Paul's Anguish Over Israel. (Romans 9: 1–5)

Welcome back to The Bible Project Daily Podcast, where we journey together through Scripture, one chapter at a time. In today’s episode, we begin a powerful and emotionally raw new section of Paul’s letter to the Romans—chapters 9 through 11—by exploring Paul’s Anguish Over Israel.

Paul isn’t simply teaching doctrine here. He opens his heart, revealing deep grief and a holy burden for his fellow Israelites—those who, despite receiving incredible spiritual privileges, have largely rejected the Messiah.

As we explore Romans 9:1–5, we’ll reflect on Paul’s sorrow, his longing for his people’s salvation, and what this reveals about the heart of God. We’ll also ask some difficult but essential questions: Has God abandoned His promises to Israel? And if not, what does that mean for us today?

Join us as we sit with Paul’s tears and consider the faithfulness of God—a faithfulness that never fails.

📖 Episode Notes

 Theme: God’s Covenant Faithfulness and Paul’s Heart for Israel

Key Topics:

• Theological and emotional transition from Romans 8 to Romans 9
• Paul’s personal grief and sacrificial love for the Jewish people
• Historical and modern tensions around Israel and God's ongoing purpose
• The implications of God’s faithfulness to Israel for Christian assurance
• A call to holy grief and heartfelt intercession for the lost

Reflection Questions:

• Do you carry a burden for those in your life who don’t yet know Christ?
• How does Paul’s lament help you understand the heart of Christian mission?
• What does God's unwavering love for Israel say about His promises to you?

Thanks for listening. If today’s episode resonated with you, consider subscribing and sharing with a friend. Let’s keep walking through the Word—together.

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• 18:53 (Cont.) Paul's Anguish Over Israel. (Romans 9: 1–5)

Transcript

Paul’s Anguish Over Israel. (Romans 9:1–5)

Transcript: 

The presence of the Jewish people in the world has long been seen by some as a problem—a fact that reveals more about human sinfulness than anything else.

Historically, both Christians and non-Christians have fallen into the trap of anti-Semitism. Some Christians have wrongly blamed  all Jews for the crucifixion of Jesus. Even Martin Luther, a key figure in the Reformation, tragically embraced anti-Jewish rhetoric in his later years. 

In the 20th century, Adolf Hitler, definitely not a Christian by the way, and occultist in fact, channelled a deep hatred of the Jewish people into the horrors of the Holocaust.

But this sense of “problem” hasn’t been confined to the past. The modern state of Israel remains at the center of global tension. The conflict over the land—between Israelis and Palestinians—is not merely local. It's global, with nations aligning on either side.

But beneath these political and historical dimensions I believe there lies something much deeper: a theological question.

You see for some theologians, the church has completely replaced Israel in God’s plan. Others argue—rightly, I believe—that God still has a purpose for the Jewish people. But whatever your stance, here’s the reality: This question matters not only to historians or politicians or theologians—it matters to you.

Why? Because in the Old Testament, God made promises to Israel. He called them his chosen people. He declared his love for them. But in the New Testament, we see then—by and large most Jewish people, certainly the religious leadership are living in a state of unbelief. 

So, what happened? Did God change his mind? And if he did, how do we know he won’t do the same with us?

That’s a serious question. Because if God isn’t faithful to his promises to Israel, how can we trust his promises to us. How does that line up with the statement we looked at yesterday in Romans 8, where he assures us that nothing can separate us from his love?

This is why Romans chapters 9, through 11 are so crucial. They aren’t a theological detour. They are central to understanding the character of God—his faithfulness, his purposes, his heart, and that is what we are going to look at today….

Today, we’re just beginning that journey. Let’s turn to Romans 9:1–5, where Paul opens his heart:

1 I speak the truth in Christ—I am not lying; my conscience confirms it through the Holy Spirit— 2 I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. 3 For I could wish that I myself were cursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my people, those of my own race, 4 the people of Israel. Theirs is the adoption to sonship; theirs the divine glory, the covenants, the receiving of the law, the temple worship and the promises. 5 Theirs are the patriarchs, and from them is traced the human ancestry of the Messiah, who is God over all, forever praised! Amen.”

