Romans 8:18–34

April 2025

In the middle of Paul’s letter to the Romans, he pauses. The tone softens, as if he leans in to speak not just to minds, but to hearts that are tired—maybe even breaking. His theology doesn’t disappear; it just becomes more personal.

He knows there is suffering, frustration, maybe even some disillusionment among the Christians in Rome, but he doesn’t offer clichés. Instead, he lifts their eyes toward the "city of God" (Ps. 46).

He tells them—yes, it’s hard. But this isn’t the end of the story. He uses a surprising image: childbirth. Not a distant metaphor, but something visceral, raw, and real. The groaning of creation, of our own bodies, is not meaningless. Like labor pains, this sorrow signals that something is on the way. Something beautiful, long-awaited, and worth the ache.

Then Paul shifts again, knowing that when pain lingers, even the strongest among us grow quiet. Sometimes, we run out of prayers. We don’t know what to say. And it’s in that silence, Paul says, that the Spirit speaks for us. Groans are enough. God hears those too.

Paul doesn’t ignore the confusion of suffering—he steps into it. He reminds us that God is still shaping something in the mess. Not in spite of it—but through it.

We all know the feeling: that tug-of-war between who we are and who we long to be (Rom. 7:24). Paul knew it too. And he tells us it is the place where he does deepest work.

Because when we come to the end of ourselves, we stop pretending. We start reaching.

And when we do—when we cry out in weakness, when we drop the performance—we find something unexpected: Jesus. Not watching from a distance, but living His very life in us.

Even now. Especially now.