The Gospel, God’s Power
The Gospel, God’s Power
Romans 1:1–17 | First Lecture of the Romans Series 2026 | by Lee Chang-moo
"For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes..."(Romans 1:16)
Introduction: A Seed That Waited 700 Years
In 2009, at an excavation site in Haman, Gyeongsangnam-do, an archaeology team made a peculiar discovery. Buried in the mud at the bottom of a Goryeo Dynasty pond were a few lotus seeds. Radiocarbon dating revealed they were approximately 700 years old. The researchers, half-skeptical, decided to plant them. "Could a seed that had been dormant for 700 years truly still be alive?" But as soon as water touched the seeds, they sprouted. For seven centuries, their vitality had been quietly compressed, waiting. Today, the "Ara Red Lotus" of Haman still blooms vividly every summer.
That is the nature of life-giving power. It may be invisible, seem dormant for a long time, but erupts explosively the moment the right conditions are met.
The passage we are opening today, Romans 1:1–17, is the opening chapter of Paul’s letter to the church in Rome, written two thousand years ago. In this brief introduction, Paul drops a single word: "power." Paul declares that the gospel is not merely good news, but living power that fundamentally transforms a person’s life from the inside out.
Through this text, let us explore three scenes where this power of the gospel works concretely in our lives. Like that 700-year-old seed when water touches it, may this power truly work among us today. Let’s step into the Word.
1. This Power Redefines Who We Are
By the world’s standards, Paul could have filled out a resume with the most dazzling credentials imaginable. In Philippians 3, we see the list he could have boasted: a Benjamite, a pure-blooded Hebrew, a Pharisee among the elite faction of Judaism, educated under Rabbi Gamaliel at the top academic institution, and a Roman citizen. In modern terms, that’s like having a Harvard Law degree and U.S. citizenship. Yet in Romans, Paul introduces himself in a completely different way.
"Paul, a servant of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle and set apart for the gospel of God..." (Romans 1:1)
Paul calls himself a "servant" (Greek: doulos). This doesn’t mean a contracted employee or a dispatched agent. It refers to a slave, someone whose human rights are completely forfeited. Why would Paul, with such glorious credentials, introduce himself as a slave?
In Exodus 21, there is a law about the "voluntary servant." Under Israelite law, a servant who worked off a debt could go free after seven years. But there was a provision for a servant who loved their master so deeply that they chose to give up freedom and remain forever. As proof, they would take an awl and pierce their ear against the doorframe of their master’s house, saying, "I love my master and will not go free." It was a permanent mark of voluntary belonging.
When Paul says, "I am a slave of Christ," it is not the resignation of the oppressed. It is not the submission of the coerced. It is the glorious confession of someone who has met a Master so incredibly good and overflowing with love that they voluntarily surrender their entire life to Him. "There is no better Master than this one. To remain a slave to Him forever is more blessed than freedom."
Yet Paul also calls himself "called to be an apostle." An apostle (apostolos) is not merely a messenger. It is a full-authority ambassador, commissioned by a king to represent Him completely.
Slave and ambassador. These two seemingly contradictory identities are united in Paul. Before Christ, he is the lowest of slaves; before the world and people, he is a bold ambassador. "Slave" is the total emptying of humility; "ambassador" is being filled with God’s authority. This is the paradox the gospel creates.
Without realizing it, we often live by the labels the world attaches to us. University graduate, job title, years of experience, square footage of apartment. Even within the church, boxes appear: "How many years has the pastor served?", "How many souls have they led?", "What is their official role?" We feel pride when those boxes are filled, and anxiety when they’re empty. But Paul regarded his glorious credentials as "dung" not because they were bad, but because he had discovered his true name.
How does Paul address the believers in Rome?
"To all in Rome who are loved by God and called to be his holy people..." (Romans 1:7)
"Loved by God." "Called to be saints." These are our true names. These names carry no conditions. They don’t change if grades drop, if you’re passed over for promotion, or if a church member leaves. This name is not something we earn; it is something God first attaches to us.
And those who bear this name become, like Paul, both slaves and ambassadors. As voluntary slaves before Christ, we experience the joy that says, "There is no better Master." As ambassadors sent from heaven, we carry the authority of the Kingdom before the world.
This is where the power of the gospel begins. It rewrites who we are. This is the first work of God’s power.
2. This Power Ignites Passion Within Us
The same power now works within us in a completely different way.
"God, whom I serve with my spirit in preaching the gospel of his Son, is my witness how constantly I remember you in my prayers, always asking that somehow now at last I may succeed by God's will in coming to you." (Romans 1:9–10)
Paul says he prays for the Roman believers "without ceasing." Most of the Roman believers were people Paul had never even met face-to-face. Yet he knelt daily for strangers. As we know from Acts, Paul eventually makes his way into Rome, even as a prisoner. How was such passion possible?
