Can God Be Trusted?

Can God Be Trusted?

Pastor Matt VanCleave, Blue Oaks Church, June 28, 2026

Good morning everyone.

If we haven’t met, my name is Matt. I’m the teaching pastor here at Blue Oaks.

If you’re new, you’ve joined us in a series through the book of Romans.

Over the last couple of months we’ve been exploring what life looks like when the gospel begins to reshape a community.

We’ve talked about humility.
We’ve talked about love.
We’ve talked about making room for people who don’t always see things the way we do.
We’ve talked about laying down our rights for the sake of others.
We’ve talked about becoming people who build peace in a divided world.

And last week, Wendy did such a wonderful job reminding us that the gospel doesn’t just create individual Christians. It creates an unlikely family.

I loved her reminder that ordinary faithfulness matters to God.

Romans ends with Paul celebrating people who quietly loved… and served… and hosted… and encouraged… and sacrificed… and simply showed up for one another over and over again.

Can we thank Wendy for teaching us so well last week?

What’s interesting is that her message actually becomes a beautiful bridge into where we’re going next in Romans.

Because once you’ve experienced God’s family, a new question naturally emerges: Can God actually be trusted with the people we love most?

And that’s where Paul takes us today, as we begin a new section of Romans starting at chapter 9.

But before we get there, I want to ask you a question —

Have you ever noticed how much easier it is to trust someone when the outcome is going the way you hoped?

When the contractor says, “We’ll be done by Friday”… and they’re actually done by Friday.

When the airline says your flight is on time… and somehow it actually leaves on time. Which, apparently, is still technically possible.

When the investment grows — when Nvidia keeps doing whatever Nvidia does.
When the relationship is healthy.
When the plan is working.

Trust comes pretty naturally when the story is unfolding the way you expected.

The real test comes when it isn’t.

When the contractor is on month seven of a three-week project.
When the relationship falls apart.
When the diagnosis changes everything.
When the career path you were counting on suddenly disappears.
When the child you raised begins making choices you never imagined.

Those are the moments when deeper questions start surfacing.

Not just: “What should I do?”

But: “Can I trust God here?”
“Is He still at work?”
“Does he know what he’s doing?”

Because it’s one thing to trust God when the story makes sense. It’s another thing to trust him when it doesn’t.

And that’s exactly where Paul takes us today.

Romans 9 is one of the most discussed chapters in the entire New Testament.

People debate it… write books about it… split into theological camps over it.

But before Romans 9 becomes a theological discussion, it’s something much more personal.

It’s about what happens when God’s plan doesn’t look the way you expected it would.

It’s about whether God can still be trusted when his purposes are difficult to understand.

And what I love is that Paul doesn’t begin with an argument. He begins with heartbreak.

Romans 9, beginning in verse 1.

I speak the truth in Christ—I am not lying, my conscience confirms it through the Holy Spirit—I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were cursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my people, those of my own race, the people of Israel. (Romans 9:1-3)

One of the things that surprises me about Romans 9 is how emotional it is.

Because when people talk about this chapter, they usually jump straight into theological debates about:

Predestination
And election
And free will
And the sovereignty of God

And those conversations have their place. But Paul doesn’t start there.

He starts with tears.

Listen again to what he says: “I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart.”

Those are strong words — not disappointment… not frustration… anguish.

Paul is carrying something heavy.

And what’s causing that pain?

His own people.

The people he grew up with.
The people he loves.
The people who share his history… and his culture… and his faith tradition.

Many of them have rejected Jesus as Messiah. And Paul is devastated by it.

In fact, he says something almost shocking in verse 3:

For I could wish that I myself were cursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my people… (Romans 9:3)

Paul isn’t making a theological statement here. He’s expressing the depth of his love.

It’s similar to what Moses said after Israel’s rebellion in the wilderness. The language is intentionally dramatic.

Paul is saying: “If it were possible, I would trade places with them.” That’s how deeply he cares.

And I think that’s important because it tells us something about mature faith.

