It’s a curious thing, isn’t it? How the word “law” can make our shoulders stiffen and our hearts sink. The very idea conjures images of rigid rules, courtroom glares, and perhaps a divine finger wagging in our direction.

But Paul, writing to his young friend Timothy, doesn’t roll his eyes at the law. He doesn’t discard it or disgrace it. He does something better—he dignifies it. He calls it good. Yes, good. Like a compass on a foggy night or a lighthouse on a rocky shore.

“But we know that the law is good, if a man use it lawfully.” (1 Timothy 1:8)

There’s the key—if a man use it lawfully. The law wasn’t meant to decorate a bookshelf or prop up a prideful heart. It wasn’t made for the “righteous,” Paul says, but for the rest of us. The law isn’t a badge of honor—it’s a bright red warning light.

It tells the truth when no one else will.

It whispers to the sexually immoral, the liar, the thief, the slanderer—“You were made for more than this.” It shouts over the noise of our self-justification and says, “You need a Savior.”

And there it is.

The law doesn’t lead us to a list. It leads us to a Lamb.

Paul doesn’t end with the sin list—he ends with the gospel. Not just any gospel, but the glorious gospel of the blessed God. The good news that grace comes to us not after we’ve scrubbed off the grime, but while we’re still stained.

That gospel had been “committed” to Paul’s trust—and to ours. It’s a trust we carry not as taskmasters but as truth-tellers. Not with wagging fingers, but with open arms.

So let’s not fear the mirror. Let it show us what we are—so we can see who He is.

A Savior for the lawless.

A rescuer for the restless.

A gospel too glorious to keep to ourselves.

When the law is used rightly, it doesn’t condemn us to a corner—it points us to a cross. It humbles the proud and invites the broken. And in that humbling, heaven sings, because every story that starts with law is meant to end in love.