Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans
Brothers,
This is the truth I speak in Christ,
I'm not lying.,
My conscience bears witness to this in the Holy Spirit:
I have a great sadness in my heart.,
incessant pain.
I myself, for the Jews, my brothers of race,
I would wish to be anathema, separated from Christ:
They are indeed Israelites,
They have adoption, glory, alliances,
legislation, worship, the promises of God;
They have the patriarchs,
and it is from their race that Christ was born,
He who is above all,
God blessed forever. Amen.
– Word of the Lord.
«"The Price of Love: Paul, the Anathema, and Universal Brotherhood"»
To bear God's pain in order to love mankind even unto separation, according to the Letter to the Romans (9:1-5)
At the heart of the monumental Epistle to the Romans lies an almost unheard-of cry: that of a man ready to be separated from Christ for love of his own. Paul, a figure of fire, speaks here of the most acute pain: that of seeing his brothers and sisters far from the Light. This text, both profoundly moving and theologically breathtaking, speaks to all those who seek to understand what love truly means when it reaches the very limit of self-sacrifice.
This article will explore the context of this burning statement, the spiritual paradox of anathema desired out of love, and then its concrete resonances in Christian life: how to live this radical compassion today? We will follow three axes: Paul's turmoil as a mirror of our wounded faith, the dynamic of a redemptive love, and the face of Christ as the sole horizon of universal fraternity.
Context
The Epistle to the Romans, probably written from Corinth around the year 57, represents Paul's spiritual testament before his perilous journey to Jerusalem. It is his most comprehensive work: a theological framework in which faith unfolds as a saving power for all, Jews and Greeks alike. After eight chapters of jubilation on justification by faith and freedom in the Spirit, Paul suddenly pauses—this is the beginning of the threefold development of chapters 9 to 11: the mystery of Israel.
The text of Romans 9:1-5 is like a prelude to the Sun. Paul speaks with the gravity of a witness: «I am speaking the truth in Christ; I am not lying; my conscience bears me witness in the Holy Spirit.» Such formulas of attestation are rare. They give the words their soulful weight. They trace the outline of an existential confession, almost an inner prayer.
The vocabulary of sadness and pain, expressed in very concrete Greek terms (lypé, odýnè), conveys a visceral tension: Paul is not contemplating a doctrinal problem, but a wound. This pain is that of the apparent failure of God's plan for the chosen people; Israel, bearer of the promises, seems to have remained on the margins of the grace revealed in Jesus Christ. By saying, "I wish I were accursed," Paul uses a formidable word: anathema literally means "separated for destruction." This is not a moral rejection, but a paradoxical offering: to be himself cut off from communion with Christ if it could bring his brothers back to that communion.
This passage takes the form of a psalm of lamentation imbued with love. The final enumeration—adoption, glory, covenants, legislation, worship, promises, patriarchs—condenses the memory of Israel as a people bearing God. Everything ultimately leads to the mention of Christ, the summit and origin of this history: «he who is above all, God blessed forever.» Paul’s tension is therefore Christological: between an absolute love for Christ and a love for the people to whom Christ belongs. His anathema is not despair; it is the supreme form of a charity identified with divine compassion.
Analysis
The central idea is this: in this cry is revealed the very heart of redemption, the logic of a love ready to lose everything so that the other may live. By wishing for anathema, Paul does not abandon Christ; he conforms to the crucified Christ who, in order to save, consented to separation from the Father.
The text illuminates the very structure of redeeming love: to love is to accept not preserving oneself. Paul expresses this voluntary substitution, not as an abstract idea, but as a lived tension. This compassion echoes that of Moses, who already interceded: «Blank me out of your book if you do not forgive your people.» The parallel reveals the unity of revelation: true love allows itself to be wounded for the sake of others.
This stance has a profound theological resonance: it reveals the mysterious compatibility between fidelity to truth and fidelity to tenderness. Paul remains an apostle to the Gentiles, but his heart remains attached to Israel. His sorrow is not doubt of faith, but participation in the burning desire for God's universal salvation.
The anathema he invokes thus becomes a symbol of total availability: renouncing all theological prestige, all triumphalism, in order to remain a servant. His attitude places us before the spiritual responsibility of the believer: every blessing received only has meaning if it is shared and given freely.
Finally, this saying teaches us something about God himself: his love is not selective. Paul discovers in himself the reflection of this God who does not resign himself to losing his children. By saying, "I wish I were separated from Christ," he paradoxically expresses Christ himself: the one who was crucified "outside the camp," rejected to save the rejected.
Thus, the mystery of apostolic compassion merges with that of divine kenosis. The message of Romans 9:1-5 is not a cry of despair, but the purest proclamation of love in action: being ready to lose everything so that the other may be saved.
Compassion that reveals faith
Paul weeps for his family. His sorrow is not a sign of weakness, but of faithfulness. A faith that no longer shows compassion becomes ideology. The Christian is not called to judge the world, but to bear its burdens.
In an era where religion is often measured in certainties, the face of Paul reminds us that Christian truth is never separated from tears.
Faith is not primarily an intellectual assent; it is participation in a flow of love. Paul suffers because he believes; he believes because he loves. His compassion thus becomes the living hallmark of authentic faith.
