Romans 1 | The Beauty of Holiness

The Foundation: A Servant’s Message

The opening words of Paul’s letter strike with deliberate force: “Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ, called to be an apostle, separated unto the gospel of God” (Romans 1:1). Here we encounter a foundational principle that separates the gospel from every competing ideology, philosophy, and religious scheme: the messenger is neither its inventor nor its ultimate authority. Paul does not arrive bearing his own opinions, polished by years of rabbinical training. He arrives as a servant, a commissioned herald whose very words have been entrusted to him by the God he serves.

This distinction bears particular weight in our contemporary moment. We live in an age of relentless self-promotion, where every individual fancies himself a creator of meaning and architect of his own truth. Yet the gospel stands in stark opposition to this zeitgeist. Paul was “separated unto the gospel of God,” set apart, ordained, and commissioned for a task that preceded his very existence. He belongs to something greater than himself. His authority derives not from personal achievement or intellectual prowess, but from the God who called him.

What makes this claim credible? Not simple assertion, but historical rootedness. The gospel was “promised afore by his prophets in the holy scriptures” (Romans 1:2). This is no novel invention sprung from the fevered imagination of first-century enthusiasts. Long before Christ walked the earth, before Paul encountered Him on the Damascus road, the prophets of Israel spoke of God’s redemptive purposes. From Abraham’s seed came one who would be wounded for our transgressions; from David’s line came a King who would reign forever; from the tribe of Judah came the Shiloh to whom the gathering of peoples belonged.

The scripture is called “holy” precisely because its contents bear the character of God Himself. It is not only a collection of human wisdom, moral philosophy, or inspirational literature, though it may contain elements of each. Rather, the word itself carries God’s imprint, it speaks of eternal matters, of the Lord’s purposes, and of the only escape route from the terrible consequence of sin. Holiness, in this context, signifies God’s separateness, His absolute otherness, and His regulatory principle governing all reality. The holy scriptures communicate holy purposes.

Christ Incarnate and Risen: The Declaration

The gospel, at its heart, concerns a Person. Paul immediately brings us to the centerpiece of God’s redemptive plan: “Concerning his Son Jesus Christ our Lord, which was made of the seed of David according to the flesh” (Romans 1:3). The phrase cannot be overemphasized, Jesus was made of David’s seed according to the flesh. This is historical and genealogical truth, not mythological fancy.

Too many contemporary minds treat the incarnation as though it were a spiritual metaphor or symbolic event. But the apostle insists on concrete, undeniable reality. Jesus Christ was born into the lineage of Israel’s greatest king. He possessed true human nature, flesh and blood, hunger and thirst, weariness and pain. He lived within history, subject to its constraints and sequences. He was not a phantom, nor some ethereal spirit pretending at humanity. He subjected Himself to the limitations of human existence, experiencing temptation (yet without sin), sorrow, and the approach of death.

And yet, and this is the glory of Christianity, He remained throughout His earthly life untouched by sin’s corruption. He kept God’s law perfectly. He never spoke an unkind word in anger, never acted from self-interest, never yielded to the thousand temptations that assail human flesh. The God who knew no sin entered into solidarity with sinning men, yet remained holy.

But incarnation alone does not complete the gospel’s claim. The apostle moves immediately to what vindicated all of Christ’s words and works: “And declared to be the Son of God with power according to the spirit of holiness by the resurrection from the dead” (Romans 1:4).

Consider the precision of this language. Jesus was not declared to become the Son of God through the resurrection. He was declared to be what He had always been. The resurrection was not an elevation but a vindication, the Father’s public announcement to all creation that this Man, whom the world had mocked and murdered, was indeed God’s Son. In raising Jesus from the dead, God did more than interrupt the laws of nature. He demonstrated that justice had been satisfied, that the debt had been paid, and that death itself, that final enemy, had no legitimate claim upon Him.

Notice the qualifying phrase: “according to the spirit of holiness.” This is not simply power run wild, not the arbitrary exercise of divine force. This is power regulated by righteousness. God could not raise Christ from the dead by circumventing His own holiness. If He did so, He would contradict Himself and cease to be holy. Rather, the resurrection occurred in perfect accord with His holy character. Sin’s wages had been paid. Righteousness had been satisfied. Therefore, death could not hold the one who had made full atonement.

This matters immensely for those who would believe. His resurrection proves that He possesses authority over death, sin, and Satan himself. It becomes the foundation upon which our hope is built. As Paul would later write, “Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 15:57). We are invited into His triumph.