(Romans 9: 1-5)

These verses are Paul’s lament. Not only does he love his people—he does so, so much, he says he would trade his own salvation for theirs. 

He then lists the incredible privileges Israel received: adoption, covenant, the law, the worship, the promises—all culminating in Christ himself, who was born into the nation of Israel.

So, before we dive into what happened to Israel and what God’s plan still is for them, we begin here—with a heart full of sorrow and longing. Because theology, for Paul, is never abstract. It’s personal. It’s about people he loves. And it begins with the character of God.

In todays’s episode, we’ll unpack what these next chapters reveal about God's plan, about Israel, and about us. But for now, let’s sit with Paul’s sorrow—and ask the deeper question: Can God be trusted?

Spoiler: Yes, he can be trusted. But it’s still a journey worth taking.

The Book of Romans is, at its heart, about righteousness—God’s righteousness, and our lack of it. Righteousness, and the way it’s provided in Christ, and how it is lived out in the Christian life. 

In the early chapters, Paul made clear that all of humanity—Jew and Gentile alike—stands in desperate need of this righteousness. We are, each of us, sinners before a holy God.

But then he unveils the breathtaking truth: God has provided righteousness freely through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. This righteousness is not earned. It is declared over us the moment we trust in Jesus—a concept Paul calls justification.

It is a legal term: though we were guilty, we are now pronounced righteous in God’s court because of Christ.

Yet the Christian life does not stop at being declared righteous. We still live in our flesh, in a fallen world, and we are still prone to sin. And so, the question arises: how do we live in righteousness, if that is the case?

Paul answers: through union with Christ. When we came to faith, we were not only justified; we were also united with Christ in His death and resurrection. That means we now live by His life, and as we yield ourselves to Him, righteousness is not only declared over us—it is begun to be produced in us.

This is sanctification, the fruit of the Spirit bearing witness that we are alive in Christ.

Romans chapters 6 through 8 described this new life of freedom, this walk in the Spirit. And Paul concluded chapter 8 with the stunning assurance: That nothing—nothing—can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

God’s plan is secure from beginning to end: Those He foreknew, He predestined, called, justified, and glorified. It's the whole arc of salvation, guaranteed by the love and righteousness of God.

But now we come to a difficult question, one that weighed heavily on Paul’s heart: What about Israel?

If God’s love is steadfast, if His promises are secure, what happened to the people to whom the promises were first given, if the walk away? What happens to Israel?

Chapters 9 through 11 are not a detour. They are the necessary continuation of Paul’s argument, because they deal with faithfulness, and the righteousness of God in relation to His covenant people.

If we are to trust that nothing will separate us from the love of God, we must be able to trust that He has not cast-off Israel, or broken His word. These chapters, then, are a vindication of God’s righteousness—proof that He remains true, even when His people are faithless.

And Paul opens this section not with cold hard theology, but with raw, personal anguish. He writes, “I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart” (Romans 9:2). His burden for the Jewish people is not theoretical. It is existential. It is spiritual. He aches for them. He weeps for them. His conscience, he says, bears witness in the Holy Spirit.

In other words, his grief is Spirit-driven. It’s a holy burden.

This is a holy grief that the Apostle Paul describes here. A sorrow that longs for people to come to know the righteousness of God through Jesus Christ.

In these opening verses of Romans 9, we see both theology and the heart brought together—truth and tears. And perhaps this is how it should always be. 

We are called to be people who both know the righteousness of God and ache for those who do not. As we reflect on Paul’s burden here, we might ask: Do we grieve for the lost? Do we carry a burden out of love for those who do not yet know the salvation that is in Christ?

This chapter begins not with answers, but with simple heartbreak. And that heartbreak is the soil from which deep truths about God’s righteousness and His covenant faithfulness will grow in the coming chapters.

Paul doesn’t just state his sorrow; he swears to it. He piles oath upon oath like altars built from stone and tears. I tell the truth in Christ—I am not lying—my conscience bears me witness in the Holy Spirit.

