Read

Romans 7:15 “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.”

Think

Have you ever caught yourself mid-action and thought, “Why am I doing this again?” You said you wouldn’t lash out. You said you’d be patient. You said this would be the last time. But there you are, repeating the thing you swore you were done with. The frustration is real, not just because of the failure itself, but because you genuinely wanted to do better.

That’s exactly what Paul is saying in this verse. “I do not understand what I do.” He’s describing a spiritual contradiction that is as old as humanity. There’s a split inside him. A part of him truly wants to obey God. But another part seems to act on its own terms. He doesn’t just stumble occasionally. He says, “What I hate I do.” That’s strong language. This isn’t mild regret. It’s deep grief over choices that contradict his values, his beliefs, and his love for God.

And let’s not forget who’s writing this. Paul. Missionary. Theologian. A man who has seen miracles, planted churches, and suffered for the gospel. If anyone had spiritual credibility, it was him. Yet even he wrestled. Even he fell short. Even he found himself doing what he hated. That should be both sobering and strangely comforting.

Some of us were taught that maturity means sin stops being a struggle. But that’s not what Paul shows us. Maturity doesn’t mean the absence of battle. It means the presence of deeper honesty and dependence. Spiritual growth is not about becoming sinless. It’s not about perfection, it’s about progress. It’s about becoming more aware of your need for Jesus every day.

And that’s exactly what this verse exposes: our need. Because if we’re honest, this is not just Paul’s problem. It’s ours. We can’t even fully explain why we fall into the patterns we do. Why do we gossip when we long for meaningful connection? Why do we scroll and numb instead of pray and rest? Why do we isolate when we most need help? Why do we click when we know it leads to shame?

The problem, Paul shows us, isn’t knowledge. We know what’s right. The problem is deeper. It’s rooted in our nature. There’s a brokenness in us that logic can’t fix, that willpower can’t contain, that effort alone can’t change. Even our best intentions don’t produce consistent obedience.

It’s like driving a car that keeps pulling left no matter how hard you try to steer straight. You can grip the wheel tighter, pay more attention, and still find yourself off course. The issue isn’t your desire. It’s the alignment. Something beneath the surface is off, and it needs more than behavior modification. It needs a new engine.

And here’s where the gospel speaks right into our mess. God doesn’t reject us for the contradiction. He enters into it. Jesus came not for the people who always do what’s right, but for the ones who find themselves doing what they hate. The cross isn’t for the spiritually put-together. It’s for the painfully self-aware.

It’s been said that sin is not just doing bad things, but a deeper turning inward, a self-bending that corrupts even our best intentions. Paul is feeling that tension here. He wants to honor God. But his actions don’t always match that desire. Theologians call this the divided will. It sounds abstract, but it’s deeply human.

Think of a child who wants to make their parent proud but keeps disobeying. They feel the grief, not just of getting caught, but of hurting someone they love. That’s what Paul is naming. This isn’t cold disobedience. It’s conflicted affection. He doesn’t want to live this way. But he keeps falling.

If you’ve ever felt that, take heart. Your desire to do what is right is not meaningless. It may not lead to instant victory, but it is evidence that God is at work in you. Dead hearts don’t wrestle. Only living ones do.

But don’t stay stuck in shame. The point of this verse isn’t to make you wallow. It’s to lead you to deeper dependence. Paul isn’t saying, “Look how messed up I am.” He’s saying, “Even I cannot fix myself, which is why I need Jesus.” And so do we.

There is strange freedom in admitting your inability. It breaks the illusion that you can save yourself. It opens your hands to grace. The more you see the gap between who you are and who you want to be, the more you begin to long for a Savior who can fill that gap.

That longing is not weakness. It’s worship. It’s the beginning of repentance and the ground where real change grows. So when you find yourself asking, “Why do I keep doing this?”—don’t stop there. Let the question lead you to Jesus, the One who knows you fully and still calls you forward.

Apply

When you catch yourself doing what you hate, stop and ask God what is really going on beneath the surface. Invite him into the contradiction, not with shame, but with honesty. You are not too broken to be loved. You are exactly where grace wants to meet you.

Pray

Jesus, I confess that I do what I hate. Even when I know what is good, I still choose what is not. Thank you for your mercy that doesn’t give up on me. Thank you that my struggle is not the end of the story. Help me lean on your grace today. Change what I cannot change on my own. In Jesus’ name. Amen.