Day 39

Exodus 27–28 | Romans 3:21–31 | Psalm 17

“Then what becomes of our boasting? It is excluded.” (Romans 3:27)

I hate feeling like I owe anyone something. If I borrow a tool, I return it the next day. If someone buys me lunch, I make sure I pick up the next check. I don’t like feeling indebted.

And if I’m honest, that pride creeps into my faith too.

I know I’m saved by grace alone. But I still want to contribute something. I still want to prove I was a good investment. I still want to believe that my effort, my discipline, my pursuit of righteousness plays some part in why God accepts me.

But justification doesn’t leave room for that.

Today’s reading in Exodus is full of detailed instructions—rules for the tabernacle, descriptions of priestly garments, exact measurements for the altar. It all points to one thing: God is holy, and we don’t just stroll into His presence on our own terms. There had to be a priest. There had to be an offering. There had to be a covering.

And then, I turn to Romans 3, and Paul spells it out plainly:

“All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23)

“By works of the law, no human being will be justified.” (Romans 3:20)

“We hold that one is justified by faith apart from works of the law.” (Romans 3:28)

It’s offensive. Because it means I bring nothing to my salvation.

That’s hard for me to swallow. I like feeling as though I’ve earned my place. Even now, after decades of walking with Christ, I still battle the feeling that I need to prove myself. That I need to work hard enough, be disciplined enough, keep myself in check enough—so God will be pleased with me.

But Romans 3 leaves no wiggle room. Justification isn’t something I contribute to—it’s something I receive.

And the only way to receive it?

Empty hands.

That’s what grace demands. That’s what the gospel requires. Not clenched fists trying to hold onto my own goodness, but open hands ready to receive His.

And the irony is, the times I have been most physically unable—most helpless—have been the times I have understood grace the most.

Because after the saw took two of my fingers, I learned what it’s like to be helpless.

I know what it’s like to stare at a bottle of water, frustrated that I can’t twist the cap off on my own.

I know what it’s like to fumble with a button on my jeans, realizing I can’t fasten it without help.

I know what it’s like to have to ask my wife to tie my shoes—like I did this morning—because I don’t have the dexterity to tie them myself.

I know what it’s like to sit in a hospital bed, unable to do anything to fix my own injury, while someone else’s skilled hands work to put me back together.

And in those moments, I had no choice but to receive.

I couldn’t contribute. I couldn’t work for it. I could only accept help.

That is the picture of grace. Helpless, unable, yet receiving. And that’s exactly what Jesus has done for me.

Jesus is the One who makes me righteous. Jesus is the One who intercedes before the Father, not because I proved myself worthy, but because He alone is worthy.

So today, I’ll fight the pride that whispers I need to earn it.

I’ll remember that my justification has nothing to do with my performance.

I’ll open my hands.

Because empty hands are the only hands that can receive grace.

Lord, keep me from striving to earn what You’ve already given me. Strip away my self-sufficiency, my pride, my need to contribute. Let me rest in the righteousness of Christ alone. Amen.