Peace in the Midst of Brokenness: Understanding Justification
In a world that feels increasingly chaotic, the concept of peace can seem almost mythical. We long for it desperately, yet we live in a story marked by division, violence, and brokenness. The air we breathe is thick with conflict, and the waters we swim in are murky with pain. But what if there's a different story being told—one that offers genuine hope in the midst of this chaos?
The Reality We All Share
The Apostle Paul doesn't mince words in his letter to the Romans. Writing to a church divided between Jewish and Gentile believers—each group convinced their way was superior—Paul levels the playing field with uncomfortable clarity: "There is no one who is righteous, not even one" (Romans 3:10).
This isn't exactly the uplifting message we want to hear on a Sunday morning. Yet Paul's point is crucial: we're all swimming in the same waters of brokenness. The Jews relied heavily on their adherence to the law, believing their religious practices set them apart. The Gentiles had their own sense of superiority. Both were wrong.
We do the same thing today. We curate our spaces, surrounding ourselves only with voices that confirm what we already believe. We reject anything that challenges our understanding, building our knowledge on systems that may themselves be broken. We compare ourselves to others, finding comfort in the judgment that makes us feel somehow better, somehow more righteous.
But Paul's message cuts through our self-deception: no one gets to claim moral superiority. "For no human will be justified before him by deeds prescribed by the law, for through the law comes the knowledge of sin" (Romans 3:20).
The rules we follow, the religious practices we master, the good deeds we accumulate—none of these can save us. They only help us recognize that we need saving in the first place.
Beginning from Worth, Not Shame
Here's where the story could become oppressive. If we're all condemned, all broken, all swimming in chaos—what hope is there?
But there's a critical distinction to make: acknowledging our brokenness doesn't mean accepting shame as our foundation. We are broken, yes, but we are also made in the image of God. Our origin story is one of value and worth, not worthlessness.
Too often, the Christian message has been weaponized as a tool of shame: "You're terrible, you're nothing, you're worthless—now do these things, and maybe God will love you." This path leads only to exhaustion, to endless striving, to a faith built on fear rather than love.
The path we're invited to walk begins differently. It starts with this truth: you have value. You are loved. You are made in the image of God. And precisely because of that worth, the brokenness matters. The separation from wholeness matters. Your life matters enough that God did something about it.
The Good News of Justification
This brings us to that big theological word: justification. In plain language, it means this: yes, on our own we are condemned and broken, but by grace, through faith, we are made righteous, saved, and whole.
Paul continues in Romans 3: "But now, apart from the law, the righteousness of God has been disclosed...the righteousness of God through the faith of Jesus Christ for all who believe. For there is no distinction, since all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God; they are now justified by his grace as a gift through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus" (Romans 3:21-24).
This is the heart of the gospel story. Because of Jesus—his life, death, and resurrection—we experience righteousness. Not through our own efforts, not through perfect obedience to rules, but through grace. By faith, we are justified. We are covered in Christ's righteousness. His righteousness becomes our righteousness.
In legal terms, we're declared "not guilty." Not because we haven't sinned, but because Jesus's work changes our status. We're no longer defined by our brokenness but by his wholeness.
This is genuinely good news. The question is: do we accept it as such?
The Myth of Perfection
Many of us fall for a dangerous myth: once we decide to follow Jesus, we'll never sin again. We'll finally get it right. We'll achieve the perfection we've been striving for.
How's that working out?
When it inevitably doesn't work out—when we fail again, when we fall short again—what happens? If our faith is built on a foundation of shame, we simply strive harder. We try to save ourselves.
We judge others to make ourselves feel better. We stay in bondage, never truly free.
But if love is the foundation, everything changes. We believe that good news truly is good news, not manipulation to control our behavior. We understand that grace is real, not theoretical. We accept that we are loved as we are, not as we pretend to be.
The Pain of Forgiveness
There's a powerful line from The Alice Network: "Forgiveness hurts so much more than anger."
This strikes at something profound. We're comfortable in our suffering. We know how to navigate shame and guilt. We understand the rules of striving and earning. But grace? Forgiveness? Being loved without deserving it? That's disorienting. It's like walking out of a dark theater into blinding sunlight.
The offer of life can be painful in its contrast to the death we've grown accustomed to. Accepting that we're forgiven, that we're free, that we don't have to keep pretending—this requires vulnerability. It requires trust. It requires us to stop lying to ourselves.
As one writer put it: "God not only loves me as I am, but also knows me as I am. I don't need to apply spiritual cosmetics to make myself presentable to him. I can accept the ownership of my poverty and powerlessness and neediness."
Living in the Freedom
So what do we do with this gift? How do we live in celebration of Christ's work?
First, we stop pretending. We stop striving so hard to appear righteous. We take responsibility for our sin without letting it define us. We point ourselves toward Jesus—and then we do it again, and again, and again. Not from a place of earning acceptance, but from a place of already being accepted.
Second, we extend the same grace we've received. We stop gatekeeping, stop deciding who's worthy of God's love. We seek justice, love mercy, and walk humbly.
Third, we celebrate. We let the weight of salvation—the trueness of Christ's work—change our lives from a place of freedom rather than fear.
