Super Conquerors

Questions and Answers from Romans 8

Romans 8:31–39 begins with a question: “What, then, shall we say in response to these things?” (v. 31a)

To even begin to answer that question, we have to look backward a bit. The passage prior to this one is pregnant with ideas of not necessarily triumph, but of challenge and struggle. One word that might describe it is “groaning.” There is the groaning of creation in anticipation of its redemption (v. 22). There is the groaning of the people of God for that same redemption (v. 23). And there is the groaning of the Spirit within us, helping us to pray (v. 26).

This word “groaning” is tied to the idea of childbirth and birth pangs. Paul is trying to drive home a point. “We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies” (Romans 8:22–23).

A couple of days ago, I was on a call with both men and women, and someone asked me if creating sermons ever gets easier. I said, “Yes, sometimes it just comes quickly, but other times it’s more like childbirth” — at which point the women on the call rolled their eyes, because they knew I knew nothing about that. I felt judged. 😄

Normally I don’t feel the liberty to speak about birth pains, but since Paul did, and he hadn’t experienced them either, I figure I can speak about it too.

• I’ve observed childbirth numerous times, so I should be able to understand the concept. Right?

• I’ve had some things in my life that have been very painful, so surely that qualifies me to speak about it. Right?

• Suffice it to say, I have heard it is pretty uncomfortable. 🤪

In a way, as we grapple with the question in verse 31, we see that “these things” aren’t born out of a place of triumph — the question sits in the groaning of the present, waiting on the promise of the future. This isn’t abstract theology; it’s testimony wrung out of an aching community. The passage begins in the slog of real life. Groaning. Waiting. Aching. And then — the pivot. A panoramic view opens before the community of faith.

Paul’s readers weren’t debating theology in a classroom. They were watching neighbors die under the weight of Roman rule. Some of you may be carrying your own package of challenges. It is easy to connect the dots that Paul is writing to you/us too.

So, when Paul asks his question, I’d suggest he’s asking it for a hurting church, not a comfortable one. And that’s exactly why his answers in this passage carry the weight they do. It’s easy to see where he’s going, because he frames it in terms of three more questions.

Every Accusation Is Disarmed — God Himself Justifies

The first question:

“If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all — how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies.” vs. 31b–33

Think about the voice in your head that’s on loop, the one that says, How could God accept me? The voice that says, You say you love God, but you keep coming back to the same things: greed, or anger, lustful thoughts, or the accusation you’ve never even whispered out loud. Call it chatter, if you like. Paul says that voice has no case.

Answering the question, Paul points to the center of his response: Jesus being given. “He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all — how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things?” We were, and still are, the object of the grace of God. God’s good gifts demonstrate that there is never a basis for a charge against his chosen one.

Why?

Because of the justifier. God vindicates through his Son, Jesus. In other words, the accusations have nowhere to land. Who is it that brings the charges, when it is God who is the justifier?

Think of the love given to the prodigal. The younger son asks his father for his inheritance in advance, travels to a far-off place, and squanders it until he is penniless and hopeless. When he comes to his senses — still culpable for his foolishness — he heads home, rehearsing the groveling speech he’ll give his father, hoping only for reconnection. But Scripture says the father was already watching for him. I love that picture. He saw him a long way off, ran to him, embraced him, and unreservedly welcomed him home — not because the son hadn’t lived the life of a fool, but because of the enduring, never-ending love of a father.

It is God who justifies, not our efforts, even our most sincere ones.

Every Condemnation Is Met — Christ Himself Intercedes

The second question:

“Who then is the one who condemns?” No one. “Christ Jesus who died — more than that, who was raised to life — is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us.” v. 34

A straightforward and direct follow-up: Who then is the one who condemns? I love this answer. No one. And the passage tells us why: Christ Jesus who died — more than that, who was raised to life — is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us.

The condemnation is simply noise pretending to be a verdict. It sounds official. It sounds final. It is neither. What’s the remedy? Paul brings forth the very center of the faith: Christ died. Christ rose. He is now, presently, at the right hand of God. And catch this — he is interceding for us. The CEB translates it this way: “It is Christ Jesus who also pleads our case for us.”

1 John 2:1 puts it plainly: if anyone sins, “we have an advocate with the Father — Jesus Christ, the righteous one.” Not a technicality. Not a loophole. An advocate who stands and speaks.

