Losing, Learning and Launching

You can’t fix what only grace can repair.

On a sunny Saturday last year at Wimbledon, Centre Court had the pleasant buzz of a summer outing — the kind where spectators sip Pimm’s, nibble strawberries drowned in champagne, and pretend they are simply out for a gentle afternoon rather than watching world-class athletes battle nerves and destiny. Amanda Anisimova — young, immensely talented and having just played the match of her life, beating top-ranked Aryna Sabalenka in the semis — walked onto the court for the women’s final. It was her first Grand Slam final. Expectations were enormous. Commentators were already envisioning her name on the trophy. The buildup was perfect.

But the match wasn’t.

What unfolded was startling, painful and unforgettable. Anisimova didn’t just lose. She didn’t win a single game, dropping the final 6-0, 6-0 to Iga Swiatek on one of tennis’s most prestigious stages. She lost in front of the entire world, including the Princess of Wales, no less! In fact, this was the first time in over a century that a Wimbledon singles final ended with one player not winning a game, and only the second time in the Open Era that a women’s major final finished with a “double bagel” scoreline — a level of dominance virtually unseen in modern Grand Slam tennis. The match took just 57 minutes. She lost, a total failure to launch. The conventional wisdom was that her career was over.

And then came the moment people still talk about: the interview.

Standing there with tears in her eyes, voice shaking, the magnitude of the loss hanging visibly on her shoulders, she didn’t hide behind clichés or defensiveness. She didn’t blame the crowd, the pressure, the weather or nerves. She didn’t minimize what had just happened. Instead, she did something remarkably rare in elite sports — or in any arena of life.

She was honest.

“I’m devastated,” she said. “I’m disappointed in myself. I wanted to do better. And I’ll learn from this.” She talked about her mistakes without trying to spin them into excuses. She acknowledged her heartbreak without collapsing into self-pity. She was vulnerable without being defeated. And because she was vulnerable, she was strong.

One year later, few people remember what Swiatek had to say in accepting the Wimbledon trophy. But we remember what her vanquished opponent said. Observers across the sports world called it one of the most emotionally intelligent post-match interviews in years.

One voice in particular stood out: Amy Edmondson, an academic who studies failure. In her 2023 book, Right Kind of Wrong: The Science of Failing Well, she argues that thriving individuals and flourishing organizations are not the ones who never fail; they’re the ones who learn to fail well. She watched Anisimova’s interview and recognized what most people miss: the courage it takes to face your own shortcomings without excuses. The courage to name your mistakes honestly. The courage to acknowledge what went wrong yet still choose to grow.

“It was courageous,” Edmondson said. “It was honest, and then you realize how compelling it is and how few people truly take that opportunity to be honest and vulnerable after a devastating failure.”

That’s a rare thing. Most of us don’t want to be that honest with ourselves, much less in front of anyone else, because honesty means acknowledging the gap between the person we aspire to be and the person we are.

And yet Romans 7 — our text for today — is nothing but honesty.

It’s Paul, stripped of pretense, without excuses, without spin doctors or self-protection. And he says, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (v. 15). These are not the words of someone making excuses. They are the words of someone who has found the courage to tell the truth.

 

The Illusion of Control

We live in the golden age of self-improvement. There are podcasts promising to fix your bad habits. Books guaranteeing a “new you” in 30 days. Apps that claim they can reshape your mindset. Gyms that promise transformation. And influencers who swear that if you’ll just follow their morning routine, you’ll finally have everything together.

Some of these tools can be helpful. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to grow, mature or live wisely. But beneath it all is a quiet, unspoken assumption: that with just a little more effort, the right strategy, or one more life hack, you can finally conquer yourself.

But here is the question nobody asks out loud: Why are you the hardest person in your life to manage?

Why is it that you can change your schedule, your diet and your phone settings, but you can’t seem to change yourself? Why do we circle back to the same struggles year after year? Why does life feel like rinse, repeat, regret? Paul understands this with startling clarity. He says it plainly: “I do not understand my own actions” (v. 15).

