Cut Off for the Sake of the Damned

Cut Off for the Sake of the Damned: The Agony of Apostolic Love in Flint

Romans 9:1–3 Applied to Our Families, Our Streets, and Our City

Romans 9:1–3 (ESV)

“I am speaking the truth in Christ—I am not lying; my conscience bears me witness in the Holy Spirit—
that I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart.
For I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my brothers,
my kinsmen according to the flesh.”

INTRODUCTION: The Scream of Apostolic Intercession in a City That’s Bleeding

There are scriptures that sit quietly on the page, and then there are verses like Romans 9:1–3 that rise up and demand your full attention. This is not a whisper—it’s a scream, echoing from the depths of a man so possessed by the Spirit of Christ that he’s willing to be damned if it would mean the salvation of his people.

This is apostolic agony—a love so deep, so raw, so unnatural that it defies human sentiment. It is the agony of seeing those closest to you—your blood, your city, your neighborhood—headed to hell and knowing that polite prayers and weekly church attendance will never be enough.

This is a word for Flint.
For the fatherless boys on the north side.
For the backslidden daughters and granddaughters in our own homes.
For the drug runners and the religious hypocrites.
For the weary mothers in broken-down houses praying for their sons to come home.

This is Paul’s cry—and it must become ours!

1. “I Am Speaking the Truth in Christ”—Because You Wouldn’t Believe This Kind of Love if You Heard It on the Street

Paul begins with a solemn oath: “I am speaking the truth in Christ—I am not lying.” He knows what he’s about to say is unthinkable. Who among us could honestly say: “I would go to hell if it meant my brother could be saved”?

This isn’t performance. This isn’t a dramatic monologue. This is truth witnessed by Christ Himself, verified by the Holy Spirit, and sealed by the pain carved into Paul’s soul.

We throw around phrases like “praying for Flint,” but do we bleed in secret for our families?
Do we groan in the Spirit when we hear another young man got shot?
Do we feel anything when a soul steps into eternity from our city… unsaved?

Paul wasn’t exaggerating. He was dying while still alive.

And the truth is—we’ve stopped even pretending we care like that.

2. “Great Sorrow and Unceasing Anguish”—We Sleep While Our Families Rot in Chains

Paul says he has great sorrow and unceasing anguish. The language is violent—unceasing labor pains of the soul. It’s the torment of a man who hears the screams of the damned echoing across eternity and can’t ignore them anymore.

Let’s talk about your family.
You’ve got sons who don’t know Christ.
Daughters who are living in rebellion.
Cousins who haven’t stepped into a church in ten years.
Grandchildren who don’t even know how to pray.

And yet we sleep like all is well. We scroll. We snack. We entertain ourselves while they perish.

This is not sorrow over inconvenience, it is sorrow over hell.
It is sorrow that can’t be turned off.
It’s seeing your city with Spirit-eyes and realizing that half the people you love are marching toward judgment. And you’ve stopped weeping for them.

Paul never did. He wept with a heart that mirrored Christ’s at Gethsemane.

Who in Flint is weeping like that?

3. “I Could Wish Myself Accursed” The Kind of Love That Will Shake a City

Here it is: the unbearable climax.

“I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my brothers…”

Accursed—ἀνάθεμα in the Greek—is not mere separation. It means to be devoted to destruction under God’s wrath. Paul is saying:

“If it meant my people, (put their name in here) __________ could be saved, I would take their place in hell.”

Can you say that about your own family? Yes you can but your actions say your lying!

Would you trade your eternal life for your backslidden child?
Would you be cast off if it meant your gang-affiliated cousin would come to Christ?
Would you carry the fires of damnation if it could pull your neighbor out of darkness?

We don’t even want to sacrifice our comfort, let alone our eternity.

But Paul meant it—and it was Christ’s own heart beating inside of him. The same Christ who said, “I will drink the cup of wrath, so they don’t have to.” The same Savior who endured separation so you could be reconciled.

This is what intercession costs. It’s not words. It’s your life.

4. “For the Sake of My Brothers”—Blood, Street, and City Loyalty in the Spirit

Paul grieved for his own. Not strangers. Not statistics. His people. His brothers.

You say you love Flint—but do you love it enough to be rejected by it, killed by it, and still cry out for its salvation?

Paul’s love wasn’t weak—it was covenant love. The kind that remembers who raised you, who bled with you, who sat next to you in pews and now walks away from God.

This is the love you must carry for your family.
For your street.
For this city.

You don’t get to curse Flint and say you’re sent to it.
You don’t get to judge your brother and think you’re above him.
Paul didn’t do that. He grieved, even for those who tried to kill him.

Until we carry the face of Christ into our neighborhoods, we are just noise.
Until we love our blood and city more than our comfort, we are impostors.

CONCLUSION: This Is Not About Paul—It’s About Us

Romans 9:1–3 is not a theological footnote. It is a call to funeral-level surrender. It’s Paul dragging the body of his own desires onto the altar and saying,

“Let me die. Let me burn. Let me be cut off—if it will raise them to life.”

This is what love looks like when it’s crucified.
This is what intercession sounds like when it’s not artificial.
This is the kind of love that shakes cities and breaks curses.

Flint doesn’t need another program. It needs a generation of Paul’s
Matriarchal Mothers who will pray through the night until their children break.
Men who will fast until drug houses shut down.
People who would rather be hated by everyone and loved by Christ than keep playing dead church.

FLINT, THE TIME IS NOW.

You want awakening? Then you must die for your city in prayer.
You want revival? Then you must let God shatter your heart like Paul’s.
You want your family saved? Then you must learn what it means to bleed in the Spirit.

This is what it means to be cut off—for others.
This is what it means to bear the image of Christ.
This is what it means to love like heaven, weep like hell, and shake a region into resurrection.

Let this be your prayer tonight:

“God, if it would save them, take my comfort.
If it would deliver this city, take my life.
If it would bring them to Christ, lay me down like You laid Yourself down.
Burn out my apathy.
Destroy my pride.
Give me the burden Paul carried—for Flint, for my family, and for the lost.”