A Broke Evangelist

November 28, 2024

Romans 11:2-6

A Remnant Chosen According to Grace

“2God did not reject his people, whom he foreknew. Don’t you know what Scripture says in the passage about Elijah—how he appealed to God against Israel: 3“Lord, they have killed your prophets and torn down your altars; I am the only one left, and they are trying to kill me”? 4And what was God’s answer to him? “I have reserved for myself seven thousand who have not bowed the knee to Baal.” 5So too, at the present time there is a remnant chosen by grace. 6And if by grace, then it cannot be based on works; if it were, grace would no longer be grace.”

Happy Thanksgiving! I’ll be honest: after a day packed with family, football, food, and the inevitable post-turkey coma, the last thing I feel like doing is sitting down to study or write. My body is chemically absorbing gravy and pumpkin pie filling, which isn’t exactly the recipe for energy-producing activity. But we survived Thanksgiving with the family, and it was a fantastic time—no casualties, no political debates, and only minor food-induced napping in odd places.

My daughter was entertaining us with stories about her friends who’ve somehow turned Thanksgiving into a logistical Olympics. Apparently, some families have “double Thanksgiving” because one set of in-laws demands the turkey spotlight on one day, while the other claims dibs on the next. And then there are the overachievers juggling four separate dinners. That’s not Thanksgiving; that’s a turkey triathlon. For us, though? It’s simple: daughter, son-in-law, his parents, and the two grandkids we all share. Easy, cozy, manageable chaos. Sure, the grandkids can turn a quiet room into a WWE ring in under 30 seconds, but that’s child energy for you. At least we’re politically harmonious. They’re Dodgers fans and I’m a Giants fan, but we’ve declared a ceasefire—it’s not baseball season, so we let it slide.

The food was amazing, as expected. My wife’s cooking could win awards, but I’m holding off on nominating her because I like having leftovers to myself. The football games? Meh. None of my teams were playing, so we watched like casual spectators, pretending to care. Honestly, it was more about snacks than the scores. Still, having everyone over was a treat.

Visitors to our house are rare—about as rare as a unicorn sighting or a polite debate on the internet. The main reason? Logistics. Moving into our brand-new place five years ago was like relocating to Middle Earth, but without the hobbits, elves, or wizards darkening our doorstep, or epic battles. Instead, as you travel through the older section of town that’s between us and the rest of our human connections, we have amazing potholes that look like they’re auditioning to become sinkholes. Aside from Al’s Café (a great breakfast place), our side of town isn’t exactly on the destination circuit. It’s so far out that when people hear where we live, they pause, squint, and ask, “Is that still part of the city?” For anyone brave enough to make the trek, preparation is key. Before heading our way, visitors need to top off their gas tank, check their oil, rotate their tires, and make sure their GPS has been updated in the last 48 hours. It’s basically a road trip, and not the fun kind with snacks and a playlist—more like the survivalist kind with extra water and flares…and maybe some physical protection.

But it’s only for about a mile or so that drivers and passengers get to experience the pièce de resistance of what I call the part of town that I affectionately call “World War Z.” Did you think zombies were just for TV? Yeah, this part of town is like a real-life audition for the apocalypse. It’s populated by zombie-like folks (drug addicts and vagrants) who shuffle along the streets and seem to have a personal vendetta against crosswalks. These jaywalking daredevils step into traffic with the reckless abandon of someone who truly believes they have nine lives—or maybe just no regard for the ones they’ve got. Driving through this stretch feels like a level in Mario Kart, but instead of dodging banana peels, you’re avoiding humans who appear determined to unlock some kind of “bonus round.”

Survive that, and you’re rewarded with a stretch of rural scenery—fields, the occasional piece of farm equipment, and the unmistakable aroma of, well, “nature.” Eventually, you’ll spot the shiny, new construction of our neighborhood, a modern oasis rising from the dust and hay bales. Our house is nestled in a development so new that half the streets have names no one else in town has even heard of.