Few verses in the Bible are as universally relatable as this one. Because every thoughtful, reflective person knows exactly what Paul means.

As we age and look back on our lives, we dwell on the times we:

• ruptured relationships that we wish we had handled differently;
• nurtured old habits that keep resurfacing;
• regretted decisions made too quickly or harshly;
• indulged in moods we didn’t manage well;
• gave into temptations we thought we had outgrown; or
• ignored weaknesses we thought we had conquered.

Even those who have lived long, full lives of faith recognize that the inner battles don’t magically disappear with age. If anything, we grow more aware of them.

 

The Bankruptcy of Self-Help

Paul continues: “I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (v. 15). He doesn’t deny that he wants to live a godly life, nor does he say that he is ignorant of right and wrong. He doesn’t deny that he understands what the law requires (Lord knows he has tried to do the right thing) or restrain himself from doing stupid, sinful things.

We are all familiar with Paul’s dilemma. We know better, but we don’t do better. We have all lived with that inner frustration, the gap between who we want to be and who we really are.

It’s easy to think we might get some sense as we age. But there’s an old Pennsylvania Dutch proverb that feels especially true the older we get: “Zu früh alt, zu spät schlau,” meaning “We get too soon old and too late smart.” In other words, by the time we figure out how to handle ourselves, we’ve already spent decades proving we can’t. Paul says exactly the same thing, only with better theology.

But better theology, knowledge or willpower isn’t enough. This isn’t Paul saying, “I’m failing.” This is Paul saying, “I cannot fix myself.” Make no mistake, Romans 7 is not the diary of a wimpy kid. It is the woeful confession of someone who has stopped pretending. Paul has hit the wall, the limits of self-help.

You can optimize your morning routine. You can drink more water. You can get more sleep, read more books, listen to more sermons, set more goals and attend more workshops.

But none of this can touch the deep fractures, disordered loves and habits of mind and heart that shape how you behave, respond and choose.

This isn’t to say we shouldn’t strive to be the best version of ourselves. But let’s get real. Self-help can only do so much. It can help you get organized, but it can’t heal what’s broken. It can help you be productive, but it can’t make you whole.

It’s a little like that famous song from Wicked, where Elphaba unleashes a full-throated, soaring voice that shakes the rafters, announcing her determination to “defy gravity.” It might be a great Broadway moment, but it’s not a great spiritual strategy. It’s thrilling on stage: the wires lift her, the music swells, but when the show is over, no one walks out of the theatre expecting to fly home. You can sing about defying gravity, but you’re not going to float off the ground. And, Paul says, neither can you defy the gravity of human nature by sheer willpower.

This is why the apostle identifies a surprising truth. “I see in my members another law at war with the law of my mind” (v. 23). Another gravity. Another pull. Another force. It’s not just sin out there. It’s sin in here.

No wonder he cries out, “Who will rescue me?” (v. 24). Notice he doesn’t ask, “What will deliver me?” Or what program, book, app, TV show, routine or technique will deliver him.

Paul knows that his problems are not going to be solved by things. It is going to be a Who, and in all honesty, he now understands and confesses that the Who ain’t him.

 

Honesty as the Doorway to Grace

One of the gifts of Romans 7 is that Paul refuses to clean himself up before speaking. He doesn’t present himself as the polished apostle who founded churches, endured shipwrecks and wrote half the New Testament. He gives us the version of himself he’d probably prefer to hide, the version who struggles, contradicts himself, wants what is right and somehow still does what is wrong. Paul isn’t being dramatic; he’s being truthful. And his truthfulness is the very place where grace begins to appear.

We sometimes imagine that God is impressed with our strength, discipline, competence or ability to get our act together. But Paul suggests something different. What moves God toward us isn’t our performance but our honesty. Pretending doesn’t attract God; honesty does. The person who finally says, “I can’t do this on my own,” discovers that grace was waiting for that admission all along. It’s like God is saying, “What took you so long?”