Mature faith doesn’t eliminate grief. Sometimes mature faith deepens it.

The closer your heart becomes to God’s heart, the more you begin carrying the burdens of other people.

The more you love, the more vulnerable you become to sorrow.

And many of us know exactly what that feels like.

Maybe for you it’s a son or daughter.
Maybe it’s a parent.
Maybe it’s a sibling.
Maybe it’s a close friend.

Someone you love.
Someone you’ve prayed for.
Someone whose life is moving in a direction that breaks your heart.

In fact, don’t say their name out loud, but picture someone right now.

A face probably came to mind immediately.

A child.
A parent.
A sibling.
A friend.

Someone you desperately want something different for.

You want healing.
You want reconciliation.
You want faith.
You want wholeness.

And sometimes all you can do is watch.

That’s where Paul is emotionally standing in Romans 9.

And notice what he doesn’t do.

He doesn’t attack.
He doesn’t mock.
He doesn’t condemn.

He grieves… because love always mourns what is lost.

Then Paul does something fascinating.

Before he talks about Israel’s rejection of Jesus, he reminds us of Israel’s privileges.

Look at verses 4 and 5.

Theirs is the adoption to sonship; theirs the divine glory, the covenants, the receiving of the law, the temple worship and the promises. Theirs are the patriarchs, and from them is traced the human ancestry of the Messiah, who is God over all, forever praised! Amen. (Romans 9:4-5)

Paul begins listing all the ways God had worked through Israel throughout history.

The adoption
The glory
The covenants
The law
The worship
The promises
The patriarchs
And ultimately the Messiah himself.

In other words, if anyone should have recognized Jesus, it should have been Israel.

They had the story.
They had the promises.
They had generations of preparation.

Yet many still rejected Him.

And that creates a problem. Not just for Israel, but for Paul’s understanding of God.

Because if God made promises to Israel, and things seem to have gone off the rails, an obvious question emerges:

Has God’s plan failed?
Can God actually be trusted?

Paul looks at all of this — the history, the promises, the covenants, the Messiah himself — and he’s left with a question that every follower of Jesus eventually encounters:

What do you do when what you see doesn’t seem to match what you expected God would do?

That’s where Paul is standing.

He knows God’s promises.
He knows God’s faithfulness.
He knows God’s story.

And yet what he sees happening around him doesn’t seem to fit.

So beginning in verse 6, Paul starts pulling back the curtain and helping us see something that has been true all along.

Verse 6 is one of the most important verses in the chapter.

It is not as though God’s word had failed. For not all who are descended from Israel are Israel. (Romans 9:6)

In other words, Paul is saying, “What you’re seeing doesn’t mean God has stopped being faithful.”

And then he begins walking through Israel’s history.

Nor because they are his descendants are they all Abraham’s children. On the contrary, “It is through Isaac that your offspring will be reckoned.”

In other words, it is not the children by physical descent who are God’s children, but it is the children of the promise who are regarded as Abraham’s offspring.

For this was how the promise was stated: “At the appointed time I will return, and Sarah will have a son.”

Not only that, but Rebekah’s children were conceived at the same time by our father Isaac. Yet, before the twins were born or had done anything good or bad—in order that God’s purpose in election might stand: not by works but by him who calls—she was told, “The older will serve the younger.” Just as it is written: “Jacob I loved, but Esau I hated.” (Romans 9:7-13)

Now this is where we have to slow down a little bit because Paul starts referencing people and stories that you may not be familiar with.

He mentions Isaac and Ishmael. Then Jacob and Esau. These aren’t random examples.

Paul is making a point — throughout Israel’s history, God’s purposes have always moved forward through God’s initiative rather than human expectations.

Take Abraham, for example.

God promised Abraham that He would create a great nation through him. The problem was Abraham and Sarah couldn’t have children.

Years passed… nothing happened.

So Abraham and Sarah decided to help God out. Which, historically speaking, is almost always where the trouble starts.

They took matters into their own hands, and Ishmael was born.

But God’s promise didn’t move forward through Ishmael. It moved forward through Isaac.

