A Letter to Rome: Romans 1:1-17

The lamp flickered in Gaius's house in Corinth. Paul sat, his eyes distant, composing in his mind before speaking. Tertius waited, stylus ready, fresh parchment spread before him.

Paul began.

"Paul, a servant of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle and set apart for the gospel of God."

Tertius wrote. The stylus scratched against parchment. Paul—who had once been Saul, who had once breathed threats, who had once held coats at a stoning—now called himself servant. Doulos. Slave of Christ Jesus.

"The gospel he promised beforehand through his prophets in the Holy Scriptures regarding his Son."

Paul paused. His Son. Everything came back to that. The prophets had spoken. The Scriptures had promised. And now the promise had a face, a name, a cross, an empty tomb.

"Who as to his earthly life was a descendant of David, and who through the Spirit of holiness was appointed the Son of God in power by his resurrection from the dead: Jesus Christ our Lord."

Tertius glanced up. Paul's voice had thickened on those last words. Jesus Christ our Lord. The man Paul had persecuted was God's Son. The resurrection proved it. Power confirmed it.

"Through him we received grace and apostleship to call all the Gentiles to the obedience that comes from faith for his name's sake."

Grace and apostleship. Paul had received both on a Damascus road—grace that forgave a murderer, apostleship that commissioned a persecutor. Now his task: call the Gentiles. All of them. To obedient faith.

"And you also are among those Gentiles who are called to belong to Jesus Christ."

Paul had never been to Rome. He had never seen the house churches there, never met most of the believers. But they belonged to Jesus Christ. That made them family.

"To all in Rome who are loved by God and called to be his holy people: Grace and peace to you from God our Father and from the Lord Jesus Christ."

Grace and peace. The greeting Paul used in every letter—Greek grace, Hebrew peace, fused together. From God our Father. From the Lord Jesus Christ. Two sources, one blessing.

"First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for all of you, because your faith is being reported all over the world."

Tertius wrote the thanksgiving. The Roman church's faith had traveled—merchants, soldiers, slaves carrying word of believers in the capital. All over the world, people knew: there are Christians in Rome.

"God, whom I serve in my spirit in preaching the gospel of his Son, is my witness how constantly I remember you in my prayers at all times."

Paul's prayers. Constantly. At all times. He remembered churches he'd planted, people he'd never met, believers in cities he'd only heard about. Rome was on that list.

"And I pray that now at last by God's will the way may be opened for me to come to you."

At last. Paul had wanted to come for years. Hindered every time. But perhaps now—perhaps this letter would prepare the way.

"I long to see you so that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to make you strong—that is, that you and I may be mutually encouraged by each other's faith."

He caught himself. Not just giving but receiving. Mutual encouragement. Even an apostle needed the faith of others.

"I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, that I planned many times to come to you but have been prevented from doing so until now, in order that I might have a harvest among you, just as I have had among the other Gentiles."

Many times planned. Every time prevented. But the harvest was coming. Paul could feel it.

"I am obligated both to Greeks and non-Greeks, both to the wise and the foolish."

Obligated. The debt of the gospel. Paul owed everyone the message—the cultured Greeks, the barbarian others, the philosophers, the simple. Everyone.

"That is why I am so eager to preach the gospel also to you who are in Rome."

Eager. The word burned. Rome—the center of the world, the seat of empire, the heart of power. Paul wanted to preach Christ there.

"For I am not ashamed of the gospel."

Tertius paused. Paul's voice had dropped to something fierce, something forged in beatings and shipwrecks and stonings.

"I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes: first to the Jew, then to the Gentile."

Power. Dunamis. The gospel wasn't just information—it was power. Salvation power. For everyone who believes. Jew first—the historical order. Then Gentile—the expanding circle.

"For in the gospel the righteousness of God is revealed—a righteousness that is by faith from first to last, just as it is written: The righteous will live by faith."

Paul's voice steadied. This was it. The thesis. Everything that followed would unpack this sentence. Righteousness from God. Revealed in the gospel. By faith. From first to last. Habakkuk's ancient word now explained: the righteous will live by faith.

Tertius finished the line. Paul sat back. The introduction complete. Now the argument would begin—the longest, most careful explanation of the gospel Paul would ever write.

And Rome would read it.