Romans 4:15-16
"For the law brings wrath, but where there is no law there is no transgression. That is why it depends on faith, in order that the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his offspring—not only to the adherent of the law but also to the one who shares the faith of Abraham, who is the father of us all."

Paul is emphasizing that the promise given to Abraham isn’t limited by adherence to the law but is accessible through faith, making Abraham the spiritual father to all who believe, and thus sharing in his blessings of righteousness and inheritance. This isn’t saying that sin doesn’t exist without the law, but rather that the law amplifies our awareness of it, leading to condemnation if we rely on our own efforts to keep it perfectly. That’s why, in verse 16, the promise “depends on faith” and rests on grace: It’s God’s unmerited favor, guaranteed not just to those under the Mosaic law (like the Jews) but to everyone who shares Abraham’s faith. This extends the blessing to all believers, Jew or Gentile, making us co-heirs in the promise of inheriting the world through righteousness by faith. In essence, it’s a message of inclusion and hope: Our inheritance isn’t earned by flawless rule-keeping (which none of us can do) but received by faith in God’s grace, just like Abraham.

Do you have faith?

Can you remember when it was that you received that faith?

Was it in a sudden moment of conversion, or over time and in many ways?

If it was sudden, what was the stumbling block that stood in the way of your receiving?

The apostle Paul's experience was sudden and like a lightning bolt of recognition. His stumbling block was his own self-righteousness. He was a Pharisee and a zealot against the Christian church. And he has explained that his conversion was clear and direct. In his own letters, such as Galatians 1:11-24, where he emphasizes that his gospel came directly from a revelation of Jesus Christ, not human teaching.

"For I did not receive it from any man, nor was I taught it, but I received it through a revelation of Jesus Christ."

This decision was indeed sudden, a radical, divine interruption rather than a gradual intellectual process like others. One example of this gradual shift is the conversion of C.S.Lewis. He was born in 1898, and started he journey as a staunch atheist after losing his mother young and serving in World War I, which deepened his skepticism. His journey wasn’t sudden but unfolded over many years (roughly the 1920s), influenced by literature, philosophy. Drawing from his autobiography "Surprised by Joy" and other writings, we can catch a glimpse into his journey. story is a classic example of faith arriving “over time and in many ways,” with intellectual stumbling blocks, rather than a single lightning-bolt moment like Paul’s on the road to Damascus.

His path began with what he describes as "stabs of joy”, fleeting transcendent experiences in nature or books that hinted at something beyond his atheistic materialism. Reading authors like George MacDonald and G.K. Chesterton chipped away at his worldview. Conversations with Christian friends, especially J.R.R. Tolkien and Hugo Dyson during a famous 1931 walk at Oxford, were pivotal. Lewis later described this as God closing in on him like a hunter, with arguments he couldn’t refute. His main obstacles were intellectual, his commitment to atheism and naturalism (the idea that everything is explainable by science and reason). While his eventual conversion was not purely instantaneous, there was a decisive moment. In 1931, on a motorcycle ride to the zoo with his brother, Lewis realized midway that he believed in God as theism (not yet Christianity). Full acceptance of Christ came shortly after, during a bus ride upstairs where he felt compelled to kneel and admit Jesus as God’s Son. He likened it to waking from sleep or a mouse trap snapping shut, inevitable after the buildup.

So you see, even that slow intellectual development must at some point snap us out of our misery that is our unbelief. There is always a resolution, a lifting of the veil, a breaking down of our walls. Lewis’s faith, once received, was rooted in reason blended with imagination, much like Abraham’s trust in God’s promises despite improbability. It transformed his life, leading to his writing works like "Mere Christianity" and "The Chronicles of Narnia", where he explores grace over law, echoing Romans 4’s theme of inheritance through faith, not works.

This speaks to the "wrath" or condemnation that comes from trying to achieve righteousness through the law (moral effort), leading to a breaking point where absolute faith in Christ’s grace alone becomes the path to transformation and inheritance, much like Abraham’s. And he never suggests that it's an easy road.

