Romans 8:28

estimated reading time: 9 minutes · written by Ben Pearson

The verse for today is one that many of us could recite in our sleep. Romans 8:28: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” It’s the kind of verse that looks perfect on a fridge magnet or a bookmark—short, hopeful, and full of reassurance. And yet, as I’ve discovered over the years, the trouble with “fridge-magnet Christianity” is that when we take these verses out of context, they can end up meaning something quite different from what was intended.

The Comfort of a Classic Verse

Romans 8:28 is a classic, often quoted from the King James: “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God.” Why wouldn’t we want that on our fridge? It sounds like the ultimate promise, that everything in life will somehow turn out fine if we just keep the faith. But Paul, the writer of Romans, was no stranger to hardship, and he certainly wasn’t offering us a cosy platitude.

The danger comes when we use verses like this to promote a kind of “good-life gospel”: follow Jesus and life will be easy. I once heard a young worship leader say, “I don’t think following Jesus should involve suffering.” The room fell silent. The truth is, suffering is woven through the story of faith. It’s not a sign that something has gone wrong; it’s part of the journey.

A Gospel of Comfort or of Courage?

When Paul wrote these words, he wasn’t reclining in comfort. His life was full of pain, danger, and persecution. In 2 Corinthians 11, he describes being imprisoned, beaten, flogged, shipwrecked, and left for dead. Four shipwrecks, in fact! Yet it’s this same man who says, “We know that in all things God works for the good.” If we were to read that as “everything that happens will be pleasant,” Paul’s entire life would contradict it.

For Paul, “good” didn’t mean comfort, wealth, or success. It meant the ultimate good—the completion of our salvation and the fulfilment of God’s redemptive plan. The apostle wasn’t naïve. He knew that life could be brutal. His hope rested not in the absence of suffering but in the presence of God’s purpose within it.

Present Suffering, Future Glory

The section of Romans 8 that holds this verse is titled “Present Suffering and Future Glory.” In verse 18, Paul writes, “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” Those words change everything. The good that God is working towards isn’t necessarily the easing of our pain in this life — it’s the transformation and renewal that are part of His eternal plan.

Paul paints a picture of creation itself “groaning” as in childbirth, longing for the new life to come. It’s such a vivid image. The world aches, the church aches, we ache. We live in the tension of the “already but not yet”—already redeemed by Jesus, but not yet fully restored. The Holy Spirit within us is the guarantee, the down payment, of what’s still to come. We have glimpses of glory now, but the fullness awaits.

Holding Hope in a Broken World

So where does that leave us, living in a world filled with pain and injustice? It leaves us clinging to the astonishing promise that God is at work in everything, not causing all things, but weaving even the darkest threads into His ultimate design for good. Our present sufferings do not invalidate the hope of salvation; they actually make it more real.

I learned this truth in a deeply personal way when my uncle died suddenly at the age of fifty-two. He was a strong, healthy man, a horticulturist by trade, full of life. One night he went to bed early with the flu and never woke up. It was the first tragedy I’d ever faced as a teenager. My family prayed desperately for resurrection, but it wasn’t to be.

Years later, I dug up some dwarf irises he had given me as a child. They hadn’t flowered in years, and to be honest, I’d given up on them. But that spring, when I replanted them, they suddenly burst into bloom—brilliant, beautiful, alive. In that moment, I sensed God whisper to me: “Your uncle is more alive now than he ever was.” I stood there in the garden, tears streaming down my face, reminded that even death itself can be turned backwards.

Resurrection is not a metaphor for me; it’s a promise. It’s the ultimate good toward which everything is moving. It’s what gives meaning to our pain and our waiting. Because if death is not the end, then nothing is wasted, not even our suffering.

God in the Garden

Sometimes, though, we rush too quickly to Resurrection Sunday. I know I do. As a pastor, I love the joy of Easter morning—the triumph, the hope, the music. But before the empty tomb comes the garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus wept and grieved. We worship a God who doesn’t stand apart from pain but walks into it, who weeps with us in our gardens of sorrow.

