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Romans 5:1-11 (GNV)

1 Then being justified by faith, we have peace toward God through our Lord Jesus Christ. 2 By whom also through faith we have had this access into this grace wherein we stand, and rejoice under the hope of the glory of God. 3 Neither that only, but also we rejoice in tribulations, knowing that tribulation bringeth forth patience. 4 And patience experience, and experience hope. 5 And hope maketh not ashamed, because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the holy Ghost, which is given unto us.

6 For Christ, when we were yet of no strength, at his time died for the ungodly. 7 Doubtless one will scarce die for a righteous man: but yet for a good man it may be that one dare die. 8 But God out his love towards us, seeing that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. 9 Much more then, being now justified by his blood, we shall be saved from wrath through him. 10 For if when we were enemies, we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more being reconciled, we shall be saved by his life, 11 And not only so, but we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom we have now received the atonement.

Marguerite de Navarre: Devotion & Beauty

It’s the day of judgement and all the true believers are waiting in line to get into heaven. Saint Peter appears and says to them, “I want all the men here to separate into two lines – the first line is for men who were the true heads of their household. All those men who shared decision-making with their wives should form the second line. As for all the women—go ahead. You may enter.”

After all the women had left, the men quickly sorted themselves into two lines. The line of those men who shared decision-making with their wives stretched on for what seemed like eternity. The line for men who were the true heads of their household had only one man in it. Saint Peter seemed confused. He said, “Out of all you men, there is only one man here who was a true head of his household? Only one man who made all the decisions for his family all by himself?” Turning to the lone man in the first line, he said, “Tell me sir, how did you come to stand in this line?” The man, looking rather confused himself, shrugged and said, “I don’t know. Before she left, my wife told me to stand here.”

Today we are talking about Marguerite de Navarre—a 16th century wife and mother, the sister of the King of France, a reigning monarch in her own country, a talented writer and poet, a formidable diplomat, and a friend of both the Reformation and the Renaissance. Although she remained part of the Catholic Church until the end of her life, she corresponded with John Calvin, and protected him from persecution. Marguerite de Navarre raised her children as Calvinists, and her own daughter became the leader of the French Protestant movement. Her grandson would become the King of France who finally ended the wars of religion between the Protestants and Catholics.

Marguerite de Navarre does not appear on the Reformation Wall in Geneva, but—as with Guillaume Farel, the subject of last week’s sermon—there’s a very good chance that there wouldn’t be a Reformation Wall, or a John Calvin, or a John Knox, or a Presbyterian Church today, without her influence.

Among several contributions to 16th century literature, Marguerite is probably best known for a lengthy poem called The Mirror of the Sinful Soul. It’s written as a deeply personal prayer—raw, poetic, and theologically rich—where she uses the story of four biblical characters (three of them women) to explore the themes of human brokenness, and divine mercy. First, she moves through the story of Miriam (the sister of Moses); next the mother who is judged by Solomon in his court; third Gomer, the adulterous wife of the prophet Hosea; and finally the prodigal son in the parable of Jesus—but this last one she explores from the perspective of a prodigal daughter, reunited with a loving father. So basically, a sister, a mother, a wife, and a daughter. In each story, the woman is convicted of some kind of wrongdoing, but then experiences unexpected grace and forgiveness, and a complete restoration as a valued member of the community.

Fun fact about the Mirror of the Sinful Soul. Years after its publication in French, it fell into the hands of a very intelligent 11 year old girl in England, who translated it and presented it as a gift for her step-mother. That 11 year old girl’s name was Elizabeth, and she would go on to become Queen Elizabeth the first, defender of the Protestant faith and namesake of the Elizabethan age.

Marguerite de Navarre’s story is full of contrasts—royal yet humble, cultured yet devout, loyal to her church yet yearning for its reform. She lived at a time when faith was all tangled up with politics, and when courage often looked like quiet persistence instead of public defiance. But what made her truly remarkable wasn’t her title or even her talent—it was her understanding of grace. Through her poetry and her prayers, she returned again and again to the same truth: that God’s love reaches us not when we are strong, but precisely when we are weak. That truth comes from Romans chapter five—our scripture passage today, which she quotes often in her letters and in her poetry—and which would go on to be one of the favorite passages quoted by Martin Luther, John Calvin, and John Knox.

Let’s jump into that passage: The Apostle Paul begins by locating the source of our peace: “Being justified by faith, we have peace toward God through our Lord Jesus Christ. From Marguerite’s perspective, you might be a princess, a queen, sister to a powerful king—an important person. You might be the most intelligent person in the room, or the most talented person in the room. But all of that means nothing without faith in Jesus Christ.

Conversely, you might be a nobody—you might be poor, uneducated, unimportant—but your faith in Jesus Christ justifies you in God’s sight every bit as much as the most powerful monarch. Marguerite de Navarre didn’t just believe this, but in contrast to most monarchs of her time, she lived it. The American historian Will Durant wrote about her that she was “the embodiment of charity. She would walk unescorted in the streets of Navarre, allowing any one to approach her and would listen at first hand to the sorrows of the people. She called herself 'The Prime Minister of the Poor'. Her husband, the King of Navarre, believed in what she was doing, even to the extent of setting up a public works system that became a model for France. Together he and Marguerite financed the education of needy students.”

So being justified by faith, we (all of us) have peace (the exact same peace) toward God through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Paul goes on to say that this peace is what allows us to “rejoice in tribulations, knowing that tribulation bringeth forth patience. And patience experience, and experience hope.” That part of the passage probably resonated to Marguerite and to her people in the 16th century, who lived through a whole lot of war, famine, disease and suffering. But I feel like sometimes it gets lost in American churches today, where this idea exists that if you’re a Christian, God will bless you with prosperity and power and influence, and if you’re suffering it must be because you’re doing something wrong, or you don’t have enough faith. But Romans 5 doesn’t make that promise—instead it promises that faith is what helps us to navigate the inevitable suffering of this life; and that suffering is part of a larger process—one that leads us toward experience, and ultimately toward hope.

The heart of Romans 5 is the second half of verse 8: “While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” That’s also the heart of the entire gospel, summarized in just nine words. If you were born into royalty or wealth; or if you have somehow become a powerful or influential person, you might be tempted to think that you don’t need God’s mercy. If you were born into poverty (or fell into it at some point along the way); if you feel disempowered, insignificant, or worthless, you might be tempted to think that you don’t deserve God’s mercy, or that it is somehow unobtainable.

But those temptations are both false: We are ALL broken people—no matter how great or small—we all make mistakes and do things that fill us with regret, over and over again. And at the same time all of us—no matter how great or small—are so much loved by God that he gave up everything, in the person of Jesus, to bring us back into complete restoration as valued members of God’s community.

While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. That’s grace, that’s mercy, not earned or deserved, but given in love.

Here’s how Marguerite of Navarre characterized that love in her poem Mirror of the Sinful Soul—and yes, I’m using the English translation of an 11 year old girl who was declared illegitimate at birth, unwanted by her father and her people (because she wasn’t a son) and with no power, no hope or expectation that she would someday become the most powerful monarch of her time:

Not hell’s black depth, nor heaven’s vast height,
Nor sin with which I wage continual fight,
For one single day can I move,
O holy Father, from Thy perfect love.”

And that’s why Paul says in verse 11, that we “rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.” When you have seen yourself clearly in the mirror of your own soul, and you still find yourself welcomed—you still find yourself loved—you can’t help but rejoice. Not in yourself, not in your own status or lack thereof, but in a God who lifts you up, and never lets you go.