"I am obligated both to Greeks and non-Greeks, both to the wise and the foolish." (Romans 1:14)
Paul explains this secret with a very specific word: "obligated" or "debtor" (opheiletēs). Usually, a debtor runs from creditors. But Paul runs toward them, saying, "Please let me pay my debt." This is not a burdensome debt of legal obligation. It is a debt of holy gratitude.
A few years ago, a news story stayed with me. The parents of a 20-something man declared brain-dead decided to donate his heart. The recipient was a 40-year-old man. After surgery, the first time he placed his hand over his chest, he confessed, "This is not my heart. I am now living with two heartbeats." He tracked down the donor’s parents and, every year on the anniversary of the donor’s passing, kneels before them. He received one heart, yet became a lifelong debtor.
Paul’s debt was far greater. He had been a brutal persecutor of the church, complicit in Stephen’s martyrdom, and had hunted Christians all the way to Damascus. Yet the risen Lord found him first. On the road to Damascus, He appeared in light and said, "Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?" The Lord who found him first, who forgave without any conditions. His heart, which should have died, began beating again with Christ’s life. Paul’s lifelong, passionate dedication to preaching and missions did not come from fear or legalistic duty. It was a voluntary, awestruck response to poured-out grace.
Each of us has our own Damascus moment. The day we first encountered the gospel in college and our life turned, the moment in the darkest tunnel of an impossible season when the Lord found us. For those who remember it, the confession naturally arises: "I am living on borrowed time. I carry two heartbeats." When that confession surfaces, shepherding souls becomes not a job but a grateful response, and proclaiming the Word becomes not a duty but the joyful repayment of a debtor.
In our Anam 1st Ministry, this passion exists. There are the steps of shepherds who go to campus every week to share the gospel. There’s a man in his seventies who went as a missionary to Costa Rica. There’s Pastors Runners, who wrestle night and day for a month preparing a retreat message. But where does this passion come from? Is our passion perhaps born from "a shepherd should at least do this" self-expectation? Passion born from legalistic duty doesn’t last. Paul’s passion could burn for decades not because he was exceptionally strong-willed, but because his debt of grace was so vast. It’s not that the temperature of the passion changed; it’s that the fuel changed.
And Paul’s passion has another special dimension.
"Thus I am eager to preach the gospel also to you who are in Rome, for I am eager to come to you... that is, that I may be encouraged together with you through our mutual faith, both yours and mine." (Romans 1:11–12)
One might think an apostle like Paul would only ever be the giver. Yet he confesses that he longs to be encouraged by the Roman believers’ faith as well. It’s not a one-way teacher-student dynamic, but a relationship where mutual faith brings mutual encouragement. This is the passion of the gospel community.
A fire burning alone easily dies in the wind. But a pile of firewood gathered together supports each other and burns much larger. The decades-long prayers of a seasoned shepherd ignite the flame for a Runners member just beginning to walk in faith. The pure confession of the younger generation rekindles embers in a weary pastor’s heart. Every week we gather, share life stories, and pray together—this is all a field where debtors’ firewood burns together.
The power of the gospel doesn’t stop at renewing our identity. It enters us and becomes a living, moving passion.
3. This Power Completes Our Salvation to the End
We now arrive at the very heart of today’s text, verses 16 and 17.
"For 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. For in the gospel a righteousness from God is revealed, a righteousness that is by faith from first to last, just as it is written: 'The righteous will live by faith.'" (Romans 1:16–17)
"I am not ashamed of the gospel." At the time, Christianity was still a minority in Rome. It was often dismissed as a superstitious Jewish sect, and those who worshiped a crucified criminal as God were seen as foolish and shameful. Yet Paul declares he is not ashamed.
Here we must focus on the word "power." The Greek word is dynamis. We must understand its weight in the Roman world. To Romans, dynamis referred to the emperor’s military might, the conquest power of an empire. Rome held the world’s strongest army and subdued the entire world with it. But Paul says to the Romans, "I have a different kind of dynamis." It is a power that Rome’s swords and spears could never accomplish—transforming a person from the inside out. That is the gospel’s power. An empire can conquer a person, but only the gospel can remake them.
"For in the gospel a righteousness from God is revealed..." What is "the righteousness of God"?
This word is critically important. Misunderstand it, and the gospel becomes just another law.
Many people interpret "the righteousness of God" like this: "God is righteous, so we must also become righteous by His standard." It becomes a moral benchmark we must climb to reach. If understood that way, the gospel becomes a heavier burden. "Now you must live as righteously as He does"—a higher requirement.
But Paul’s "righteousness of God" means the exact opposite. It is not a standard we must reach; it is righteousness God freely gifts to us.