Sinful Man: Confronted by Beauty, Convicted by Truth

The gospel cannot be rightly understood apart from the diagnosis it offers of the human condition. Modern sentimentality suggests we are fundamentally good, capable beings marred only by circumstances, poverty, or poor education. But reality paints a different picture, one rendered all the more stark when we encounter genuine beauty and goodness in this sin-cursed world.

In this present age of evil, we occasionally encounter something that arrests our attention and humbles us by its very purity. A mother’s sacrifice for her child. A stranger’s mercy toward an enemy. An act of costly forgiveness. These moments stand in sharp relief against the pervasive darkness. Notice what the news media chooses to report: wickedness, violence, and decay. Why? Because goodness is exceptional, an anomaly in the ordinary landscape of human conduct. When something truly kind, beautiful, and pure appears, it interrupts our default expectations.

And here lies a crucial truth: when genuine goodness is encountered, it reveals our sinfulness without words. We are forced to recognize, wordlessly but unmistakably, that we are falling short of what we should be. The confrontation is not argumentative but existential. A broken person confronting a holy person cannot help but see the gap.

This conviction is legitimate and warranted. Integrity demands that we acknowledge our failure. The scripture does not mince words: “There is none that doeth good, no, not one” (Romans 3:12). This is not hyperbole or poetic exaggeration. It is diagnosis. We cannot do anything right with respect to standing before God. We are, as the phrase goes, “fallen short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). The honest person, faced with this reality, must acknowledge: I am a sinner in a sin-cursed world.

But here lies the tragedy that ensnares so many: they become stuck in condemnation. They recognize their sin with crystal clarity, and there they remain, mired in guilt and despair. Conviction becomes their terminus, not their gateway. They have glimpsed their illness but never found the cure. And so, trapped between the recognition of their wretchedness and the absence of hope, they reach for anything that might numb the pain.

This is where the gospel enters with its two stark pathways, each one offering a fundamentally different response to the reality of human fallenness.

The Two Pathways: Refuge in Christ or The Ways of Man

When confronted with the undeniable truth of personal sinfulness and need, every person must choose. There is no neutral ground, no escape into indifference. The pain of reality will demand a response. The only question is what form that response will take.

The Pathway to Christ

One response leads toward humiliation and ultimately toward transformation. A person recognizes his condition, bows before God in genuine repentance, a turning around, a reversal of direction, and places his faith in Christ’s death and resurrection as his only hope. This act of faith, though it costs the ego everything, opens the door to everything the gospel offers.

The Bible promises remarkable things to such a person: “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new” (2 Corinthians 5:17). This is not sentiment. The Holy Spirit enters the believer’s life, beginning a process of transformation that will continue throughout earthly existence and culminate in glorification. The burden of guilt is lifted. The accusation is answered. The final judgment has been forestalled. Victory replaces despair. Rejoicing replaces lamentation. The soul finds refuge and help.

This pathway is narrow and demands much. It requires that the ego be crucified, that old patterns be abandoned, that new allegiances be formed. But it leads toward genuine restoration, toward becoming what God intends, toward an inheritance that will never pass away.

The Ways of Man

But many take an entirely different route. Faced with the pain of their condition, they reach for something, anything, to numb the hurt. Some turn to chemical substances, drugs, alcohol, marijuana, seeking momentary relief from the emotional weight of reality. Others pursue sexual perversion, pornography, or codependent relationships, using intimate connection as a kind of anesthetic. Still others embrace self-help systems and philosophies, constructing elaborate mental frameworks that flatter the ego and postpone reckoning.

There is a terrible honesty in addiction that bears noting. An addict does not usually believe the substance will solve his fundamental problem. But he knows it will numb him for a time. It will make the pain bearable for an evening, a week, a season. And so he reaches for it again, and again, and again, each time requiring more to achieve the same relief. As addiction deepens, a vicious cycle emerges: numbing pain leads to consequences that generate greater pain, which demands heavier numbing. The person cannot drink enough alcohol to solve the problem drinking creates. He cannot take enough drugs. He cannot numb it forever.

What distinguishes these pathways is not sophistication or respectability. The self-help system pursued by an educated person follows the same trajectory as the crack cocaine pursued by the desperate. Both avoid the only solution. Both lead toward bondage and death, though the pathway traveled in between may be substantially different, the final destination is the same.