"Repentance is no fun at all. It is something much harder than merely eating humble pie. It means unlearning all the self-conceit and self-will that we have been training ourselves into…It means killing part of yourself, undergoing a kind of death."

Faith is not a superficial apology but a profound self-dismantling. The worse we are, the more we need it, yet the less capable we are of it. And yet, it is these really bad people that Jesus finds and transforms. C.S.Lewis goes on to say...

"Fallen man is not simply an imperfect creature who needs improvement: he is a rebel who must lay down his arms…This process of surrender—this movement full speed astern—is what Christians call repentance."

...that faith is hard, transformative, but liberating. It's not real if it's cheap. Cheap is what that self reliance is. Cheap is what you've been doing all along. Weakness is what comes from that inexpensive stuff. It's substandard.

Let's take a closer look at what Jesus had to say about these things:

The Parable of the Prodigal Son, found in Luke 15:11-32, is one of Jesus’ most famous teachings, part of a trio in Luke 15 emphasizing themes of loss, repentance, and joyful restoration. In Luke’s Gospel, this parable responds to Pharisees grumbling about Jesus welcoming sinners (Luke 15:2), illustrating God’s kingdom as inclusive—repentant outcasts are celebrated, while the self-righteous risk exclusion.

Modern applications include family reconciliation, addiction recovery, or social justice, where "prodigals" are the marginalized by the choices they've made.

This narrative, told by Jesus to a mixed audience of tax collectors, sinners, and critical Pharisees (Luke 15:1-2), uses everyday family dynamics to illustrate profound spiritual truths. The younger son embodies our human rebellion and "lostness", demanding emancipation, taking his inheritance prematurely (essentially wishing his father dead in cultural terms). Hitting rock bottom amid famine. His turning point is internal: "when he came to himself" (v. 17), a moment of self-realization leading to repentance; not a mere regret, but a planned confession and humility ("I am no longer worthy," v. 19). It was a profound self-dismantling of his pride. It’s not superficial; it’s a desperate return driven by need, yet genuine. He denounced his crime against the father,

(v. 21) "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants."

He had to come to the realization that he had been completely wrong in his decision-making. He had to put that part of himself to death. And he had to do the thing he couldn't bring himself to do. He had to comeback to himself. To the person he was. To the source of the inheritance he stole away from the father.

In his misery (feeding pigs, a symbol of utter degradation for a Jewish audience), he finally thinks rationally:

"How many of my father’s hired servants have more than enough bread, but I perish here with hunger!" (v. 17).

This echoes Lewis’s idea of repentance as "unlearning self-conceit and self-will," a kind of death where the rebel lays down arms. This "coming to himself" implies he wasn’t truly himself before; his rebellion had alienated him from his core identity as a son, much like how sin distorts our image as God’s children.

Yet, the beauty is in the father’s response: He doesn’t wait for full penance but runs, embraces, and restores (vv. 20-24), symbolizing grace that interrupts our efforts. The son doesn’t earn back sonship; it’s gifted, making him an heir again through unmerited favor, much like Abraham’s faith-based inheritance, extended to all "offspring" via grace (Romans 4:16). This shows God transforms the "really bad" (as you and Lewis note), not despite their depths, but through the humility those depths force.

The Prodigal illustrates that faith isn’t superficial apology but a desperate, genuine reorientation, leading to celebration ("he was dead, and is alive again," v. 24).

And all heaven rejoices at the return of one lost child.

Prayer:
Heavenly Father, in the spirit of Abraham’s trusting faith and the Prodigal’s humble return, help us dismantle our pride and self-reliance. May Your unmerited grace awaken us to true repentance, drawing us back to You as beloved heirs. Transform our hearts through faith in Christ, that we might inherit Your promises and live in joyful obedience. In Jesus' Holy name, Amen.