Then Paul points to another story — Isaac has twin sons: Jacob and Esau.

And if you were reading the story for the first time, Esau would seem like the obvious choice.

He’s the firstborn… he’s the stronger candidate… he’s the expected heir.

Yet God chooses Jacob.

Paul is trying to show us something — God’s purposes have never depended on human systems… or human assumptions… or human qualifications… or human expectations.

God has always been at work in ways people didn’t fully anticipate.

And if we’re honest, that’s still one of the hardest things for us to accept.

Because we all carry expectations about how God should work.

Maybe it’s because we live in the Bay Area. This is a place filled with incredibly smart, capable people. We believe almost any problem can be solved.

Need a new app? Someone’s building it.
Need groceries? Someone will deliver them.
Need a driver? You don’t even need a driver anymore.
Need a boyfriend or girlfriend? Apparently there’s an algorithm for that too.

We’re surrounded by people who believe that with enough intelligence, enough resources, and enough effort, almost anything can be figured out.

Then Paul comes along in Romans 9 and says something deeply uncomfortable: God is not a problem to solve. He’s a person to trust.

We tend to think:

“If God is faithful, then this relationship should work out.”
“If God is faithful, then this prayer should be answered the way I asked.”
“If God is faithful, then this opportunity should open up.”
“If God is faithful, then this season shouldn’t be so difficult.”

And sometimes God does work exactly the way we hoped. But often he doesn’t.

Not because he’s absent… and not because he’s unfaithful. But because his purposes are bigger than our expectations.

And when our expectations collide with God’s purposes, we have a choice.

We can conclude that God has failed. Or we can consider the possibility that God is doing something bigger than we can currently see.

I think that’s where many of us live.

We’re looking at a chapter of the story. God is looking at the entire story.
We’re looking at a moment. God is looking at generations.
We’re looking at today’s disappointment. God is looking at an eternity of redemption.

And Paul wants us to understand that God’s faithfulness is not measured by whether he follows our preferred script.

His faithfulness is measured by whether he keeps his promises.

And throughout history, he has.

As soon as Paul starts talking about God working according to his purposes rather than human expectations, he knows what objection is coming. In fact, he asks it himself.

Verse 14:

What then shall we say? Is God unjust? (Romans 9:14)

Or to put it in modern language: “That’s not fair.”

If you’ve ever felt that tension reading Romans 9, you’re in good company. Paul felt it too.

The people listening to this letter felt it too.

Because there are moments when God’s ways don’t fit neatly into our sense of fairness.

And Paul answers immediately:

Not at all! (Romans 9:14)

Now, before we go further, it’s worth noticing something.

Paul doesn’t answer the question the way we might expect. He doesn’t launch into a philosophical explanation. He doesn’t give a detailed argument about free will.

Instead, he points us to something else — Mercy.

Look how many times mercy shows up in this section.

Verse 15:

I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion. (Romans 9:15)

Verse 16:

It does not, therefore, depend on human desire or effort, but on God’s mercy. (Romans 9:16)

Verse 18:

God has mercy on whom he wants to have mercy. (Romans 9:18)

Paul keeps bringing us back to mercy.

Because mercy changes the conversation.

Most of us instinctively approach life through the category of fairness.

We want…

Fairness at work
Fairness at school
Fairness in relationships
Fairness in sports
Fairness in the legal system

And generally speaking, fairness is a good thing.

But Paul says the story of salvation was never built on fairness. It was built on mercy.

And those aren’t the same thing.

Fairness is receiving what you deserve. Mercy is receiving what you don’t deserve.

That’s why no one can earn mercy… no one can demand mercy… no one can negotiate for mercy.

The moment mercy becomes something we’re owed, it stops being mercy.

And that’s Paul’s point.

The surprise isn’t that God shows mercy to some people. The surprise is that God shows mercy to any of us.

Because if salvation were based on deserving it, none of us would qualify.

If salvation were based on achievement, none of us would make the cut.
If salvation were based on moral performance, every one of us would come up short.