Hebrews 7:25 adds: “Therefore he is able to save completely those who come to God through him, because he always lives to intercede for them.” That’s identity and purpose. Notice the present tense — intercession has happened, but it says he always lives to intercede, to advocate for us.

I think of what it means to stand up for the people I love — for Robi, especially. I’m not an angry man, and I hold a very strong ethic of nonviolence (except toward unjust calls by officials in basketball games). But the few times something has snapped inside me have been when Robi was threatened by someone else. Once, while coaching an AAU team together, a man, a parent of one of the players, came up to her and became very forceful and threatening because he felt like his daughter was not getting enough playing time. This happens way too many times. If you are a parent, please stop doing this. I was late for the game, and when I arrived, I found Robi red-faced and weeping. When I found out what had happened, I was instantaneously teleported across the gym to about 3 inches from this man’s face with the intent to rectify the situation (read “throw down”). I am not a small man, and after I informed him in no uncertain terms that he was never to talk to my wife again without me present, things de-escalated, but he understood that his behavior was not going to be tolerated. I am not proud of my actions, actually, even embarrassed, but I share the story with you to make clear that in almost all situations I am peaceful, but in this particular relationship I was always going to stand up for my wife.

I hope you have felt someone stand up for you. I hope you know what it means to have someone show up and speak on your behalf when you couldn’t speak for yourself, like having a friend who writes the character reference during a job loss, the parent who stands up for a kid in the principal’s office. Multiply that by infinity, and you’re close to what Christ is doing for you right now, at the right hand of God. Interceeding.

Every Power Is Vanquished — Love Makes Us More Than Conquerors

The third question:

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? “Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written: ‘For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.’ No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” vs. 35–39

Trouble, hardship, persecution, starvation, exposure, danger, a weapon brandished against us, the constant nearness of death — none of it can separate us from the love of Jesus.

Notice what Paul quotes in verse 36. It isn’t a verse about triumph. It’s a verse about slaughter. The love he’s describing doesn’t wait for the danger to pass. It holds fast in the middle of it. Trade Paul’s list for words of your own: the health diagnosis, the empty chair at the table, the addiction that won’t let go, the marriage that’s struggling. None of it separates you.

We are super victors. The Greek is hypernikaō — hyper meaning “super,” and nikaō the root that gives us “Nike,” victor, to prevail. Paul is saying we are super victors. Nothing — death or life, angels or demons, present or future, no power, no height, no depth, nothing in all creation — can separate us from a love that gave all, that forgives all, that comforts all, that repairs all. Nothing can separate us. Jesus’ love is the center and power of our entire faith.

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Let me end where I started. No accusation lands. No condemnation holds. No power in all creation is bigger. Not in a moment of triumph, but in the slog. There was the groaning of creation. The groaning of real people. The Spirit groaning too deep for words. This wasn’t written to people who had it together. It was written into the ache. And into that ache, Paul offers not a technique, nor strategy — only certainty, because God has already given his Son for us, and no accusation, condemnation, or power in all creation can separate his people from his love. You and I are loved (10x, 1000x).

My friend Shann Ferch once wrote about his daughter:

“One day when she was about four, she was at the kitchen table. I looked at her and saw how beautiful she was. I looked into her eyes and said, ‘Why do I love you so much?’ She just kept chewing, like I don’t know what you’re talking about. I get more serious. I gently turn her face to me and ask again: ‘Why do I love you so much?’ Her answer? ‘Because you were made to love me.’”

When I read that, I thought of the phrase the gaze of love. Shann’s daughter names what we experience in Jesus. In real life, many loves are conditional or superficial. Not the love of Jesus. The fragility of most human love is why we struggle to be vulnerable—we know that love and embrace can be fleeting. But not the love the apostle is describing here. We can be fully transparent, fully confident of where it leads, resting in an unflinching love. This love is not bound by time or behavior. The word that best captures the language of this text is invincible. Because of this, we can be hypernikaō. We can be super victors.

I guess that is the application – we are super conquerors who still carry ache — not because the pain is gone, but because nothing in it, over it, or beyond it can separate us from a love that already gave everything.

I love the old Hymn, Oh, the deep, deep love of Jesus:

Vast, unmeasured, boundless, free — Rolling as a mighty ocean In its fullness over me! Underneath me, all around me Is the current of His love — Leading onward, leading homeward To His glorious rest above.

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I love visiting communities to talk through these ideas in person. If your church or organization is looking for a speaker, contact me at robertfairbanks@substack.com to get started.