This isn’t mere rhetoric. Paul is solemnly affirming his grief as truth that flows from union with Christ. His sorrow isn’t a passing emotional tremor. It is rooted, settled, confirmed in the deepest recesses of his being.

And we must ask: why this triple affirmation? Why such intense insistence?

Paul may have been accused of being indifferent toward his own people. After all, he had now become the apostle to the Gentiles. His ministry may have turned outward, but his heart clearly still yearned for the people of Israel. 

That is true—but there is also something even deeper here.

What Paul reveals in these verses is not a defence. It is a confession. A confession of love. Of sorrow. Of longing. Look again:

“I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart.”

This is the cry of a prophet and a brother. The grief has a name. It has faces. It comes from the ache of love unmet by a response. This is the heart of a man whose very identity is wrapped up in the people who are now rejecting the Christ he loves.

And so, he calls two witnesses: His words—and his conscience.

Paul is not standing at an emotional distance lobbing theological grenades. He’s weeping over his people. He’s grieving that they are lost.

And then he takes it one step further—a step that nearly takes my breath away.

“For I could wish that I myself were cursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my people, those of my own race, (v. 3)

Paul knows that Christ alone bore the curse for others (Galatians 3:13). But in saying, “I wish”, he is expressing the depths of his love and grief in the most sacrificial terms possible. He’s saying, “I wish there were a way to trade places.”

This kind of love echoes Moses in Exodus 32:32—when after the golden calf incident he says to God, “Please forgive their sin—and if necessary, blot me out of your book.” It is the love of a shepherd willing to lay down his life for his flock.

Why does Paul feel this way? What drives this grief?

Two reasons.

First, as we've seen, relationship. He says, “They are my brothers and sisters, my kinsmen according to the flesh.” These are not strangers to him. These are my family, my people. Flesh and blood. Shared ancestry. Shared history. Shared traditions. That’s why this grief goes so deep.

And that leads me to ask: do we feel that kind of sorrow for those closest to us who don’t yet know Christ? Are we grieved over our parents, our children, our brothers and sister, our neighbours, our colleagues? Do we feel a burden not just for the world in general, but for the ones whose names we know and whose stories we’ve lived alongside?

We ought to. Because love—real, Christ-shaped love—never becomes indifferent.

And second—Paul grieves because of what the Jewish people already had: the adoption, the glory, the covenants, the law, the worship, the promises. How could a people so blessed be so blind? How could a people with such a rich history of God’s presence now reject the Messiah?

So again, we see Paul’s grief begins with love. With identity. With relationship.

And so should ours.

Let this passage be a mirror. Let it ask us ourselves the hard questions.

Do you grieve for the lost?

Do you intercede for your loved ones?

Do you carry a burden for the salvation of those closest to you?

And do you, like Paul, feel it, mourn it, pray against it with tears?

That is the call of Romans 9:1–5, here.

Not just to think—but to feel.

Not just to declare truth—but to live it with a heart shaped by the Spirit.

In verses 4 and 5, Paul unpacks all this further for us. These people, he says, are Israelites—a name that reaches all the way back to Jacob, who wrestled with God and was renamed Israel. That name signifies a people chosen, marked out by God, and set apart for His purposes. 

While that may be uncomfortable for some modern sensibilities, it is a simple biblical fact—God chose Israel to be the nation through which His Word and His covenant would come to the world.

Paul then lists the distinct privileges given to them:

“Theirs is the adoption to sonship; theirs the divine glory, the covenants, the receiving of the law, the temple worship and the promises.” 

(Romans 9:4)

Let’s look briefly at these gifts:

Adoption: God calls Israel His children (Exodus 4:22). They were adopted into a unique, familial relationship with God, a parent-child intimacy that set them apart.

Theirs was the Devine Glory: This refers to the visible, radiant presence of God—the Shekinah Glory. The Hebrew word Shekinah actually means “dwelling.” God dwelt among them in the tabernacle, and later the temple. This was no abstract relationship; it was marked by God’s very presence.