This dimension leads us to an inner examination: what do we do with the spiritual distress of our brothers and sisters? Do we remain at a distance, protected by doctrine, or do we dare to enter into their darkness? To love, in the Pauline sense, is to enter into the suffering of the world in order to let the light shine through.
In daily life, this compassion can be expressed in countless ways: accompanying those who have strayed, listening to those wounded in their faith, praying for those who no longer believe. Paul never sets Israel and the Church against each other; he weaves between the two the continuity of a plan of love. Freed from all contempt, his compassion becomes the primary preaching: that of the heart filled with the Spirit.
Substitute love and the logic of giving
To say «I wish I were accursed» is not a suicidal wish; it is the culmination of the logic of self-giving. Paul’s love is not sentimental: it is ecclesial and Trinitarian. His words resonate with the Passion of Christ: he too was made sin so that we might become the righteousness of God.
This notion of substitution sheds light on the Christian vocation. It signifies participation, not magical replacement. Paul puts himself in the place of those he loves; he does not claim to save himself in their place, but rather to accept what separates them.
Every true commitment, whether in the Church or in society, bears this mark: there is always a price to pay. To love is not to add up altruistic gestures; it is to make oneself available to the suffering of others without running away.
This logic runs through spiritual life: the parent who keeps watch in the night, the priest who intercedes in silence, the believer who perseveres in prayer when all seems lost. These are fragments of the same mystery: the world is sustained by those who accept to love at their own expense.
Towards a universal brotherhood rooted in the cross
Paul weeps for Israel, but his prayer already embraces the whole world. In his heart, the distinction between Jews and Gentiles dissolves into the universal plan of salvation. The anathema he contemplates paradoxically opens onto universal communion.
This fraternity is not a humanist dream, but a consequence of the Incarnation: God became man to abolish separations. The fraternal bond is not based on natural affection, but on participation in the same Christ.
For Paul, universal love does not erase identities; it transfigures them. Israel retains its unique place in the history of salvation, and it is precisely this divine faithfulness that grounds hope for all nations.
Thus, the Gospel becomes the good news of a fraternity rooted in the cross: where love is given unconditionally, walls fall. For the Church today, this means welcoming difference without fear, opening spaces for reconciliation, and living mission not as conquest, but as active compassion.
Voice of tradition
The Church Fathers read this passage as a mystical summit. Origen saw in it the model of the spiritual shepherd ready to lose everything for his sheep; Augustine recognized in it the prefiguration of Christ interceding for his enemies; Bernard of Clairvaux, later, would speak of the "pierced heart of Paul" as the very place of divine charity.
In the liturgy, the reading of Romans 9 often precedes that of the prophets: it proclaims God's unfailing faithfulness. Saint Thomas Aquinas emphasizes that Paul, in wishing for anathema, does not sin against charity, but fulfills it in its heroic form: desiring the supernatural good of others more than his own.
In contemporary spirituality, this attitude inspires figures of mediation and compassion: intercessors, educators, doctors, missionaries. It reminds us that true apostolic zeal is not conquering, but compassionate. Christians do not act to justify themselves; they act because they have grasped God's sorrow for the world.
Path of prayer: dwelling in pain through love
- Read slowly the text of Romans 9:1-5, imagining Paul writing in the silence of the night.
- Identify a spiritual pain borne for someone: a distant loved one, a wounded world, a divided Church.
- To present this pain to Christ, not in resentment, but in trust.
- To ask for the grace to sympathize without despair.
- To offer a day or a concrete gesture for those who do not share the faith.
- To entrust the Jewish people to God; to recognize in his promises the root of our hope.
- Conclude with a prayer: May my heart become a place of passage between your love and the distress of the world.
Conclusion: the fecundity of inhabited pain
Paul's cry, far from being a solitary lament, resonates as a charter of true Christian love. To love even to the point of desiring anathema is to touch the threshold of the mystery of God: the joy that is offered, the suffering that redeems.
This passage invites us to step out of a comfortable faith and into God's passion for the world. It is not about inflicting suffering upon ourselves, but about consenting to bear the suffering of others. In this "I wish I were accursed," the Gospel reaches its most human and divine intensity: salvation comes through the infinite solidarity of love.
May our lives become, like Paul's, a space of active compassion; may our prayer bring forth, in the heart of divisions, a new fraternity; and may Christ, in all this, bless the centuries to come through the sufferings offered in hope.
Spiritual application
- Reread Romans 9 each week: look for not a dilemma, but a call to love more.
- Intentionally offering a prayer for the Jewish people, a living reminder of the promises.
- To serve a loved one in difficulty, not to convert, but to accompany.
- Examine the areas of our lives where we refuse to acknowledge the pain of others.
- Performing a selfless act each day expands our compassion.
- To meditate on the Passion of Christ as the supreme act of substitution.
- To be silent in order to listen to God's sorrow in the world.
References
- New Testament, Letter of Saint Paul to the Romans, chapters 9–11
- Exodus 32:30-32 (intercession of Moses)
- Gospel according to John 15:13: "Greater love has no one..."«
- Origen, Homilies on Romans
- Augustine, Enarrationes in Psalmos
- Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans
- Bernard of Clairvaux, Sermons on the Song of Songs
- John Paul II, Catechesis on Mercy