But the good news of the gospel is that God doesn’t meet us with what we deserve. He meets us with mercy.

And if you’ve ever wondered why Christians sing so much about grace, that’s why.

Because the entire Christian story is built on the reality that God has given us something we could never earn.

Imagine someone creates a scholarship fund.

A hundred students apply. Ten receive full scholarships.

The ninety who don’t receive a scholarship may be disappointed. But no one can claim they were robbed.

Why?

Because a scholarship is a gift.

It isn’t a wage.
It isn’t an entitlement.
It isn’t something owed.

It’s an act of generosity.

Paul is saying something similar about God’s mercy — mercy is not a paycheck. It’s a gift.

Now at this point some people start feeling uncomfortable. Because they wonder:

“Does that mean God is arbitrary?”
“Does that mean people don’t matter?”
“Does that mean our choices don’t matter?”

Those are exactly the questions Paul anticipates next. And that’s why he moves into one of the most famous images in the entire chapter.

Look at verses 19-24.

One of you will say to me: “Then why does God still blame us? For who is able to resist his will?” But who are you, a human being, to talk back to God? “Shall what is formed say to the one who formed it, ‘Why did you make me like this?’” Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for special purposes and some for common use?

What if God, although choosing to show his wrath and make his power known, bore with great patience the objects of his wrath—prepared for destruction? What if he did this to make the riches of his glory known to the objects of his mercy, whom he prepared in advance for glory—even us, whom he also called, not only from the Jews but also from the Gentiles? (Romans 9:19-24)

At this point Paul raises another question. And honestly, it’s the question many readers are already asking.

If God is accomplishing his purposes…
If God’s mercy is at work…
If God’s plan is moving forward…

Then where does that leave us? Do our choices matter? Are we just characters in a story that’s already been written?

And Paul responds with an image his readers would have immediately recognized — the image of a potter and clay.

This wasn’t a new image. The prophets had used it for centuries.

When Paul mentions a potter and clay, he’s drawing on language from Isaiah and Jeremiah. His audience would have immediately recognized the picture.

A potter sits at a wheel shaping clay into something beautiful and useful.

We live in an age where almost everything is customizable.

We customize our coffee.
We customize our playlists.
We customize our news feeds.
We customize our social media algorithms.

We live in a world that constantly tells us we’re in control.

Romans 9 gently reminds us that we’re not the potter. We’re the clay.

The clay doesn’t determine its own purpose. The potter does.

And Paul’s point is not that human beings have no value. His point is that God is God and we are not.

Which sounds obvious until life becomes confusing.

Because when life becomes confusing, most of us don’t struggle with believing God exists. We struggle with accepting that we don’t occupy his position.

We want explanations.
We want timelines.
We want answers.
We want God to tell us what he’s doing and why he’s doing it.

And sometimes he does. But often he doesn’t.

I was thinking this week that one of the hardest parts of being human is how little of the story we actually get to see.

We see today’s disappointment. God sees where the story is ultimately going.
We see a closed door. God sees ten doors further down the road.
We see a chapter. God sees the entire book.

And Paul’s point is that our perspective is limited in a way God’s never is.

Now notice something important — Paul isn’t saying questions are bad. After all, Paul is the one asking the questions.

He’s anticipating objections. He’s engaging them.

Christian faith has never required people to turn off their minds.

The Bible is full of questions.

David asks questions.
Job asks questions.
Jeremiah asks questions.
Habakkuk asks questions.
Even Jesus asks questions.

The issue isn’t asking questions. The issue is assuming we have enough perspective to sit in judgment over God.

That’s what Paul is addressing.

There’s a difference between saying: “God, help me understand.” And saying: “God, I have reviewed your decisions and found them lacking.”

One posture is humility. The other is pride.

One recognizes our limitations. The other assumes we see the whole picture.

And Paul’s argument is that we don’t.

Which, if we’re honest, can feel uncomfortable.

Because we’d all prefer a God who explains everything. A God who hands us a detailed itinerary for the next twenty years. A God who answers every why.

