This is Verses We Missed, your midweek breath of Scripture and grace.
I'm your OG Godcaster, Steve Webb.
Every week we slow down and spend time with the quieter parts of Scripture, the verses
we may have read a thousand times before, but somehow didn't really see them.
When we look at a great work of art, let's say a towering cathedral or a massive marble statue,
we sometimes think about the genius behind the creation.
We think of the architect.
We think of the master sculptor.
But rarely do we stop to think about the people who made the work possible.
We don't think about the man who spent his life mixing the mortar that holds the stones together.
We don't think about the laborers who built the scaffolding so the artist could reach the ceiling.
In the history of the Church, we have our Michelangelos.
We have the giants like Abraham, Moses, David, Peter, John, and the Apostle Paul.
Their names are in the who's who of the Bible.
Their words, through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, are the foundation of our faith.
But today, I want to introduce you to a man who was the scaffolding for the most important letter ever written.
We're going to the very end of the book of Romans, possibly my favorite book in the Bible,
a book that Martin Luther called, The Clearest Gospel of All.
We're looking for a name that shows up once and then disappears.
It's Romans 16.22, and if you're reading too fast, you'll step right over the man who held the pen.
Before we read the verse, let's step into the room where it was written.
It's roughly 57 AD, and the Apostle Paul is in the city of Corinth.
Now, we actually do know what time of year it was.
In his first letter to the Corinthians, Paul mentioned his plan to winter with them to
avoid the dangerous storm season on the Mediterranean.
The book of Acts confirms he stayed for three months, leaving just before Passover in the
spring.
So picture a cold, rainy winter in Greece.
Inside the home of a believer named Gaius, the atmosphere is a sharp contrast to the chill outside.
It's winter in Corinth, but inside this small room, the air is thick and warm.
In the corner sits a bronze brazier, which is a small metal stand filled with glowing coals,
placed there to take the bite out of the air and keep the dampness away from the parchment.
In this cramped space, the heat makes the air feel heavy, carrying the sharp scent of burning
oil from the flickering lamps mixed with the dry metallic tang of the fresh iron gall ink.
Paul didn't write his own letters, at least not most of them. Whether it was because of his failing
eyesight or because his mind simply moved faster than a pen could travel, he used a professional
scribe, known as an Emanuenus, and, sitting across from him, hunched over that low table,
is a man named Tertius. I want you to really think about the labor Tertius is performing.
The book of Romans is roughly 7,000 words in the original Greek. Imagine the painstaking focus
required of him. This wasn't a quick note. This was a test of endurance, hours of exacting labor,
leaning over a scroll, ensuring that every word was captured perfectly. He's using a reed pen or
a calamus, which he has to hand-cut with a small knife to keep the nib sharp. If he makes a mistake,
he has to carefully scrape the ink off of the expensive papyrus with a pumice stone.
Think about the intimacy of that room. Paul is pacing the floor. He's weeping over the state of
Israel in chapter 9. He's shouting with joy over the grace of God in chapter 11. And every time
Paul takes a breath. He waits for the scratching of Tertius' pen to stop.
Tertius is not just a secretary. He is the first person in the history of the world
to process the book of Romans. Every word of this masterpiece had to travel through Tertius' ears,
through his mind, and down his arm before it ever reached the page. When you think about it,
He was the first listener to one of the greatest sermons ever.
Now, let's look at the verse we missed.
Romans is a 16-chapter book, and there are only a few sentences left.
It's covered justification by faith, the struggle with the flesh,
the sovereignty of God, and the ethics of the Christian life.
And now, Paul is sending his final greetings.
He's listing the names of some of the men he's met and sometimes even worked with in his travels.
Timothy, Lucius, Jason, Sosipater.
And then the dictation stops.
In verse 22 we read,
I, Tertius, who wrote down this letter, greet you in the Lord.
Well, this is a fourth wall break.
It's as if in the middle of a grand film,
the cameraman suddenly stepped in front of a lens to wave at the audience.
But it's even deeper than that. Let's talk about the name, Tertius.
In the Roman Empire, if you were a citizen of status, you were given a tria nomina,
a three-part name that signaled your family heritage and your social rank.
But if you were a slave, someone viewed you not as a person, but as a living tool.
You often weren't even given a name at all. You were given a number.
Tertius is the Latin word for third. It's highly likely that this man was born into slavery or was
a freedman, a former slave who had found a trade. To the rest of the world, he was just that third
guy. He was the third servant in the house, the third unit of labor on a ledger. He was a number,
not a name. But look at what Paul does. In any other ancient document, the scribe was invisible.
