Roman church faced its own version of this crisis.

The gospel had taken root in Rome, but history complicated everything. Emperor Claudius expelled Jews from the city, forcing Jewish Christians to leave (see Acts 18:2). Gentile believers became the majority. Leadership shifted. Customs changed.

Eventually, Jewish believers returned.

And when they did, the church looked different. Bacon was being served at the potluck, so to speak.

What they experienced felt like a loss of power, influence, and identity. And that perceived loss produced division.

Rome itself reinforced hierarchy:
– Citizens over non-citizens.
– Men over women.
– Free people over slaves.

And yet, when Paul lists the members of the Roman churches in Romans 16, the picture is stunning.

Women in leadership. Gentiles entrusted with Scripture. Slaves named alongside free people. House churches filled with diversity.

Phoebe—a Gentile woman—is the deacon letter carrier, interpreter, and likely the one who performed Romans before the congregations.

Paul could have solved the tension by sorting people into separate churches. Jews meet with Jews, and Gentiles meet with Gentiles. That’s the easy solution.

But Paul didn’t do that.

Instead, he wrote Romans pleading with both groups to be unified.

Because unity in diversity is not a problem to fix—it is the gospel on display.

The righteousness of God is revealed not just in what the church believes, but in how it lives together.

And therein lies the lesson for American churches. Instead of constantly attacking each other over minor differences in understanding, instead of separating along racial lines, instead of maintaining the “us versus them” identity wars in the pulpits, we should be united.

We serve one Lord.

We share one baptism.

The same Spirit points us to the same Savior.

Our likeness far outweighs our differences. And that’s what Paul emphasizes to the Roman church.

“There is no difference between Jew and Gentile, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and all are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.”

Maybe if we will focus on Paul’s message in Romans, then our churches can begin to embrace the unity in diversity that proclaims the Gospel rather than our divided communities that preach against it.