But that’s not the kind of relationship the writers of Scripture describe.

Again and again, God gives people enough light for the next step, not enough light for the entire journey.

Abraham didn’t get the whole plan.
Moses didn’t get the whole plan.
David didn’t get the whole plan.
The disciples didn’t get the whole plan.

And neither do we.

What we get is something different — we get a God whose character has proven trustworthy.

And Paul says that’s enough reason to keep trusting him even when we can’t fully understand him.

Then notice where Paul takes the argument.

Verse 24:

Even us, whom he also called, not only from the Jews but also from the Gentiles. (Romans 9:24)

Suddenly the conversation gets bigger.

Paul isn’t only talking about individuals. He’s talking about God’s plan for the world.

A plan that includes both Jews and Gentiles. A plan that’s far bigger than anyone expected.

And to show that, Paul reaches back into the prophets.

Look at verses 25-29.

As he says in Hosea:

“I will call them ‘my people’ who are not my people; and I will call her ‘my loved one’ who is not my loved one,” and, “In the very place where it was said to them, ‘You are not my people,’ there they will be called ‘children of the living God.’”

Isaiah cries out concerning Israel:

“Though the number of the Israelites be like the sand by the sea, only the remnant will be saved. For the Lord will carry out his sentence on earth with speed and finality.”

It is just as Isaiah said previously:

“Unless the Lord Almighty had left us descendants, we would have become like Sodom, we would have been like Gomorrah.” (Romans 9:25-29)

One of the reasons Romans 9 can feel so overwhelming is because we often read it as if Paul is trying to answer every theological question we have.

But notice where Paul actually ends this section.

He ends with Hosea… he ends with Isaiah… he ends with the prophets.

Why?

Because Paul’s point isn’t simply that God is sovereign. His point is that God has been faithful.

For centuries God had been telling a story.

And generation after generation there were moments when that story seemed impossible to understand.

Israel goes into slavery.
Israel wanders in the wilderness.
The kingdom divides.
The nation is conquered.
The people are exiled.

And over and over again it would have been reasonable to ask:

“Has God abandoned his promises?”
“Has God’s plan failed?”
“Does God still know what he’s doing?”

Yet every time the story moved forward.

Not always in the way people expected. But always according to God’s purposes.

And that’s why Paul quotes Hosea… because Hosea tells the story of people who seemed completely outside the family of God being brought in by grace.

People who were once called “not my people” being called “my people.”

Then he quotes Isaiah… because Isaiah reminds Israel that God has always preserved a faithful remnant.

Even when things looked hopeless… even when the nation appeared spiritually bankrupt… even when it seemed like the story was over… God was still at work.

And what Paul wants us to see is that the same thing is happening now.

What looks like chaos isn’t chaos.
What looks like failure isn’t failure.
What looks like God losing control isn’t God losing control.

God is still at work.

In fact, one of the beautiful things about this section is that it reminds us that God is often working in places no one expects.

The religious insiders didn’t expect Gentiles to be welcomed into God’s family. Yet here they are — the people once considered outsiders are now being gathered into God’s people.

And that’s been true throughout history. Again and again God works in surprising places… through unexpected people… in ways no one saw coming.

Because God’s purposes are often bigger than the categories we create.

And when I read this section, I find myself wondering how many times in my own life I’ve mistaken a confusing chapter for the end of the story… how many times I’ve assumed God wasn’t working simply because I couldn’t see what he was doing… how many times I’ve looked at a situation and thought: “This can’t possibly be part of God’s plan.”

I remember feeling that very deeply during my divorce.

There were moments when I was absolutely convinced I knew what God should do.

Restore the marriage.
Change Kathy’s heart.
Bring reconciliation.

That’s what I prayed for. That’s what I wanted. That’s what I expected.

And when it became clear that wasn’t what was happening, one of the hardest parts wasn’t simply the loss itself. It was not understanding what God was doing.

I couldn’t see a bigger story. I could only see the chapter I was standing in.