Paul reaches that moment in this chapter. After describing the tug-of-war inside himself, he runs out of explanations and strategies. He has tried willpower, knowledge and resolve. He has even tried the law itself. And none of it has been enough. There is a quiet desperation in his question, “Who will rescue me from this body of death?” (v. 24). It isn’t a request for another round of self-improvement. It is a confession that he needs someone outside himself to step in, someone who is stronger and wiser.

And then, almost as if the answer arrives in the very breath after the question, Paul says, “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord” (v. 25). The shift is subtle but profound. Paul isn’t rescued because he finally figures himself out. He is rescued because he finally stops pretending he can. Grace is not God congratulating us for almost getting there. Grace is God meeting us at the place where we finally admit we can’t.

What Paul discovers is something many of us learn only after we have exhausted ourselves — that surrender is not the end of effort but the beginning of healing. When we stop managing our image, trying to outrun our flaws, or curating a version of ourselves we think God prefers, something profound happens. We experience a flood of mercy and grace. “Thanks be to God!”

 

The Set Continues, but the Match Is Decided

Romans 7 ends on a complicated note. Paul says, essentially, “I have two selves. One delights in God’s law. The other pulls me toward sin. And that battle continues.”

If we are honest, this is probably true for all of us. Being an earnest, committed believer doesn’t mean we aren’t going to face inner struggles and near-fatal doubts. The apostle Paul aside, just read the histories of such spiritual luminaries as Augustine and his struggles with sex and food; Martin Luther’s Anfechtung and “terrors of conscience”; Saint John of the Cross who introduced the phrase “dark night of the soul” into our spiritual lexicon; or C.S. Lewis who, after his wife Joy succumbed to cancer, admitted that his faith “was a house of cards.” There are many other examples. The inner struggle continues. But the battle itself is won! Or, we might say that the set continues, but the match is won! This is the good news. Being a person of faith doesn’t cause your struggles to disappear; rather, it reframes them. Another way of putting this is to say that Romans 7 is not the final word, but Romans 8 is.

• Whereas Romans 7 says, “I cannot fix myself,” Romans 8 says, “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (8:1).
• Whereas Romans 7 says, “There is another law waging war within me,” Romans 8 says, “The Spirit sets you free.”
• Whereas Romans 7 says, “Who will rescue me?” Romans 8 says, “God already has.”

So, in one sense, the set continues, but the match is decided.

This is good news for those who carry private burdens of conscience, memory or regret. Romans 7 tells you that God isn’t surprised by your humanity. God isn’t scandalized by your weakness. God doesn’t turn away from your struggle.

Instead, God’s grace meets you precisely where you are.

 

Returning to Wimbledon

Let’s return to Amanda Anisimova for a moment.

After that devastating 6–0, 6–0 loss at Wimbledon in her first Grand Slam final, she had every reason to hide, deflect or withdraw. But she didn’t. She chose honesty, vulnerability and truth-telling.

And what happened next?

She recovered, trained and grew. She returned to the court with humility and grit.

Within 60 days, she was playing in another major, and once again met the adversary who had humiliated her on Centre Court in front of the Princess of Wales and an astonished world. This time, she handily defeated Swiatek 6-4, 6-3, reaching her first U.S. Open semifinal and avenging the Wimbledon loss. She even went on to her second consecutive Grand Slam final, contesting fiercely before yielding to Aryna Sabalenka.

Failure was not the end. It was the beginning of something new.

She lost. She learned. She launched!

And this is the gospel truth of Romans 7:

• Our failures are not final.
• Our shortcomings do not have the last word.
• Our inner battles do not define us.
• Our regrets do not disqualify us.

Because, like Amanda standing on Centre Court, grace means we can be honest without being destroyed. You can’t fix what only grace can repair. This is why the God of grace meets us in our weakness and rescues us with mercy that doesn’t let us go.

Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

—Timothy Merrill and Carl Wilton contributed to this material.

 

Sources

Dodd, Rustin. “Why Amanda Anisimova’s emotional post-match interview was a masterclass in handling failure.” The New York Times, nytimes.com, July 15, 2025. Retrieved December 18, 2025.