It’s quiet out here, except for the occasional hammering from construction crews building new neighborhoods and the choir of crickets and coyotes that sound like they’re auditioning for America’s Got Talent. But hey, for the few brave souls who make the journey out here, we promise good company, great coffee, and a front-row seat to our slice of suburban paradise—just as long as they survive the reenactment of the pioneer’s westward expansion through savage lands.

But we made it through! Thanksgiving was wonderful, full of laughter, love, and just enough pie to keep everyone in a blissful food coma until next year. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to cover these amazing verses before I need to lie down in order to recover for when the leftovers call my name.

And as much as I didn’t reject any food today, Paul tells us more about how God doesn’t reject us through his letter to the Romans in Romans 11:2-6…

Romans 11:2 - God did not reject his people, whom he foreknew. Don’t you know what Scripture says in the passage about Elijah—how he appealed to God against Israel:

Back in Paul’s day, Israel had a “no thanks” attitude toward Jesus. Imagine someone throwing the ultimate surprise party and the guests all RSVP with lame excuses. Yet, amidst this widespread rejection, a solid remnant of Israelites fully embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ. It’s like God running a VIP club where only a faithful few made the list—a trend He’d been into for a while. As an example, consider Elijah’s era. Back then, when the spiritual attitudes were at an all-time low, God still worked through a dedicated remnant, keeping hope alive. Now, Paul—who himself has had his fair share of run-ins with his fellow Israelites—probably felt like Elijah’s long-lost twin in the “my people are driving me crazy” department. Paul probably looked at Elijah’s story and thought, “Oh yeah, I hear ya, buddy.” And then there was Elijah, who wasn’t just fed up—he was so done that he actually pleaded with God against Israel. Things were so bad that Elijah ratted on his own people, like, “Lord, can we just cut them off and start over? They’re hopeless!” It’s like when our kids break our favorite something, and we momentarily contemplate just selling the house and starting a new life. That feeling that Elijah had not been without merit—Israel had hit rock bottom. But God wasn’t about to throw in the towel. He reminded Elijah (and later Paul) that even when it feels like everyone has lost the plot, there’s always a faithful few sticking to the script. And for Paul, that meant looking past the rejection and seeing the bigger picture: God’s plan doesn’t hinge on the masses; it thrives through the remnant.

Romans 11:3 - Lord, they have killed your prophets and torn down your altars; I am the only one left, and they are trying to kill me”? 

These were Elijah’s words during what we might generously call a meltdown—but let’s be real, it was more of a full-blown prophetic pity party. He was absolutely convinced he was the last man standing, the lone faithful servant in a nation that had collectively lost its marbles. In Elijah’s dramatic mental movie, it was all doom, gloom, and it was time to cue the violins. I can practically see him now: pacing back and forth, hands flailing in the air like he’s trying to land a plane, and hollering at the sky, “It’s just me, Lord! I’m all You’ve got left! The last prophet in the world!” You can almost hear the faint strains of a sad orchestra in the background, swelling with every dramatic sigh. It was as if Elijah was auditioning for the lead role in a soap opera called Desperate Prophets. He’s really leaning into the theatrics, probably adding in a few long pauses for emphasis. He’s not just venting—he’s delivering a performance, pouring his heart out with the energy of a man who’s run out of snacks and hope at the same time. Meanwhile, you can imagine God sitting there, calmly watching this display like a patient parent with a kid throwing a tantrum in the cereal aisle. He was probably sitting there like Rodin’s Thinker, saying, “Oh, Elijah, if you only knew. Bless your dramatic little heart.” He was about to drop a big spoiler alert: Elijah is not the last prophet, and God’s was about to drop that truth bomb on him.

Romans 11:4 - And what was God’s answer to him? “I have reserved for myself seven thousand who have not bowed the knee to Baal.” 