And isn’t that always the challenge? We want to know how the story ends while we’re still standing in chapter 12.

There were days when Romans 9 would have been a difficult chapter for me to read.

Because I wanted explanations. I wanted answers. I wanted God to tell me why.

Instead, what I often got was an invitation to trust him when I couldn’t fully understand him.

And I suspect many of you know exactly what that feels like.

That’s why I find this section so encouraging.

Not because Paul explains every mystery. He doesn’t.

But because he reminds us that God’s faithfulness is not limited by our ability to understand what he’s doing.

His purposes continue even when they’re hidden from us. His promises remain true even when circumstances make them difficult to see.

And that’s really good news.

Because we all have chapters we don’t understand… we all have questions that remain unanswered… we all have moments when the story seems confusing.

There are moments as a parent when you know exactly what you want for your child.

You see choices they’re making. You see consequences coming. You pray. You try to help. You try to guide.

And eventually you discover that some things are outside your control.

And one of the hardest prayers to pray is: “God, I trust you with someone I love more than I can describe.”

Paul’s invitation is not to pretend everything is great when it’s not. His invitation is to trust the character of God in the middle of the difficulty.

You know… As I’ve sat with this chapter all week, I’ve become convinced that Romans 9 is not ultimately about winning theological arguments. It’s about learning to trust God when life doesn’t make sense.

Because eventually every one of us arrives at a place where explanations run out.

A place where we don’t know why.
A place where we don’t understand what God is doing.
A place where the story unfolding in front of us isn’t the story we would have written.

For some of you, that’s where you are right now.

You’re carrying questions about…

A child
A marriage
A diagnosis
A relationship
A loss
A prayer that seems unanswered

And if we’re honest, sometimes the hardest part isn’t the circumstance itself. It’s not knowing what God is doing in the middle of it.

Romans 9 doesn’t give us a formula for those moments. It gives us something else:

It reminds us that throughout the entire story of Scripture, God has been faithful even when people couldn’t see what he was doing.

Abraham couldn’t see the whole story.
Moses couldn’t see the whole story.
Isaiah couldn’t see the whole story.
The people living through exile couldn’t see the whole story.
Paul couldn’t see the whole story.

Yet God was working in every chapter.

And He’s still working now.

You know, one of the challenges of reading the Bible is that we know how most of the stories end.

We know Abraham becomes the father of a nation.
We know Joseph rises to power in Egypt.
We know Israel returns from exile.
We know Jesus rises from the dead.
We know the ending.

The people living those stories didn’t. They had to trust God without knowing how the next chapter would unfold.

And that’s exactly where we live.

None of us know how the next chapter unfolds.

We don’t know what God is doing in every circumstance.
We don’t know how every prayer will be answered.
We don’t know how every story will resolve.

But we do know the character of the one writing the story.

Maybe that’s why faith is so difficult sometimes. We don’t just want a trustworthy God. We want a predictable God.

And those are not the same thing.

Predictable people do exactly what we expect. Trustworthy people do what is good even when we don’t fully understand it.

Romans 9 is inviting us to trust God, not control him.

And if we’re honest, that’s a difficult invitation. Because most of us would prefer God hand us the blueprint.

We’d prefer a five-year plan.
We’d prefer a timeline.
We’d prefer an explanation.

But over and over again, God offers us something else. He offers us himself.

And that’s really what Romans 9 is asking us.

Not: Do you understand everything God is doing?

But: Do you trust him?

Do you trust that his purposes are bigger than your expectations?
Do you trust that his mercy is greater than your sense of fairness?
Do you trust that his perspective is greater than your understanding?
Do you trust that he’s still at work even when you cannot see it?

Because sooner or later faith always comes back to that question — can God be trusted?

And Paul’s answer is yes.

Not because every mystery has been solved… not because every question has been answered… but because the God who has been faithful throughout the entire story has not changed.

He was faithful then. He’s faithful now. And He will be faithful in whatever chapter comes next.

Alright, pray with me as the worship team comes to lead us in a closing song.