but may not be what you think …

I was one of those who, as a young Christian, believed that once God gifted or called you—whether in the gifts of the Spirit or an anointing for ministry—you had it forever. Much like Samson, who sinned but still tore down the Philistine temple, I thought that if God had placed something on your life, it was permanent, unshakable, yours to keep no matter what.

But I was wrong.

It was a few years later, as I studied John Calvin and Martyn Lloyd-Jones’ exposition of Romans, that the light suddenly switched on. I realized that Romans 11:29 was not talking about spiritual gifts or ministry callings at all. It was something even bigger, even deeper—something that struck right at the heart of God’s faithfulness. And that’s still good news—better than I had even imagined.

It’s worth unpacking.

Paul, in Romans 9–11, is wrestling with a profound mystery, as must you. Israel, God’s chosen people, had largely rejected Christ, and the question on many minds was this: Had God rejected them in return? Had He walked away, revoked His calling, torn up the covenant?

Paul’s answer is quick and emphatic: By no means! (Romans 11:1). Though many Israelites had stumbled, the story wasn’t over—God’s election of Israel, His covenant with their forefathers, His promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—these were not at all conditional. The gifts of divine revelation, the Law, the covenants, the adoption as sons—these were given not on a 30-day trial basis but by sovereign choice (Romans 9:4-5). The good news for us is that God does not un-choose those He has chosen.

Even Israel’s total rejection of Christ, Paul argues, is not the final word. It has, in fact, opened the door for the Gentiles to be grafted in (Romans 11:11-12), but that does not mean God has abandoned Israel. We are not told how—perhaps irresistible grace—but one day, many of them will return. It’s a sight to behold: The calling stands. The gifts remain. God’s faithfulness does not waver.

Now, this is where it gets personal because if God’s faithfulness to Israel is unshakable, then so is His faithfulness to all whom He calls. This verse is a massive spotlight of hope for every believer who has ever wondered, Have I gone too far? Have I exhausted His grace? Will He take back what He once gave?

And the answer is written in iron-laced granite: No. If God has called you, He will not un-call you. If He has given you grace, He will not take it back. His faithfulness does not depend on your performance, your perfection, or your ability to hold on to Him—it rests entirely on His own unwavering grip on you. That is good news—very good news.

This is the essence of the gospel. We were not chosen because we were strong, nor were we saved because we were worthy. We were not given mercy because, if you squint your eyes, we had potential.

No—God called us while we were still sinners (Romans 5:8), and the same grace that called us is the grace that will keep us. If He began a good work in you, He will bring it to completion (Philippians 1:6).

Let’s not twist this verse into something it was never meant to say, though, as I mentioned at the beginning. Some take Romans 11:29 as proof that spiritual gifts, once given, can never be lost or misused or that a person’s calling to ministry can never be revoked. But that’s seriously not Paul’s point here.

Spiritual gifts can be neglected, misused, rejected, and even fade through disuse. Paul tells Timothy not to neglect the gift given to him (1 Timothy 4:14) and even goes on to rebuke the Corinthians for their disorderly use of spiritual gifts (1 Corinthians 14:26-33).

Pause for thought here: If gifts were “irrevocable” in the sense of being permanently active, there would be no need for correction. Ministry callings are not guaranteed regardless of character—in fact, that’s what often helps them grow. It’s one thing to move in the Word of the Lord and another to know the Lord of the Word, which is why character, humility, and integrity are important. (Yes, I’ve been studying rhetoric!)

Paul warns that leaders can disqualify themselves (1 Corinthians 9:27) and goes on to instruct Timothy to hold leaders accountable and rebuke those who fall into sin (1 Timothy 5:20). Sin happens. We have a good God and a bad enemy who is always on the prowl. God may call someone to ministry, but that does not mean they can walk in unrepentant sin and continue serving indefinitely. In our context, Romans 11:29 is about God’s faithfulness to His covenant people, not a free pass for unchecked spiritual gifting or an unconditional lifetime ministry assignment.

This, then, is where it all comes together: If God is faithful to Israel, despite their rebellion, despite their rejection of Christ—then how much more will He be faithful to those whom He has called in Christ? If He did not revoke His promises to His covenant people, He will certainly not revoke His mercy toward those redeemed by the blood of His Son.

This is the solid, 6,000-ton rock beneath our feet. The faithfulness of God is not just a doctrine to believe—it is a reality to rest in. He is the God who does not abandon, who does not take back His word, and who does not let go. If He has called you, He will hold you. If He has gifted you, He will use you. If He has begun a good work in you, He will finish it.