The good news really is good news. Peace with God is possible, not because we've achieved it through our efforts, but because love made a way. In the midst of chaos and brokenness, there's a story of redemption being told. And we're invited to step into it, not as we pretend to be, but as we truly are—broken, beloved, and being made whole.
The Reality We All Share
The Apostle Paul doesn't mince words in his letter to the Romans. Writing to a church divided between Jewish and Gentile believers—each group convinced their way was superior—Paul levels the playing field with uncomfortable clarity: "There is no one who is righteous, not even one" (Romans 3:10).
This isn't exactly the uplifting message we want to hear on a Sunday morning. Yet Paul's point is crucial: we're all swimming in the same waters of brokenness. The Jews relied heavily on their adherence to the law, believing their religious practices set them apart. The Gentiles had their own sense of superiority. Both were wrong.
We do the same thing today. We curate our spaces, surrounding ourselves only with voices that confirm what we already believe. We reject anything that challenges our understanding, building our knowledge on systems that may themselves be broken. We compare ourselves to others, finding comfort in the judgment that makes us feel somehow better, somehow more righteous.
But Paul's message cuts through our self-deception: no one gets to claim moral superiority. "For no human will be justified before him by deeds prescribed by the law, for through the law comes the knowledge of sin" (Romans 3:20).
The rules we follow, the religious practices we master, the good deeds we accumulate—none of these can save us. They only help us recognize that we need saving in the first place.
Beginning from Worth, Not Shame
Here's where the story could become oppressive. If we're all condemned, all broken, all swimming in chaos—what hope is there?
But there's a critical distinction to make: acknowledging our brokenness doesn't mean accepting shame as our foundation. We are broken, yes, but we are also made in the image of God. Our origin story is one of value and worth, not worthlessness.
Too often, the Christian message has been weaponized as a tool of shame: "You're terrible, you're nothing, you're worthless—now do these things, and maybe God will love you." This path leads only to exhaustion, to endless striving, to a faith built on fear rather than love.
The path we're invited to walk begins differently. It starts with this truth: you have value. You are loved. You are made in the image of God. And precisely because of that worth, the brokenness matters. The separation from wholeness matters. Your life matters enough that God did something about it.
The Good News of Justification
This brings us to that big theological word: justification. In plain language, it means this: yes, on our own we are condemned and broken, but by grace, through faith, we are made righteous, saved, and whole.
Paul continues in Romans 3: "But now, apart from the law, the righteousness of God has been disclosed...the righteousness of God through the faith of Jesus Christ for all who believe. For there is no distinction, since all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God; they are now justified by his grace as a gift through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus" (Romans 3:21-24).
This is the heart of the gospel story. Because of Jesus—his life, death, and resurrection—we experience righteousness. Not through our own efforts, not through perfect obedience to rules, but through grace. By faith, we are justified. We are covered in Christ's righteousness. His righteousness becomes our righteousness.
In legal terms, we're declared "not guilty." Not because we haven't sinned, but because Jesus's work changes our status. We're no longer defined by our brokenness but by his wholeness.
This is genuinely good news. The question is: do we accept it as such?
The Myth of Perfection
Many of us fall for a dangerous myth: once we decide to follow Jesus, we'll never sin again. We'll finally get it right. We'll achieve the perfection we've been striving for.
How's that working out?
When it inevitably doesn't work out—when we fail again, when we fall short again—what happens? If our faith is built on a foundation of shame, we simply strive harder. We try to save ourselves.
We judge others to make ourselves feel better. We stay in bondage, never truly free.
But if love is the foundation, everything changes. We believe that good news truly is good news, not manipulation to control our behavior. We understand that grace is real, not theoretical. We accept that we are loved as we are, not as we pretend to be.
The Pain of Forgiveness
There's a powerful line from The Alice Network: "Forgiveness hurts so much more than anger."
This strikes at something profound. We're comfortable in our suffering. We know how to navigate shame and guilt. We understand the rules of striving and earning. But grace? Forgiveness? Being loved without deserving it? That's disorienting. It's like walking out of a dark theater into blinding sunlight.
The offer of life can be painful in its contrast to the death we've grown accustomed to. Accepting that we're forgiven, that we're free, that we don't have to keep pretending—this requires vulnerability. It requires trust. It requires us to stop lying to ourselves.
As one writer put it: "God not only loves me as I am, but also knows me as I am. I don't need to apply spiritual cosmetics to make myself presentable to him. I can accept the ownership of my poverty and powerlessness and neediness."
Living in the Freedom
So what do we do with this gift? How do we live in celebration of Christ's work?
First, we stop pretending. We stop striving so hard to appear righteous. We take responsibility for our sin without letting it define us. We point ourselves toward Jesus—and then we do it again, and again, and again. Not from a place of earning acceptance, but from a place of already being accepted.
Second, we extend the same grace we've received. We stop gatekeeping, stop deciding who's worthy of God's love. We seek justice, love mercy, and walk humbly.
Third, we celebrate. We let the weight of salvation—the trueness of Christ's work—change our lives from a place of freedom rather than fear.
The good news really is good news. Peace with God is possible, not because we've achieved it through our efforts, but because love made a way. In the midst of chaos and brokenness, there's a story of redemption being told. And we're invited to step into it, not as we pretend to be, but as we truly are—broken, beloved, and being made whole.