Is God Doing It Wrong?
There is a moment most of us have experienced — watching something unfold in a way that seems backward, inefficient, or simply wrong, and feeling the almost irresistible urge to step in and say so. We do it with our families, our coworkers, and if we are honest, we do it with God. We look at the circumstances of our lives, or the state of the world, and somewhere deep in our hearts we think: this is not how I would have done it.
Romans 9 invites us into exactly that tension. It is one of the most challenging passages in all of Scripture, and it refuses to let us stay comfortable. It raises enormous questions about God's character, His faithfulness, and His plan — and it does not always answer them in the neat, tidy ways we prefer. But that discomfort is not a sign that something has gone wrong. It is an invitation to trust someone whose understanding is infinitely higher than our own.
The Anguish of Unfinished Things
The apostle Paul opens Romans 9 with raw, personal grief. He is not writing from a distance about abstract theology. He is writing as a Jewish man who loves his people deeply, who recognizes everything God has given them — the covenants, the law, the promises, the patriarchs, and the Messiah himself who came through their very lineage — and who is heartbroken that so many have rejected Jesus as that Messiah. Paul goes so far as to say he would be willing to be cut off from Christ himself if it meant his people could be saved (Romans 9:3).
This is not the posture of someone who has given up. It is the posture of someone who cares so deeply that the ache is almost unbearable. And it sets the tone for everything that follows. Before we wrestle with doctrine, we are invited to feel the weight of what is at stake.
Creation Is Groaning — And So Are We
There is something deep within the human spirit that refuses to accept the world as it is. We build systems, pass laws, develop technologies, accumulate wealth, and pursue perfect health — all in the relentless pursuit of getting things right. Philosophers have called this dream "utopia," an imaginary place where laws are flawless, citizens are happy, and life is ideal. And yet, every attempt to build it collapses under the weight of the same problem: people are in it. Somewhere along the way, someone takes advantage, someone grasps for power, and the dream unravels.
This is not a political observation. It is a spiritual one. The hunger for a perfectly ordered world is not a flaw in our thinking — it is a signal. Something in us knows the world was meant to be different. Something in us remembers, even if only faintly, that things were once good.
In the Beginning, It Was Good
The opening pages of Genesis describe a world that was not just functional but genuinely good. God created the earth, filled it with life, and placed human beings within it as image-bearers — partners in cultivating, stewarding, and ruling over creation. There was purpose. There was meaning. There was harmony between God and humanity, between humanity and the earth. Heaven and earth were not distant from one another. God dwelled with His people in His good creation.
Then came the rebellion. Adam and Eve turned away from God, and in that turning, everything fractured. Death entered. Disease followed. Violence erupted — Cain killing his own brother over an offering. Relationships broke. Creation itself came under a curse. The world that was designed for flourishing began to decay.
And here we are, thousands of years later, still feeling that fracture in our bones.
The Beauty of America: A Story Worth Telling
What makes a nation beautiful? Is it the landscape, the monuments, or the political systems? Or is it something deeper—something woven into the very fabric of its founding and sustained by the courage of those who refuse to forget?
The answer lies not in politics or geography, but in a story. And whoever tells the story controls the future.
A Song of Beauty
There's something stirring about the hymn "America the Beautiful." Unlike many patriotic songs, it reads more like a prayer than a celebration—a plea for grace, a recognition that beauty comes not from human achievement alone, but from divine blessing. "God shed His grace on thee" isn't just poetic language; it's a theological statement about the source of true national greatness.
The purple mountains, amber waves of grain, and spacious skies are merely the canvas. The real beauty of America has always been found in the courage of a minority who dared to read the Bible, see the world through its lens, and live differently than those around them.
The Power of Providence
George Washington used the word "providence" 477 times in his communications. This wasn't the language of a deist who believed in an absentee God. This was a man who experienced divine intervention firsthand—four bullets through his coat, two horses shot from under him, yet he emerged unscathed. He attributed his survival, and ultimately the survival of the nation, to "the all-powerful dispensations of providence."
The founding generation didn't see themselves as creating something entirely new. They saw themselves as participants in God's ongoing story—a continuation of the Exodus narrative, where an oppressed people were led out of bondage into a promised land of liberty.