So take all of this to heart, because the One who called you is faithful—and He will surely do it (1 Thessalonians 5:24).

A life-style posture

A good friend of mine was reading Mark’s gospel and became captivated by Chapter 5, having spotted three ‘kneelers’. They take a posture that always gets Jesus’ attention—they are the ones who get the most out of Jesus. They’re not timid and don’t come polished; it’s a posture they adopt willingly, not under duress. They come broken, desperate, undone. And they kneel.

Mark 5 is one of those chapters that should capture your attention too. In context, it comes with a storm still rumbling in the background, a boat crunching onto the shore, and Jesus stepping out into a world that is just as chaotic as the sea He just calmed. And then—if you were scrolling through Facebook, you would have missed them—they come. The kneelers. Three of them. It sounds like something from the book of Daniel – the watchers – but these ‘kneelers’ are more than that, they are participants.

The first one? He’s a wild character—so wild they don’t even bother giving his name. A man possessed, naked, tormented, living in the tombs, cast out from society. He sees Jesus from a distance, and what does he do? He runs and falls to his knees. He’s troubled, very troubled—more troubled than you. The demons in him are shouting, swearing, screaming, but the man—the man knows that the only hope for someone as lost as him is to kneel before the only One who can truly set him free. And that’s where you, fully clothed and in your right mind, find common ground.

Scroll down a bit on your phone, and there’s Jairus. Good name—”God enlightens.” We’ve got ourselves a synagogue ruler, a man of standing, of structure, of order. He has a reputation to uphold, a name to protect. You probably have a reputation—something you are excellent at or known for, in what you do or say.

In Jairus’ case, when your little girl—your only daughter—is lying on her deathbed, you don’t have time for reputation. He sees Jesus, throws himself to the ground (not unlike our previous ‘kneeler’), and pleads. He pleads with everything in him. And Jesus… Jesus goes with him—because kneelers get His attention.

And then, adding to the drama, tucked in between these two as you try to hurry Jesus to your house, endeavouring to take the short cut, avoiding potholes and diversions, is a woman. It may as well have been a roadblock. She doesn’t have a name in the story either, but she does have a past. Again, you or one dear to you may find common ground. Twelve years of suffering—of doctors and disappointment, medicines and remedies, hopes and tears—of spending everything she had and getting nothing in return.

In this culture, nameless-woman has no place in a crowd, but she pushes through anyway. And when she touches the hem of His garment—just the hem!—Whamo! The power of heaven surges, rushes through her body.

The condition stops. And Jesus stops; turns… The crowd goes silent, stops pushing and shoving… and He asks, “Who touched me?”

You can feel it – the tension! She could have hidden, could have slipped away—healed but unknown. But instead, trembling, she falls to her knees in front of Jesus, and He looks at her—not just sees her, notices her, but looks at her—and calls her “daughter.”

Daughter…

The only place in Scripture where Jesus calls anyone that. A kneeler receives not just healing but identity.

But let’s scroll back up the screen to Jairus, because this story isn’t done yet.

Jairus is approached by the men from his own house, and their words instead of comfort and encouragement bring a stomach-churning message:

“Your daughter is dead. Why bother the Teacher anymore?”

Now, this is the moment every father dreads. The moment the world stops turning. Suddenly, unexpectedly – out of the blue. It’s the moment you realise you were too late. But before he can even process it—before the grief can wrap around his throat and choke him—Jesus speaks.

“Do not fear, only believe.”

Everything gathers pace. Jairus walks. Step by step. Following Jesus. Heart pounding. Mind reeling.

And when they get to the house, when the mourners are wailing and the world is dark, Jesus steps in. “Why are you making a commotion and weeping? The child is not dead but sleeping.” They misread the room, and laugh. The world always laughs at faith—never applauds it, esteems it, or honours it. It just belittles, mocks.

But Jesus?

He takes her by the hand and, speaking with a voice that created the world from nothing and holds eternity in it, says, “Little girl, I say to you, arise.”

And she does. Now, let’s not rush past this…

Jairus kneeled
before
he saw the miracle.

He kneeled before he had his answer. He kneeled in desperation, and he walked in faith. And his daughter lived. The mocking laughter muffled and silenced.

Kneelers are the ones who know they have nothing left but Jesus. They are the ones who don’t care about dignity or status or what the world thinks. They are the ones who press through the crowd, who run from the tombs, who fall at His feet when everyone else stands back.

After a lifetime of kneeling, when they stand they rise changed.