Here lies the gospel’s most penetrating observation: You will find something to break the emotional pain of reality. The question is what. This is not a matter of whether pain will be addressed, but how, and at what ultimate cost.

The Beauty of Holiness: God’s Power Regulated

To understand why Christ’s sacrifice was necessary, we must grasp a principle that modernity finds particularly difficult: the beauty of holiness is power regulated by righteousness.

God possesses absolute power. This is not in question. But His holiness means that His power is not exercised arbitrarily or according to whim. It is governed by His own righteous character. He cannot violate His own nature. He cannot overlook sin as though it were trifling. He cannot offer cheap forgiveness that ignores the terrible weight of transgression.

Consider the implications. If God were powerful, and He had infinite might but no holiness, no regulatory principle governing its use, He would be terrifying. Such a being could destroy you on impulse, remake reality according to arbitrary preference, and commit any horror without consequence. He would be a despot, a tyrant, worthy not of worship but of dread.

But God is holy. His power operates within the bounds of perfect justice and righteousness. He will not act outside these bounds. He will not abuse His authority. He will not break His word. He will not act unjustly. This makes Him glorious rather than terrible. This makes Him trustworthy.

The gospel of Christ is the direct outworking of this principle. God could not simply declare universal amnesty for sin, as though the problem were trifling. To do so would violate His holiness and render Him unjust. How could a Judge of all the earth do wickedly by overlooking transgression? The illustration is instructive: a murderer in the criminal court receiving amnesty is not justice. The law is mocked. The judge’s mercy becomes complicit in wickedness.

Therefore, God Himself provided the solution that His own holiness demanded. He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to bear the penalty that justice required. Christ “was made to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in him” (2 Corinthians 5:21). His sacrifice was the only offering capable of satisfying God’s requirements, perfect in its victim, absolute in its efficacy, eternally sufficient.

In Gethsemane, Christ confronted the weight of what awaited Him. The scripture tells us that He “prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground” (Luke 22:44). The emotional stress of contemplating the cross brought Him near unto death. He asked His Father: “Is there some other way?” And the answer was dead silence. There is no other way. No alternative offering, no substitute solution, no escape route that preserves both God’s justice and His mercy.

Yet other religions do offer alternatives, and this is precisely why they must be rejected. Islam directs its followers to worship at the tomb of a dead man, seeking from death what only life can give. Catholicism attempts to add to Christ’s work through indulgences and priestly authority, as though His sacrifice were insufficient. Buddhism and Hinduism offer the illusion of self-improvement and karmic advancement, the notion that human effort can bridge the infinite gap between the finite and the infinite. But you cannot go to a dead man to get life. You cannot supplement a perfect sacrifice with human works. You cannot escape the consequences of sin through self-effort.

Christ’s cross, by contrast, offers what no other religion proposes: genuine, permanent, and complete forgiveness of sins founded upon substitutionary sacrifice. His blood was shed “for the remission of sins” (Matthew 26:28). His death was “once for all” (Hebrews 10:12), needing no repetition, no supplementation, no addition of human merit.

The Intensity and Beauty of His Suffering

To appreciate the gospel’s offer requires that we understand what it cost the Son of God to purchase our redemption. This is not meant to generate maudlin sentiment, but sober recognition of the terrible price paid for our escape from hell.

Before the cross, Christ suffered intense emotional distress. He was “exceeding sorrowful, even unto death” (Matthew 26:38). The agony was physical as well as spiritual, the weight of knowing that He would bear the accumulated sins of all who would ever come to Him, that He would stand before the judgment of God as though He were the perpetrator of every transgression He would ever atone for. In His body, He would receive, in earnest, the compound punishment of every sinner that would come into this world.

Then came the brutality of the execution itself. He was beaten by Roman soldiers, the flesh torn from His back by the lictor’s whip. They crowned Him with thorns and mocked Him. They stripped Him naked and nailed Him to a cross, a device designed to maximize suffering and shame over an extended period. The agony would have been beyond description: muscles cramping as they bore His weight, lungs struggling for breath, every heartbeat echoing with pain.

Yet the physical torment, terrible as it was, was not the deepest dimension of His suffering. He was abandoned by His apostles, scattered like sheep without a shepherd. He was abandoned by Pilate, who washed his hands of responsibility even as he signed the death warrant. He was abandoned by the people, who moments before had hailed Him now screamed for His blood. Most profoundly, He was abandoned by His Father.