Perhaps you’ve found yourself asking, “God, where are you in this?” I’ve asked that too. And the answer, again and again, is that He is right there—not distant, not indifferent, but present and grieving alongside us. He knows what it feels like to be betrayed, abandoned, and unjustly treated. None of us are immune from life’s struggles, not even Jesus. But just as the cross became the gateway to resurrection, our own suffering can become the soil in which new life grows.

Glimpses of Glory in the Now

Although Paul’s focus is on the ultimate good—the future glory—we also see God’s hand at work in the present. There are moments when the kingdom breaks through: in healing, in reconciliation, in acts of compassion and courage. We see glimpses of resurrection even here, even now.

One of my favourite biblical examples of this is Joseph. Sold into slavery by his own brothers, falsely accused, and forgotten in prison, Joseph’s life seemed a catalogue of misfortune. And yet, through every setback, God was quietly at work. When Joseph finally confronted his brothers years later, he said, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good.” What an extraordinary statement. The very things meant to destroy him became the instruments of salvation for many.

Paul’s shipwrecks tell the same story. What looked like disaster became the means by which the gospel reached new shores. The pattern repeats throughout Scripture: what was meant for evil, God turns for good. That’s not a platitude; it’s a profound theological truth born out of pain.

The God Who Works in the Waiting

Living in this “already but not yet” world means accepting that some of our prayers won’t be answered the way we hope. God doesn’t cause all things, but He uses all things. His definition of good is eternal, not temporary. That’s why Paul could write with such confidence, because he knew how the story ends. And so do we.

Ephesians 6 reminds us that we are in a spiritual battle, not just a physical one. The world is broken, but God is not defeated. We know the ending—resurrection, renewal, redemption. And we’re on the winning team.

If you’re holding dreams that seem to have withered, if life has thrown you a curveball you never expected, take heart. Romans 8:28 isn’t a denial of pain; it’s a declaration of purpose. Like Joseph, you may not see it yet, but God is able to take even the most painful fragments and weave them into something beautiful.

The Love That Will Not Let Us Go

Paul ends Romans 8 with one of the most breathtaking declarations in Scripture: “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers… will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

That’s the foundation of everything. God’s love is not fragile. It’s not dependent on our circumstances. It doesn’t vanish in the storm. It holds firm, steady and unshakeable.

The writer Eugene Peterson understood this. At his funeral, his son shared that Peterson really only ever had one sermon, one message he preached to himself and to others throughout his entire ministry: “God loves you. God is on your side. He’s coming after you. He is relentless.” Isn’t that beautiful? That relentless love is the heartbeat of Romans 8.

When the World Turns Upside Down

Perhaps, as you read this, you find yourself in a season where everything feels upside down. You believe in God, yet you’re struggling to make sense of what’s happened. You’ve prayed for something and it hasn’t come to pass. You’ve carried burdens that feel too heavy. I want to gently remind you: God has not abandoned you. He’s walking with you in the garden, crying with you, just as He did with His Son.

He doesn’t promise to spare us from suffering, but He does promise never to waste it. He will bring something good from it, ultimately the good of our redemption, but often glimpses of grace in the here and now. He will have the final say.

Praising Him in the Mess

There’s a song that says, “You’re greater than my weakness, my anxious heart can rest. So I’ll hold on to your promise and I’ll praise you in the mess.” I love that line—because life is messy. Faith doesn’t mean pretending otherwise. It means choosing to praise in the middle of the chaos, trusting that the One who turned death backwards is still at work.

Romans 8:28 doesn’t promise an easy life; it promises a meaningful one. It tells us that nothing, not grief, not failure, not tragedy, is beyond the reach of God’s redeeming love. He works in all things. He weaves beauty from ashes. He writes resurrection into every story.

So if today you find yourself in the middle of something hard, hold on. The story isn’t over. The garden will give way to glory. And even now, even here, He is for you. Always has been. Always will be.