God, ever patient, stepped in with a cosmic reality check. And then He dropped the truth bomb: there’s a remnant. Not just one or two, but a whole group of faithful followers quietly doing their thing, refusing to bow to the idols of the day. They weren’t on Elijah’s radar, but they were very much on God’s. Now, imagine Elijah when he hears this. He’s over here planning his “Last Prophet Standing” one-man show, and God casually reminds him, “You’re not the star of this drama, Elijah. I’ve got thousands who haven’t bent the knee to Baal.” Talk about an ego deflator. It’s like thinking you’re the only one who remembered to bring a casserole to the potluck, only to walk in and find a buffet table full of food! The lesson here is that Elijah wasn’t alone, nor was Paul, and neither were we ever alone. Even when things feel like a spiritual wasteland and we’re tempted to throw our own pity party, God’s like, “I’ve got a remnant.” They might not be loud, flashy, or trending on social media, but they’re there, faithfully holding down the fort. And while Elijah may have felt like the solo act, God reminded him that His plans always include a team—because let’s face it, even prophets need backup.

Romans 11:5 - So too, at the present time there is a remnant chosen by grace. 

We often think God needs a massive crowd to get stuff done—like He’s organizing some spiritual flash mob. But God seems to prefer working with the “small but mighty” approach. He’s not out here saying, “Let’s see if we can break the record for the world’s largest prayer circle.” No, he’s all about taking a willing and determined little group, starting small and doing something so mind-blowing that everyone watching is like, “How on earth did THAT happen?” During Paul’s day, most of the Jews weren’t exactly rushing to embrace Jesus as the Messiah. It was more like, “Yeah, thanks, but no thanks.” However, a faithful few—a remnant—got it and said, “We’re in!” And that tiny crew was exactly the kind of people God loves to work through. It’s like He looks at them and thinks, “Perfect. Small group, I have big plans. Exactly what I’m looking for!” God’s playbook is pretty clear: He doesn’t need a mega-church or a stadium full of believers to kickstart a movement. Give Him a handful of the faithful, and He’ll turn that into a spiritual wildfire. Whenever I try to light a fire, I always need small pieces of wood before I can get the big log lit. I could sit there and light matches under the big log, but it’ll never get lit. No, it’s like life: start small, and let it build into something great. Next thing we know, there’s a roaring blaze, and everyone’s roasting marshmallows with a smile on their face. So, whether it’s a motley group of early believers in Paul’s day or that one Bible study group that meets in a living room every Tuesday night, God’s strategy remains the same: work with the remnant and make it remarkable. It’s proof that with God, size doesn’t matter—but willingness? That’s the real deal.

Romans 11:6 - And if by grace, then it cannot be based on works; if it were, grace would no longer be grace.”

In the previous verse, Paul dropped that truth bomb about the remnant being chosen by the election of grace. Now, he circles back to remind us exactly what grace is—because if we’re honest, humans have a knack for overcomplicating things. Grace, by definition, is God’s ultimate: a free gift. Not “free with purchase” or “free with a coupon code.” Just completely free. And the best part is that it has nothing to do with how impressive, talented, or worthy we are. Grace is all about the kindness of the giver, not the potential of the receiver. Paul then lays down this rule: If it’s grace, it can’t be works. And if it’s works, it’s not grace. It’s like mixing oil and water—they just don’t blend. Imagine you’re at a birthday party, and someone hands you a gift. You tear it open, and it’s amazing. But then they say, “Oh, and here’s the invoice for it. Venmo me when you can.” Uh, what? That’s not a gift—that’s a shady business transaction disguised with a bow. Grace, on the other hand, says, “Here’s a gift. No strings attached. No repayment plan. Just enjoy it.” Meanwhile, works is over in the corner like, “Well, if you want this, you better earn it, buddy.” Paul’s point is clear: these two concepts don’t share the same space. You can’t earn grace any more than you can high-five a rainbow. It’s either freely given or it’s not grace at all. So, when it comes to God’s grace, we need to stop trying to pull out our wallets or our résumés (when I think of that, it gives me a lot of relief…ha ha). God’s not impressed with how many church potlucks we’ve organized or how many Bible verses we can recite backwards. Grace is a gift, plain and simple. The only thing we need to do is receive it—and maybe quit continuing to wonder if it’s free!

More to come…

A Broke Evangelist – November 28, 2024

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