The Bible Is About People Who Shouldn’t Have Been Picked

We don’t usually say it out loud, but most of us read the Bible like it’s a collection of moral résumés.
Abraham got chosen because he was special.
David became king because he was worthy.
Rahab was rescued because she was brave.
Paul was called because he was brilliant.

We preach it that way, too. “Look at what they did—now go do it, too.”
But if you stop and really read, you’ll see the opposite.

The Bible isn’t about people who earned God’s help.
It’s about people who shouldn’t have been picked at all.

Abraham Lied His Way Through Egypt

Abraham wasn’t chosen because he was courageous. The man lied about his wife—twice—to save his own skin (Genesis 12, 20). He doubted God’s promise and tried to force an heir through Hagar. This isn’t the story of a flawless patriarch. It’s the story of God’s covenant faithfulness when Abraham was a mess.

David Was Overlooked and Overwhelmed

When Samuel came to anoint Israel’s next king, David wasn’t even in the room (1 Samuel 16). His own father didn’t think he was worth presenting. Later, when he was king, David wrecked his kingdom with lust, lies, and murder. Why is he remembered as “a man after God’s own heart”? Not because he was morally flawless, but because he threw himself on God’s mercy when he fell.

Rahab Shouldn’t Have Made the Story

Rahab was a Canaanite prostitute—about as far from Israel’s covenant promise as you could get (Joshua 2). She wasn’t holy, pure, or qualified. But she had faith. She believed God was with His people. And that faith grafted her into Israel’s story so fully that she became the great-great-grandmother of King David and, eventually, part of the family line of Jesus (Matthew 1).

Paul Was the Last Person You’d Pick

If you were assembling the dream team of apostles, you wouldn’t pick Saul of Tarsus. He wasn’t just “not a Christian” —he was a terrorist against Christians (Acts 8–9). He hunted believers down, dragged them out of homes, and approved of executions. And yet, Jesus met him on the road and said: you’re mine now. Paul later wrote, “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief” (1 Timothy 1:15).

Grace Keeps Rewriting the Story

So why do we still read the Bible like it’s about heroes?
Why do we still ask, “What did they do to earn God’s favor?”

The gospel isn’t about earning.
It’s about grace.

The moment we think the Bible is about strong, worthy people, we miss the point. God keeps picking the overlooked, the broken, the unqualified—the ones no one else would hire, crown, or redeem.

Because if God’s kingdom was built on résumés, none of us would make the cut.

But if it’s built on grace?
Then anyone—yes, even you—can be part of the story.

Why This Matters

Maybe you feel like you’re not the “type” God would use.
Too weak. Too messy. Too far gone.

But that’s exactly who He’s been using all along.

The Bible isn’t about perfect people chasing God.
It’s about a perfect God chasing broken people.

So here’s the question:
If God could choose Abraham the liar, David the sinner, Rahab the outsider, and Paul the persecutor—what makes you think He can’t use you?

When Righteousness Wears You Out

It wasn’t rebellion that burned me out.
It was obedience.

I was doing everything “right.”
Praying. Fasting. Memorizing. Serving.
Never missing church. Never saying no.

If there was a checklist for spiritual maturity, I had every box marked — twice.
And yet, the more I did, the emptier I felt.

I didn’t know it at the time, but I wasn’t living the Christian life.
I was performing the Christian role.
And like every role that depends on me holding the mask in place, eventually my arms got tired.

The weight wasn’t from sin.
It was from “righteousness.”
At least, my version of it.

See, I thought righteousness was about proving my worth to God — staying spotless, always producing, never failing.
But the gospel I lived by was closer to a corporate ladder than a cross.
Climb higher. Work harder. Don’t slip.

And when you start thinking God is your boss, burnout is inevitable.

Jesus once said to the religious leaders:

“For they bind heavy burdens and grievous to be borne, and lay them on men’s shoulders; but they themselves will not move them with one of their fingers.”
(Matthew 23:4)

I knew those leaders.
I had been one.
Worse, I had been my own Pharisee — binding heavy burdens on my own back and calling it faithfulness.

Then I heard Him again, not in rebuke but in invitation:

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
(Matthew 11:28–30)

The problem wasn’t righteousness.
It was my definition of it.
I was trying to become righteous by doing more, instead of living from righteousness already given to me in Christ.

Paul put it bluntly to the Galatians:

“Are ye so foolish? having begun in the Spirit, are ye now made perfect by the flesh?”
(Galatians 3:3)

That was me — saved by grace, sustained by hustle.
But grace doesn’t need my hustle.
It needs my surrender.

Now, I still pursue righteousness.
But it’s not a ladder I’m climbing.
It’s fruit from abiding.
And fruit grows in rest, not in frantic motion.

So if you’re tired from sin, you need repentance.
But if you’re tired from righteousness, you need Jesus.
Not the checklist version. Not the boss version.
The Shepherd who restores your soul.

If that’s where you are, you’re not alone. Rest isn’t failure. It’s faith.