Paula Macleod’s sermon. 14.6.26: Romans 5.1-8

Reading Romans is like walking in a dense forest, but instead of wading through tall grass and getting tangled up in brambles, Paul takes us through long and serious chapters in which he has shown the reality of sin, the limits of human righteousness, and the sheer necessity of grace. But then Paul takes us to a bright clearing lit by sunlight and the mood changes, and with that shaft of light comes a lighter tone because Paul begins to speak not only of what God has done in principle, but of what that means for believers now.
He says: “Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.” V1
That one sentence alone is enough to sustain a lifetime of Christian reflection. To be justified is to be put right with God, not by our own effort, not by our own moral record, but by trust in what Christ has done.
And the result is peace.
This peace is not merely an inward feeling, though it may bring deep comfort. Paul says something greater: we have peace with God. The hostility caused by sin has been overcome. The burden of separation has been removed. The case against us, which we could never answer by ourselves, has been dealt with in Jesus Christ. In a world where so many people live with anxiety, guilt, restlessness and fear, this word “peace” is not sentimental language. It is the announcement of a new reality, like the stillness after a storm has passed and the first light breaks through the clouds. Through Christ, the relationship is restored. Through Christ, the distance is closed. Through Christ, those who were far off are brought near.
Paul goes on: “Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God.” Notice the language of access and standing. This is not the language of someone nervously lingering at the edge of God’s presence, uncertain whether they are welcome. This is the language of confidence, of belonging, of being brought into a place where grace is not occasional but permanent. We stand in grace as a tree stands in good soil, not because it holds itself up by willpower alone, but because its roots are held and fed by what lies beneath.
The Christian life does not begin by grace and continue by self-sufficiency. It begins by grace, it is sustained by grace, and it will be completed by grace. Every prayer we offer, every act of worship, every step of discipleship rests not on our worthiness, but on God’s generosity in Christ.
And because we stand in grace, we may also rejoice in hope. Christian hope is not wishful thinking. It is not vague optimism that things may somehow improve. It is confidence rooted in the character of God and in the finished work of Christ. Hope looks forward to the glory of God—not simply as something dazzling to admire from a distance, but as something we are called to share. The God who justifies also promises to complete what he has begun. So, Paul teaches us that the Christian lives between grace received and glory promised, like the earth between seedtime and harvest, and that this future gives shape and strength to the present.
Then Paul says something startling:
“And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings.”
At first hearing, those words may sound almost impossible. How can suffering ever be a cause of rejoicing? Paul does not mean that pain is pleasant, or that grief is unreal, or that Christians should pretend that hardship does not wound us. Scripture never asks us to deny sorrow. Jesus himself wept. The psalms are filled with lament. The church has always known tears. But Paul is teaching that suffering is not empty for those who are in Christ. It is not meaningless. God can work within suffering in such a way that it becomes, mysteriously and painfully, a place of formation, as winter’s cold can prepare the ground for spring’s unseen growth.
Paul names the process carefully: suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope. Endurance is that grace by which we keep going when we might otherwise give up. Character is the tested quality that emerges when faith has passed through fire and, by God’s mercy, has not been destroyed. We might think of a tree shaped by many winds: its branches may bear the marks of weather, but its roots have gone deeper. And from such tested character comes deeper hope—not a thinner hope, but a stronger one. A hope that has been prayed through the night, buried the dead and still sung hymns, sat by hospital beds, faced disappointment, carried loss, and yet discovered that Christ remains faithful. That hope is not fragile. It has roots.
Paul then gives the reason Christian hope does not disappoint us: “because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.” Hope is not sustained by our willpower alone. It is sustained because God himself has acted within us. The Holy Spirit bears witness to the love of God, not as an abstract theory but as a present reality. The image Paul uses is generous and overflowing: God’s love has been poured out, not measured with reluctance, not given sparingly, but lavishly. It is like rain falling on dry ground after drought; the earth slowly softens, and what looked lifeless begins, by hidden grace, to live again. There are seasons when faith feels thin and words seem small. In such times, the church returns to this promise: God has not abandoned his people. His love is not absent. His Spirit has been given.
And Paul does not leave that love undefined. He points us straight to the cross:
“For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly.”
The gospel is not the story of God rewarding the deserving. It is the story of God loving the undeserving. Paul piles up the words so that we cannot miss the point: weak, ungodly, sinners. He is describing us apart from grace. He is removing every illusion that we were somehow lovely enough to earn redemption. Christ did not die for us because we were already righteous. Christ died for us while we were helpless.
This is what makes grace grace.
It is given not in response to our goodness, but in response to our need.
But God’s love goes beyond every human pattern:
“But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.”
This is the centre of the passage and the heart of the Christian faith. God’s love is not merely spoken; it is demonstrated. It is not postponed until we improve ourselves; it comes to meet us in our rebellion and brokenness. The cross is not only an example of love; it is the saving act by which love rescues. Whenever we doubt the goodness of God, we are called back to Calvary. Whenever we wonder whether grace can really be for people like us, we are called back to Calvary. Whenever we are tempted to measure God’s love by our circumstances alone, we are called back to Calvary.
So, what does Romans 5:1–8 ask of us today?
First, it asks us to receive the gift of peace with humility and gratitude. We do not make peace with God; we receive it through our Lord Jesus Christ. Secondly, it asks us to stand firm in grace, rooted and upheld by the mercy of God. Many Christians live as though they have been invited into grace but must remain there by anxiety and effort.
Paul says no: this grace is where we stand. Thirdly, it asks us to let hope shape our endurance. Suffering is real, but it is not final. In Christ, even suffering can become a servant of hope, like rain and wind that do not destroy the tree but deepen its roots.
And finally, this passage calls us to live from the certainty of God’s love. Not because life is easy, not because we always feel strong, but because Christ died for the ungodly, and that means there is no depth of need beyond the reach of his mercy.
Amen.