Let me explain it more concretely.
Theologically, this is called "imputation." Imputation means what belongs to another is counted as ours. Christ’s perfectly obedient life—His righteousness—does not remain with Him alone; it is transferred to us. It’s like having an empty bank account, but someone transfers their entire fortune into your name. Legally, it’s yours. You didn’t earn it, but it is yours. This is how "the righteousness of God" appears to us.
Imagine a courtroom scene. We are already in the defendant’s seat. The charges are read. The evidence is clear, with no room for defense. The judge is about to declare us guilty. Then Jesus stands up and says, "I have already paid the penalty for this person." And He places His perfect righteousness on the defense table in our name. The Judge—God—declares, "Not guilty." This is justification.
Crucially, this "not guilty" verdict does not come because we actually became righteous through our own efforts. It comes because Christ’s righteousness is imputed to us. We simply reach out our hands. And reaching out is precisely "faith."
Why is this good news—the gospel? Because salvation does not depend on our faithfulness or our effort. It depends on God’s faithfulness.
"From faith to faith"—from start to finish.
Do we intellectually know God’s grace, yet deep down still examine our own spiritual report cards? Are we still anxious about failing, self-condemning, and living in fear?
Especially for us who study Scripture often, this trap is easy to fall into. The more we know, the higher our standards. The higher the standards, the harsher the inner critic. Soon, the gospel shifts from "God has saved me" to "I must live like I’m saved," becoming another pressure.
But today’s Word proclaims: Salvation does not depend on our report card. Christ’s righteousness is already placed upon us. This verdict is not overturned by our mood or performance.
Furthermore, Paul says this power brings us "from faith to faith." Faith is the beginning. Faith is the process of growth. Faith is the completion. From start to finish, from the starting line to the destination, the gospel’s power initiates our faith, nurtures it, and brings it to maturity. Faith is not a ticket we use once to enter salvation and then discard. Faith is the beginning, the journey, and the destination. Our growth, our passage through dark seasons, our standing before God at the end—all flow through this conduit of faith.
Habakkuk’s Watchtower—When Nothing Is Visible
Paul quotes the prophet Habakkuk: "The righteous will live by faith."
Looking at the background of Habakkuk 2:1, we see a scene. Habakkuk cried out in anguish before God’s silence. Injustice ruled within the nation, and the mighty empire of Babylon marched forward. Why is God silent? He could have despaired. He could have given up. But Habakkuk chose this:
"I will stand at my watch and station myself on the ramparts; I will look to see what he will say to me..." (Habakkuk 2:1)
He climbed up. In a time when nothing could be seen, in the night without answers, he climbed the watchtower and waited. Standing firm, trusting God would speak, even without visible evidence—that is faith. And God answered.
Note that God’s answer was not "all circumstances will be fixed." There was no guarantee Babylon would be stopped, nor that injustice would vanish overnight. Instead, God declared that Babylon would indeed come. Yet in the midst of all that shakes, "the righteous will live by faith." It is not that we live because situations are resolved, but because we cling to God’s faithfulness.
Just as in Habakkuk’s day, seasons come into our lives where only despair is visible. Seasons where long labor seems to yield nothing, seasons where looking back reveals only failures and shortcomings, seasons where declining health forces us to slow down. What holds us in those seasons is not our own passion, but God’s promise: "The righteous will live by faith."
Just as Habakkuk climbed to his watchtower, we too must step down from the seat of our own works. And stand with both feet firmly upon Christ’s righteousness. This is the power of the gospel. The dynamis that pierces through our solid rock of anxiety and self-righteousness, and lays the bedrock of God’s faithfulness in its place. This power completes our salvation, surely, to the very end.
The power of the gospel renews our identity, ignites passion within us, and ultimately completes our salvation from beginning to end.
Conclusion: Back to the Gospel
The lotus seeds of Haman lay silent in the mud for 700 years. To the naked eye, they looked like lifeless dry fragments, yet within them, the crimson hue and fragrance of the "Red Lotus of Ara" were entirely compressed. And finally, when water touched them, they proved life-giving power that transcended seven centuries.
The Romans we confront today is exactly that seed. The gospel that pulsed in Paul’s heart two thousand years ago waits to burst forth again as God’s Dynamis upon the soil of our reality in 2026.
Through Romans, I earnestly hope that the gospel, once known only as knowledge to us, breathes life into our "dry bone"routines, gives faith to climb the watchtower to those who are discouraging, and restores the hot tears of being a "debtor of grace" to those trapped in routine.
This is the door Romans opens. And inside that door awaits God’s power for each of us.
Just as a 700-year-old seed blooms into a flower, may this ancient letter of the gospel, in 2026, cause our lives to bloom into the most beautiful "masterpieces of God."