The Covenants: Not just one covenant, but many—plural. God made a covenant with Abraham, reaffirmed it with Isaac and Jacob, established it again through Moses, and gave a royal covenant to David. The prophet Jeremiah then spoke of a new covenant (Jeremiah 31). These were solemn promises from God, anchoring Israel’s relationship to Him.

The Giving of the Law: At Sinai, God gave His holy, just, and good law (Romans 7:12). Even the law of God was a gift of divine revelation. 

The Worship: This refers to the entire system of religious service and sacrifice—outlined in Exodus and Leviticus—which God gave as the prescribed way for His people to draw near.

The Promises: These include all of God’s future declarations through the prophets—promises of restoration, of a Messiah, of blessings to all nations.

And then Paul adds:

“Theirs are the patriarchs, and from them is traced the human ancestry of the Messiah, who is God over all, forever praised!” (.5)

Men like Abraham, Moses, and David. These are the spiritual forefathers of the faith, giants of covenant obedience and faithfulness.

But Paul culminates all of this with the highest honour of all: That is, from Israel will come the Messiah—Jesus. is the crowning glory of Israel’s privileges.

This verse, simple statement, affirms both the humanity and the divinity of Christ. “According to the flesh,” He was a Jew. But at the same time, He is “over all,” the “eternally blessed God.” 

This isn’t just a nuance—it is a powerful Christological statement. 

Understood in this way, Romans 9:5 is one of the clearest and most powerful affirmations in the New Testament of the full divinity of Jesus Christ. He is both man and God—born from Israel, yet sovereign over all.

Personally, I don't think this is even a debatable issue. Interpreting the New Testament through the lens of both Christ’s divinity and humanity is the only way it truly makes sense. That’s exactly what this verse is doing, affirming that Jesus is fully human, and fully divine.

He was fully human, when Jesus was on earth, he got thirsty, he became tired, he even paid taxes. That’s human. Jesus, however, is no ordinary person. He is God incarnate and that is why He did the miraculous as well.

Think about that. All of those privileges—and yet, many still rejected him. 

For a people who had received so much, to then reject Jesus, is enough to break the heart of anyone who understands the weight of that loss.

And that’s exactly where Paul is in this passage: Grieving deeply over his people’s spiritual condition. Not just because they were his people by blood, but because they were God’s people by covenant.

This marks just the beginning of Paul’s discussion on what we might call the “Jewish issue,” and he’ll spend the next two and a half chapters unpacking it more for us. But the theme is already hinted at here: God is not fickle in his love. He is faithful to his promises. What he began with Israel, he has not forgotten. 

And that has massive implications for us. Because it means if God remains faithful to Israel, even in their rejection, then we can be confident he will remain faithful to us, too.

So, what should we take into our day today from this? Is their an application:

Well, for one, Paul’s grief wasn’t just theological—it was deeply personal. He wasn’t coldly analysing Israel’s history; he was broken-hearted over it. That’s what introduces this whole coming section of his letter: It’s not a theological treatise, but a lament. And that should tell us something.

We, too, should be grieved over those who don’t know Christ—especially those near and dear to us.

Paul mourned because his people had such spiritual privilege and yet rejected the truth. But isn’t the same true for many around us? They are created in God’s image. They are loved by God. Christ died for them. And yet, so many walk in darkness.

That should move us—not just emotionally, but missionally. It should stir us to pray, to speak, to love, to share. Missions isn’t just for “them out there”; it starts with those near to us—family, friends, neighbours, coworkers.

The evangelist D. Campbell Morgan writes that he once received a note from a small boy. It read, “Last night, after hearing you speak, I trusted Jesus Christ. Ever since, I have been unhappy….” Morgan paused, puzzled, until he read the rest: “Because my mother and father don’t know Christ.”

That says it all, doesn’t it?

What about the Jews today? Yes, we should be grieved. 

But what about your family? Your friends? Your neighbours? We should be grieved for them also, but and we also should be moved to act.

May our hearts beat in rhythm with God's love for Israel and may we love all whom he loves. And may we never grow indifferent to those who are still far from him….