A Year Held in His Hands| A New Year Sermon
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When you finally get to Romans 16, it almost feels like you’re reading the credits at the end of a movie — all those names, greetings, thank-yous. But somehow, it’s not boring. It’s deeply personal, full of warmth. You can feel Paul’s affection pouring through every word.
This chapter is like the soft landing of a long, deep letter. After all the theology and the fiery truth in earlier chapters, this part feels like friendship — the sound of a man who truly loved the people he served.
Sometimes we skip over it. The long list of names looks like a genealogy we might not understand. But I think Romans 16 shows us something powerful — the Gospel is not just doctrine; it’s relationships. It’s real people, real lives, working together for Jesus.
So, let’s walk through this chapter slowly.
Here’s where Paul starts — with Phoebe. He calls her a “servant,” but the Greek word “diakonos” also means deacon — a helper, a leader, someone who serves God’s people faithfully.
He tells them to welcome her and help her in whatever she needs, because she’s helped many others — including him.
Phoebe was likely the one carrying this very letter to Rome. Imagine that — holding the Book of Romans in her hands!
And right there, we see how vital women were in the early church. Paul’s not ignoring her; he honors her first. That says a lot.
She wasn’t a preacher on a stage, but a faithful servant whose name now echoes through history.
Oh, Priscilla and Aquila — that couple shows up several times in Scripture. They were tentmakers like Paul, and close friends.
Paul says they “risked their lives” for him. That’s loyalty. That’s love in action.
They had a house church, too. The early church wasn’t meeting in fancy buildings — it was people gathered in living rooms, breaking bread, praying, encouraging one another.
When Paul says, “Greet also the church that meets at their house,” I imagine a small group of believers, candles lit, maybe the smell of bread and oil in the air, voices softly singing.
The church wasn’t about walls — it was about hearts knit together by Christ.
That’s a beautiful detail, isn’t it? The first convert in Asia.
Paul never forgets people. He remembers the first fruits — the first life changed by the Gospel in a whole region.
Then he greets Mary, who “worked very hard for you.” He notices her service. Every small thing counts in God’s eyes — the cleaning, the cooking, the helping, the praying — He sees it all.
He also greets Andronicus and Junia — “outstanding among the apostles.” That’s an interesting line, because it shows Junia (a woman) was respected in ministry circles. She and Andronicus had been believers before Paul, and had even suffered prison for Christ.
So much of Romans 16 is like a living picture of unity — men and women, Jews and Gentiles, all working side by side.
These names might not mean much to us, but they were real people. Friends. Brothers and sisters Paul loved.
Ampliatus — his “dear friend in the Lord.” Urbanus — a co-worker. Stachys — “my dear friend.”
You can hear Paul’s affection; he doesn’t just list names like an address book. He writes them with tenderness.
Then he greets “Apelles, whose fidelity to Christ has stood the test.”
That’s a phrase I love. Faith that stood the test. Not flashy, not loud — just steady. Some of the strongest faith in the church is quiet like that.
Two women again — likely sisters, maybe twins. Their names even sound similar.
Paul notes their hard work — again, honoring women who serve diligently.
Then he greets “Persis, another woman who has worked very hard in the Lord,” and “Rufus, chosen in the Lord, and his mother, who has been a mother to me, too.”
That line melts my heart — “his mother was like a mother to me.”
You can almost see Paul smiling as he writes that. It’s personal. The love of the church was like family — spiritual mothers, brothers, children, all bound by grace.
We forget sometimes how relational Christianity is meant to be. It’s not meant to be cold or formal — it’s family.
Asyncritus, Phlegon, Hermes, Patrobas, Hermas, and others. More names, more believers.
Paul doesn’t leave anyone out. Every name matters to him because every name matters to God.
The early church wasn’t filled with celebrities — it was filled with faithful people nobody else would know.
And that’s still true. Heaven’s reward won’t be for the famous, but for the faithful.
That might sound strange now, but it was a common greeting then — like a warm embrace, a genuine sign of peace and affection.
It’s about love without pretense. Respect. Unity. Family warmth.
He adds, “All the churches of Christ send greetings.” You can sense the connectedness — believers across cities, countries, all one in Christ.
Sometimes I wish the modern church felt that close again — not just denominations or buildings, but hearts really joined.
