Grace, Part 2: The Covenant Faithfulness of God in Scripture

 

Grace. It isn’t some modern concept that started with a sermon or a sweet song—it's as old as the dust of Eden and runs straight through the heart of the covenant God made with His people. It doesn’t always come with a flashing sign that says “GRACE” in the ancient texts, but oh, it’s there—woven into every act of mercy, every extended hand, every time God held back His anger just one more time to let His people breathe again.

Even in the Aramaic portions of the Tanakh—those corners of Scripture that too many skip over—we see God’s heart laid bare. He’s not some cold ruler waiting for us to trip. He is racham, tender with compassion. He is slow to anger, overflowing with chesed, that covenantal kindness that never lets go even when we do. His mercy is not about what we’ve done right. It’s about who He is—steadfast, holy, and heartbreakingly faithful.

Just look at Nebuchadnezzar, of all people. A pagan king, arrogant to the skies, crushed by God—not out of cruelty, but grace. Grace that broke his pride to save his soul. After it all, this once boastful man lifts his eyes to heaven and says:

“Now I, Nebuchadnezzar, praise and extol and honor the King of heaven, for all His works are truth, and His ways are justice. And those who walk in pride He is able to abase.” (Daniel 4:37, Aramaic)

That's not just a testimony—it's a sermon. A sermon from the mouth of a humbled man who learned the hard way that God’s grace doesn’t always feel gentle, but it is always good. Nebuchadnezzar didn’t earn forgiveness. He received it. And God, in His mercy, let him keep breathing to tell the tale.

Grace like that is all over the prophets too. In Jeremiah, the weeping prophet, we hear God whispering a love that never ran dry:

“I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore I have continued my faithfulness to you.” (Jeremiah 31:3)

Olam ahavah—an eternal love. Uninterrupted. Unbroken. You could leave, but He’d still wait. You could fall, but He’d still catch you. That’s not human. That’s divine. That’s grace.

Even when His people were scattered, bruised by their own rebellion, God never changed His mind about them. In Ezra, in the Aramaic tongue again, we hear a trembling confession from the remnant:

“O Lord God of Israel, you are righteous; we are left as a remnant, as it is today. Behold, we are before You in our guilt, for none can stand before You because of this.” (Ezra 9:15)

They stood there not pleading their case, but admitting their failure. And it’s right there—in the ashes of their sin—that grace showed up. Because grace doesn’t wait until we’re clean. It meets us in the dirt and says, I can work with this, if you’ll let Me.

The Psalms pick up that melody too. Oh, the Psalms! If there’s one songbook that sings about grace from beginning to end, it’s this one. In Psalm 103, we hear David say:

“The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” (Psalm 103:8)

Rachum v’chanun—merciful and gracious. This isn’t just poetic language. It’s the covenant heartbeat. That word chesed again, that sacred loyalty of love, isn’t just kindness—it’s fierce, unrelenting, covenantal. It holds us when we don’t deserve holding.

The Exodus story screams of grace. Over and over, they messed up. Over and over, He came back. When they built that golden calf—can you imagine the grief in God’s heart? And still, Moses stands in the gap and begs for mercy. And God says yes.

“I will forgive them as you have asked.” (Exodus 32:34)

Grace. Not just forgiveness, but forgiveness in motion. A God who relents from wrath because love overrules anger. A God who keeps His promises, not because we are worthy, but because He is holy.

And then there’s Isaiah, with his thunder and beauty. Listen to the voice of God Himself calling out through the prophet:

“Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.” (Isaiah 1:18)

This isn’t a nice washing-up. This is a miraculous reversal. From scarlet to snow. From guilt to glory. From crimson to clean. Grace doesn’t just cover. It transforms.

This is what the covenant was always meant to be. Not a legal document, but a love story. A rescue mission. A holy pursuit. From Eden to Sinai, from Babylon to Bethlehem, grace has always been the thread that keeps the tapestry from unraveling.

And here’s the beautiful part—this grace doesn’t expire. It wasn’t a temporary deal just for Israel. It was for them, yes—but also for us. For all who come humbly, all who kneel at the mercy seat, all who dare to believe that a holy God still wants broken people.

Grace is free—but it’s not cheap. It cost Him everything. And it asks for everything in return. Not as payment, but as transformation. Because when grace truly touches your soul, you can’t stay the same. You don’t want to stay the same.

God’s grace is the invitation to step into the light and be remade.

So, beloved, if you’re reading this thinking you've gone too far, stayed too long, or messed up too bad—look again. Grace is still standing at the door. And the door? It’s still open.

 

 

The image is done by chatgpt 

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