“And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? that is to say, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46). At that moment, as He bore the sins of the world, the Father turned His face away. The intimate communion that had always existed between Father and Son was broken. He tasted the isolation that sin creates, the severance from God that is sin’s deepest consequence. This was His substitution for us.

And yet, observe the mercy in the midst of the horror, in the midst of this agony, He prayed: “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34). While suffering the consequences of our sins, He offered forgiveness to those who crucified Him. This reveals the nature of His sacrifice. He did not come as an avenger but as a redeemer. His death was not simply payment but also intercession. Even as His blood dripped upon the earth, He pleaded for the forgiveness of His murderers.

This is the heart of the gospel. This is why it alone deserves the allegiance of fallen man.

Worship in the Beauty of Holiness: The Proper Response

The appropriate response to such a revelation is worship. The Bible repeatedly calls God’s people to “worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness” (Psalm 96:9; 1 Chronicles 16:29). This phrase connects three eternal realities.

First, it speaks of power regulated by righteousness. God’s holiness regulates the exercise of His power. He will accomplish whatever He purposes, but He will do so in perfect accord with justice and mercy. “The zeal of the Lord of hosts will perform this” (Isaiah 9:7). What God wills, God accomplishes, not through brute force but through the perfect orchestration of righteousness.

Second, it testifies that salvation arises from holiness. Christ’s death was not in contradiction to God’s holiness but rather its direct expression. A holy God must deal with sin. A holy God must maintain the distinction between righteousness and unrighteousness. And a holy God must provide the only just solution to humanity’s dilemma. His sacrifice was not despite His holiness but because of it. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). Forgiveness of sins flows from His justice, not in contradiction to it.

Third, it demonstrates that mercy flows from justice. The mercy offered in the gospel is not cheap grace or casual forgiveness that ignores sin’s weight. It is mercy purchased through justice. The debt was paid. The penalty was borne. The requirement was satisfied. Those who receive Christ receive “the atonement,” reconciliation to God “through the blood of his cross” (Colossians 1:20). We are no longer estranged from our Maker but restored to His favor.

To worship God in the beauty of His holiness requires a proper posture. When King Jehoshaphat received word that enemies surrounded his kingdom, he assembled the people to seek the Lord. “And Jehoshaphat bowed his head with his face to the ground: and all Judah and the inhabitants of Jerusalem fell before the Lord, worshiping the Lord” (2 Chronicles 20:18). This is the physicality of genuine worship, the body humbled before God, the knee bent, the face lowered. Not in self-abasement but in proper submission to One infinitely greater than ourselves.

And what does such worship produce? The scripture tells us: “Believe in the Lord your God, so shall ye be established; believe his prophets, so shall ye prosper” (2 Chronicles 20:20). Belief is the foundational act. Not complicated ritual, not impossible moral achievement, not elaborate theological system, but simple trust. God asks only that you believe. Believe in His character. Believe in His promises. Believe in the work of Christ. Believe that His mercy “endureth for ever” (Psalm 100:5), that is, it continues throughout all time for those who have received it.

The Certainty of Judgment: Two Destinies

Yet the gospel’s offer is not eternal. The scripture makes this clear with repeated urgency. God’s judgment approaches. The books will be opened. “The Lord shall judge the people righteously” (Psalm 96:13). There is no appeal, no negotiation, no escape except through faith in Christ.

Psalm 29 paints a vivid picture of God’s power in judgment: “The voice of the Lord is powerful; the voice of the Lord is full of majesty” (Psalm 29:4). His voice breaks the cedars of Lebanon. He makes them skip like calves. His voice divides the flames of fire. He shakes the wilderness and makes the hinds to calve prematurely. If you are not one of God’s people, you will experience this power as judgment rather than blessing. But to His people, He promises: “The Lord will give strength unto his people; the Lord will bless his people with peace” (Psalm 29:11).

Two outcomes await all humanity. For those who have received Christ through faith, there is strength, blessing, peace, and eternal inheritance. For those who have rejected His offer, there is the full force of God’s holiness directed against them, His justice unmitigated, His wrath unrestrained, His judgment unappealable.

The time to choose is now. “His mercy endureth for ever,” but not toward those who have rejected it. There comes a closing of opportunity. “Boast not thyself of tomorrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth” (Proverbs 27:1). The Epistle to the Hebrews presses the point: “To day if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts” (Hebrews 3:7-8). Not tomorrow. Not in some distant future when life has been sorted out. Today!

