You have been reading those words from Romans, your finger tracing across the page, confess with your mouth, believe in your heart, and something in you has leaned forward into the hope of it. Perhaps you have wondered all the while whether it can really be so simple, whether a soul such as yours can truly lay hold of life eternal. Let me sit with you here a moment and speak to that very thought.
When the gospel comes to a man, it does not come as a mere suggestion, as if salvation were set upon a high shelf for the tall and the strong to reach. No, the Lord stoops down, and in mercy He puts it even lower, right at the door of your mouth, right in the cradle of your heart. And more than that, He makes it a command. That may startle you at first, because a command sounds like a burden. But oh, think of it differently: the same God whose voice once shook Sinai until the mountain smoked now speaks to you through His Son, and He says, Believe. He says, Repent. Why does He frame it so? Not to threaten you into a corner, but to fling open every door you feared was locked. For when He commands you to trust Christ, He gives you the right to do it. You are not intruding. You are not too late, too foul, too weak. The command is your warrant. You may come. You must come. You can come, because He bids you.
And the repentance He calls for, do not picture it as a grim probation you must pass through and leave behind. Some think of repentance as a bitter pill to be swallowed once, a dark tunnel to be endured. But true repentance, the kind that the Spirit works, is a far sweeter thing. It is the breaking of hard ground that the seed may take root. Yes, it may bring tears, but those tears are not death, they are the beginning of the tenderest joy you will ever know. I have found, in my own soul, that the deepest happiness has not come when I was lifted up on some high swell of exhilaration, but when I was bowed low before my God, and felt it was so sweet to be low that I would not have traded places with a king. Repentance does not cease at the gate; it walks with faith all the way home. It is the constant turning of the heart away from the shadows and toward the Light. Do not fear it. Welcome it as a companion.
And then there is the confession, the mouth speaking what the heart holds. You see, the two are not to be torn apart. What God has joined, let no man separate. It is a personal thing, this confession. One shall say, “I am the Lord’s.” Another shall subscribe it with his own hand. No one can do it for you. But oh, what a blessed privilege! It is not a recitation before a courtroom; it is the declaration of a love letter. You are simply owning before others what you have come to rest upon in secret. And do not imagine that your faith must be a towering oak before you may speak. Perhaps you have only a trembling hand to lift. Remember Peter, Peter, to whom the Lord had given such nearness and such promises, yet Christ said to him, “O you of little faith.” He did not cast him out. He did not revoke his apostleship. He gently chided him, and then He sustained him. So your little faith is still faith, and it is fixed upon a great Christ. It is not the strength of your grip that holds you, but the strength of the Rock you cling to.
You mentioned beginning with the Gospel of John. Do so, and as you read, look at Jesus. See how He received the seeking, the sorrowing, the sinful. He is all your salvation, not your prayers, not your tears, not your improvement, but Jesus Christ, raised from the dead. Rest there. And the Spirit who first stirred this hunger in you will not abandon the work He has begun.
Lord Jesus, You who are the Author and Finisher of faith, take this seeking soul by the hand. Quiet every doubt that whispers they are beyond Your reach. Grant them the simplicity of a child’s trust, and loosen their tongue to speak Your name with gladness. Keep them near the cross, and let them find that Your yoke is easy and Your burden light. Amen.