They're never allowed to speak. They were meant to be silent instruments of the author.
But Paul is practicing what he has just preached. He had just spent chapters arguing that in Christ
there is no slave or free. In this one verse, Paul confirms, no, he proves that he believes it.
He stops the dictation and says, go ahead, Tertius, tell them hello. He, in essence,
hands the microphone to the man who's been serving in the shadows. He gives a first-person eye to a
man the world called number three. This isn't just a greeting. It's a theological statement.
It's the gospel in a single sentence.
So why does this matter to us today?
It matters because many, maybe most of us, feel like the third guy most of the time.
In our world, we elevate the Pauls, the people on the stage, the people with the large social
media followings, the people whose names are on our television shows and sports venues.
We live in a culture that rewards the visible.
But the kingdom of God is full of those in the tertius class,
the people who do the ink-stained work.
It's the editor who spends weeks in the painstaking process of polishing a manuscript,
fixing the flow and the logic so that when the book hits the shelf,
the author looks like a genius.
The author gets the signing to her.
The editor remains in the margins.
It's the stagehand in the black shirt,
moving sets in total darkness with exacting precision.
If they do their job perfectly, you never even know they were there.
You only see the magic of the performance.
It's the parent who quietly, day after day,
pours the word of God into their children when no one is watching and there's no applause.
You might feel like a tertius.
You might feel like your contribution is just clerical or background noise.
You might feel like you're just a number on a payroll.
But, beloved, don't miss this. God made sure that for two thousand years, every time someone opens
the book of Romans, the most important letter in history, they have to encounter the name of the
humble man who held the pen. Paul provided the voice, but Tertius provided the bridge,
and without that bridge, the voice would never have reached Rome. Your service is not a footnote
to God. Your quiet, repetitive, invisible work is part of the sacred text of what God is doing in
the world. He doesn't just see the apostle. He sees the scribe. He doesn't just see the sermon.
He sees the hands that made it possible. A perfect example of a Tertius in my own life
is my late father-in-law. His name was Basil, but everyone called him Rip. He was a soft-spoken,
easygoing guy, and most of the time he had a smile on his face. He was the guy at church who mowed
the lawn, pulled the weeds, vacuumed the carpets, cleaned the bathrooms, changed the light bulbs,
washed the windows, made the coffee on Sunday mornings, and he was there whenever the doors
were open. And when they were shut, he had the keys to open them so that the church would look
its best for the next event. Sunday morning, Sunday evening, Monday men's group, Tuesday women's
ministries, Wednesday Bible study. To sum it up, Rip was the guy who, if there was a need,
he would fill it. And he was always in the background with that gentle smile on his face.
Oh, how I loved that man.
One of the greatest gifts the Lord ever gave me was to have Rip Collins as my father-in-law.
What an example he was.
Let's go to the Lord in prayer.
Heavenly Father, we thank you that your eyes are not like ours.
We so often look for the loud, the large, and the legendary.
But we thank you that you are the God who sees the scribe in the corner.
You are the God who knows the name of the third guy.
Lord, I pray for that person listening right now who feels like a footnote.
I pray for the one who is weary from the quiet work,
the work that no one applauds and few even notice.
Would you remind them that their ink-stained hands are beautiful in your sight?
Would you show them that the scaffolding that they are building
is holding up a work of eternal significance?
Father, give us the heart of Tertius to be content in the margins,
knowing that our greatest joy is simply being used to carry your word to a world that needs it.
May we rest tonight in the knowledge that we are not just numbers to you.
We are your children.
We are your co-laborers.
And our names are written in your book.
Lord, meet us in the quiet.
Meet us in the margins.
And may we find our rest in you.
In Jesus' name we pray.
Amen.
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Well, beloved, next time you're reading through those lists of names at the end of Paul's letters,
the parts we usually skip to get to the end, I want you to slow down.
I want you to remember that every name represents a story, a sacrifice, and a signature.
Thank God for the Pauls who speak the truth,
but thank God for the Tertius class who make sure the truth gets written down.
This is a weekly show released every Tuesday at 10 p.m. Pacific.
It's your midweek breath of Scripture and grace.
Until next time, may you allow God's Word to meet you where you are.
May you be honest before Him, confident in His mercy, and at rest in His care.
And remember, your work is seen and your name is known.
May God bless you richly.
My name is Steve Webb.
Bye.