O’Brien, William R. “The blame game: Romans 7:15-25a.” The Christian Century, christiancentury.org, June 28, 2005. Retrieved December 18, 2025.

Tignor, Steve. “Amanda Anisimova avenges a double-bagel Wimbledon final loss to Iga Swiatek: ‘Today proved everything for me.’” Tennis.com, September 4, 2025. Retrieved December 18, 2025.

The Other Texts

What Is One Possible Approach to the Text?

The Backstage God. People who love theater do not necessarily love being on stage. What happens in view of the audience could not possibly happen without backstage help. There are many theater students who aspire to the backstage work on sound, lights, props, backdrops, sets, designs and so on. In this story, God, who has been on stage in so many of the stories in Genesis, suddenly goes backstage, and a humble and obedient servant takes over the stage. If the preacher is a storyteller, this is an ideal story to work with. Weave into the story what the life of faith looks like. Talk about how Eliezer prays and moves forward without any explicit direction from an onstage God.

What Does the Text Say?

Arranged marriages were common in the ancient Near East. Further, tribal peoples preferred that their offspring marry within their own clans. So, after Abraham’s wife Sarah died, he carefully instructed (Genesis 24:3-4, 37-38) his highly regarded servant to obtain a wife for their son Isaac. The wife was to come from close kinfolks in the area of Haran/Paddan-aram, along the Euphrates River in northwest Mesopotamia, rather than chancing that Isaac would marry one or more local Canaanite women. Abraham’s servant prayed that he would find just the right wife for Isaac. Rebekah (the daughter of Isaac’s first cousin, Bethuel) turned out to be the answer to his prayer. And after serious negotiations (including financial considerations) between Abraham’s servant and Rebekah’s father Bethuel and her brother Laban, she returned to Canaan with him to become Isaac’s wife, after her family had blessed her. Notice, however, that even with all the bartering, Rebekah was asked for her consent (v. 58). Isaac was quite pleased with Rebekah and loved her. An interesting side issue is that Abraham’s servant was told explicitly (vv. 5-8) not to take Isaac with him on a potential return journey to Paddan-aram. This is partly due to God wanting his people to continue to live in the promised setting of Canaan, and, reading between several of the Bible’s lines, Isaac was a relatively weak person compared to his father Abraham and his son Jacob. In terms of biblical theology, note two things:

1. God continues his promise to bless Abraham’s descendants, as Isaac and Rebekah would become parents of Jacob, later named “Israel” (Genesis 32:28), through whom God would eventually bless all of humanity (as in 12:1-4a; 22:17-18; 28:10-17).
2. What happened was a combination of divine intervention and human planning, accompanied by shrewd skillfulness.

What Is One Possible Approach to the Text?

How Do I Love Thee? I Cannot Count the Ways. The title is a reference to E.B. Browning’s “Sonnet 43” (Sonnets from the Portuguese). The reference is intended to launch the sermon into a discussion of the relationship between the loved and the lover. Because, unless the preacher is willing to allegorize this text, we got nothin’. With that out of the way, refresh the congregation’s memory about Christ and the church by talking about the metaphor of a bride and groom. You can jump to Matthew 25 and the story about the wise and foolish bridesmaids. But the NT lifts up the metaphor of the church as the bride of Christ in a number of different places. Review this. Then assert that this psalm can be read in the same way. Explain the literal meaning and then point out a few highlights of your choosing that illustrate some crucial quality of the church in relation to the groom, Jesus Christ. For example, the church will “forget your people and your father’s house” (v. 10). In other words, the church will forsake its former life and embrace its new one. The church will “bow to him,” since “he is your lord” (v. 11). (You could also use this psalm to teach about the principles of seeing some texts in the OT through a Messianic lens.)

What Does the Text Say?