Now Paul gets serious for a moment.
After all those warm greetings, he issues a warning: beware of people who cause division and put obstacles in your way that go against sound teaching.
He says such people serve not Christ but their own appetites. They use smooth talk to deceive the naïve.
That’s timeless advice. Every generation of believers faces the danger of smooth talkers — religious manipulators who twist Scripture for gain or attention.
Paul’s not trying to stir fear, just awareness. True love also guards truth.
That’s beautiful advice. Be wise about what’s good — study it, love it, live it. But stay innocent when it comes to evil — don’t get curious about darkness.
And then this incredible promise:
“The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet.”
Oh, that’s powerful!
The same gentle God of peace will crush the enemy. Victory and peace live in the same heart of God.
When you stand firm in goodness, evil cannot win.
Paul reminds them that the battle’s already decided — God wins, peace wins, love wins.
Timothy, his co-worker, sends greetings. Then Lucius, Jason, Sosipater — fellow Jews.
And then the scribe who actually wrote the letter (Paul dictated it) adds his own hello — “I, Tertius, who wrote down this letter, greet you in the Lord.”
Even the scribe gets a mention! Isn’t that sweet? It’s like saying, “Hey, the guy who’s been holding the pen says hi too.”
Then Gaius, Paul’s host, sends greetings, along with Erastus, the city’s director of public works, and Quartus, “our brother.”
It’s like a window into that early circle of believers — ordinary folks, officials, travelers — all united by one Lord.
Paul ends with one of the most stunning benedictions in Scripture:
“Now to Him who is able to establish you in accordance with my gospel and the proclamation of Jesus Christ…”
He’s praising God who strengthens us through the good news — the mystery once hidden, now revealed through Christ to all nations.
It’s like Paul’s voice rises here — from greetings to worship.
He can’t end Romans without turning eyes heavenward again.
“To the only wise God be glory forever through Jesus Christ. Amen.”
And that’s how Romans ends — not with a rule, not with a farewell, but with glory.
Some people skip this chapter, thinking it’s just a list. But it’s one of the most human, heartfelt pieces in all Scripture.
It shows us that ministry is not about fame — it’s about faithfulness. It’s about names, faces, friends.
Paul remembered people — not just theology. He cared deeply, noticed details, gave honor where it was due.
The church isn’t a machine or a program; it’s a living, breathing family.
And Romans 16 reminds us that small acts of service — the unnamed, unnoticed — are seen by God.
Phoebe carrying the letter, Priscilla teaching quietly, Tryphena and Tryphosa working hard, Rufus’s mother showing kindness — they all mattered.
Every believer has a part in the story.
There’s a lady in my old church named Maria. She’s in her late sixties, tiny frame, silver hair tied in a bun. She’s not on any church board, not a preacher. But every Sunday, she brings flowers from her garden — wild lilies, sometimes roses — and arranges them near the pulpit.
Nobody told her to do it. She just does.
One morning, I asked her why. She said, “It’s my way of saying thank you to Jesus. I can’t preach, but I can make His house smell lovely.”
That stayed with me. Because that’s Romans 16 — a list of Marias, Phoebes, Aquilas — people who simply love and serve.
God’s kingdom is built on such hearts.
Value people over platforms.
The Gospel spreads through relationships — kindness, friendship, loyalty.
Honor others openly.
Paul mentioned people by name — let’s do that too. Thank those who serve quietly.
Stay united, not divided.
Avoid quarrels and pride. Be wise about what’s good, innocent of evil.
Trust that God sees your small work.
You may not be known widely, but heaven knows your name.
Let your faith end in praise.
Like Paul, let your theology turn to worship — always pointing back to God’s glory.
Romans began with humanity’s brokenness and ends with the beauty of redeemed relationships.
From sin to salvation. From guilt to grace. From wrath to worship.
And in the end, it all leads back to glory.
Paul’s journey through this letter is like life itself — messy, beautiful, full of names and faces, challenges and hope.
And maybe that’s how God wants it — not perfect, but personal.
So as you close this chapter, maybe whisper Paul’s last words again:
“To the only wise God be glory forever through Jesus Christ. Amen.”
Let that sink into your heart. Let it shape your prayers.
And remember — the God who began His good work in you will carry it to completion, just as He did with all those dear names Paul wrote down two thousand years ago.
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