The Offer: Universal in Scope, Personal in Application

The gospel is democratically offered to all who will receive it. There is no restriction based on ethnicity, social status, moral history, or intellectual capacity. “By whom we have received grace and apostleship, for obedience to the faith among all nations, for his name’s sake” (Romans 1:5). This grace has been received through Christ, and it extends “among all nations,” every people group, every culture, every continent.

But universal offer does not eliminate personal responsibility. “Among whom are ye also the called of Jesus Christ” (Romans 1:6). The offer comes to you specifically. You are addressed. You are called (2 Thessalonians 2:13-14). The question confronting you is immediate and personal.

And what is your status if you receive Him? The scripture is extravagant in its promise: “Beloved of God, called to be saints” (Romans 1:7). You are beloved of God, not because of your lovableness but because of His nature. His love is infinite, eternal, and sacrificial. He demonstrated it at the cross. You are called to be saints, set apart for His purposes, not because you have achieved moral perfection (sanctification is progressive; you will never be sinless in this life), but because you are in Christ, who is holy, and His holiness covers you.

The greeting Paul offers concludes with this benediction: “Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ” (Romans 1:7). Grace is, most fundamentally, unmerited favor, the enabling power to live righteously, the foundation of all spiritual life. Peace is reconciliation with God (peace with God) and inner tranquility in the midst of trial (the peace of God). Both flow directly from Christ’s finished work. They are not achievements but gifts. They are not earned but received.

The Believer’s Unfinished Task

Yet receiving the gospel is not the terminus of our responsibility. It is the beginning. Those who have received Christ now bear the obligation to extend this offer to all creatures. Each day that passes and we fail in that endeavor, we are failing the Lord Jesus Christ. This is not comfortable to hear. It cuts against our natural tendency toward self-focused spirituality, where we concern ourselves primarily with our own sanctification and neglect the commission to proclaim redemption.

What should occupy the interval between our salvation and either our death or the rapture? Not only personal piety, though that matters. Not personal prosperity, though God may grant it. Rather, active participation in the work of extending the gospel into all the world. “Go ye therefore, and teach all nations” (Matthew 28:19). “And the gospel must first be published among all nations” (Mark 13:10). “That repentance and remission of sins should be preached in his name among all nations, beginning at Jerusalem” (Luke 24:47).

This is the mandate of the Church in the Age of Grace. This is the work committed to us by the One who purchased our redemption at infinite cost. Every day of delay, every conversation where the gospel is not mentioned, every opportunity passed by represents a failure of stewardship.

The Final Word: Humility Opens the Door

The pathway to salvation begins with humility, genuine acknowledgment of one’s sinfulness and need, combined with absolute confidence that Christ alone can meet that need. This posture is not popular in an age of self-esteem and therapeutic religion. But it is unavoidable. The person who refuses to humble himself before God will never receive salvation from God.

Yet humility is not humiliation. It is not self-condemnation without hope. Rather, it is the honest assessment of one’s condition paired with trust in the One who has already purchased the solution. It is bowing before the mighty hand of God (1 Peter 5:6) precisely because you recognize that His mighty hand is raised not to crush you but to lift you up.

This humility provides access to the goodness, purity, and holiness of the Lord Jesus Christ. You are invited into His presence, called into His family, offered a place at His table, promised an inheritance that will never fade or diminish. You are invited to worship Him in the beauty of His holiness, not from afar, as a servant before a distant master, but as a redeemed child before your Father.

The time is short. Mercy is available, but it is not available forever. “His mercy endureth for ever,” for those who have received it. But you must receive it now, in this hour, before it is forever too late. Bow before the Lord now. Trust in Him now. Believe in Jesus Christ now. Call upon the name of the Lord now, for “whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved” (Romans 10:13).

For those who do, the promise stands eternal: You will find refuge in the Lord. You will receive help through Jesus Christ. You will gain victory and rejoicing. You will enjoy the presence and blessing of the Spirit. You will endure, by His grace, into the inheritance that will not pass away.

The gospel is not only a message of forgiveness, though it includes forgiveness. It is the revelation of God’s holiness working through Christ’s sacrifice to offer reconciliation, transformation, and eternal inheritance to all who will receive it through faith alone. This is the beauty of holiness. This is the power of the cross. This is the gospel of God.

Pastor Thomas Irvin
Victory Baptist Church
Coden, Alabama