When Christians read the OT, they often read it with trifocals. The larger, literal lens surveys the OT and understands each text in its specific historical milieu. In this case, the NRSV announces that the psalm is an “Ode to a Royal Wedding.” In verses 2-9, the groom is depicted, and in verses 10-17, the bride. Literally, the groom is an unnamed prince or king of Israel, and the bride — his bride — a princess who bows to her lord, the king, her husband. It’s possible that this psalm was a traditional reading or song in such ceremonies. The two smaller lenses are interpretive prisms that make sense out of this for later generations. The first of these understands the king of verses 2-9 to be God, and the virgin princess/bride of verses 10-17 to be Israel. The final lens through which Christians peer shows this song to be not just about a king and his bride, or God and Israel, but about Christ and the church.

What Is One Possible Approach to the Text?

The Yoke Is on Me. Discuss for a few moments the different ways we might enjoy taking a break, taking a load off, chillaxing, stepping back, tuning out or taking it slow and easy. How would that happen? Eighteen holes of golf? A drink at the corner pub? A massage? A weekend trip to the mountains or ocean? Headphones and music? Show slides of options, perhaps. When you have covered the options and perhaps solicited suggestions from the congregation, roll out an actual yoke, or at the very least show a slide of one. It’s possible that many people in your urban congregation will have no idea what a yoke is. Then explain that Jesus says, “Take my yoke upon you … and you will find rest for your souls.” Explain how that is true. The final three verses provide the preacher with the easiest homiletical path. Although the Law offers rest on the Sabbath, Jesus offers a new rest for those who are burdened and weary from trying to keep the demands of the Law. When we “come unto” Jesus, we find rest, even though Jesus, too, invites us to take a yoke. In this case, however, shouldering that yoke beside us is none other than Jesus himself.

What Does the Text Say?

Fortunately for the preacher, this gospel reading includes the well-known “Great Invitation” found in verses 28-30. If it did not, this pericope, its standing as a gospel lection notwithstanding, might never get preached. The reading begins with Jesus’ cryptic and unflattering allusion to the games children play — but elsewhere Jesus says that unless you become as a child, you cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. He then complains that critics say that his cousin John is too strict, but that Jesus himself is too freewheeling. In the RCL elliptical reading, Jesus goes on to pronounce a couple of woes on some nearby cities. He then gives thanks that “these things” have been hidden from the so-called intelligentsia but revealed to “infants.”

Worship Resources

May all your days know God’s surprising grace, Christ’s incredible peace, and the Spirit’s unquenchable joy.

Leader: We gather as a community of faith, even though sometimes we falter.

Voice 1: God, I admit I wanted to ignore the alarm and go back to sleep.

Voice 2: How tempted I was to stay home.

Voice 3: O God, I wanted so much to watch the game live.

All: Yet here we are, a community of faith, seeking strength to live out our lives courageously, faithfully and triumphantly as we strive to follow Jesus.

Leader: My friends, despite your temptations, you still come.

All: Let us then gather our hearts and our voices together as we lift our praise to God who strengthens us and supports us in all that we do.

Creator God, maker of dancing stars and awesome rainbows, sender of gentle breezes and swirling winds, finder of lost chances and mender of broken dreams, you bless us with beauty, and you grace us with understanding. You know us inside and out. When the heart sighs with grief too large to carry, you are there. When tears flow like an angry stream, you are there. When doubt snares us like a trap, you are there. When hope dwindles to a thin strand, you are there.

You know our comings and goings. You know when we succeed and when we fail. You know the deepest longings of our hearts. Through it all, your love surrounds us, embraces us and sustains us. In the stillness of this moment, let us abide with Christ in your love. Amen.

Hymns
Approach, My Soul, the Mercy Seat
When We Are Tempted to Deny Your Son
God of Grace and God of Glory

Worship and Praise*
Lead Me to the Cross (Fraser)
Run to the Father (Maher, Carnes, Jackson)
Broken Vessels (Amazing Grace) (Houston, Myrin)

*For licensing and permission to reprint or display these songs on screen, go to ccli.com. The worship and praise songs suggested by Homiletics can be found in most cases on Google by using the title as the search term.

COMMENTARY

on Romans 7:15-25a