Margaret sat in the fourth pew from the back, twisting a gold band around the base of her finger until it left a mark. The room was mostly empty, the church lights dimmed after the Wednesday night Bible study. Her Bible lay open beside her, flipped to Matthew 19, though she couldn’t bring herself to read it again. Behind her, someone vacuumed faintly down the hall. Ahead of her, the silence begged questions no one dared answer out loud.
Was this God’s silence? Or just her ache echoing back at her?
Jesus’ words in Matthew 19:9 gently haunted her: “I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for sexual immorality, and marries another woman commits adultery.” She had tried to love well. She had forgiven seventy times seven times. But in the end, he had left. Not for another woman—just to leave. To be free. She was left with papers and echoes and the sharp, tender uncertainty that follows every marriage that dies one slow breath at a time.
Maybe you’ve felt that too—wondering where you stand with God when vows are broken.
The Bible speaks deeply and directly about divorce and remarriage—not to condemn hearts but to protect them. Marriage is sacred. It reflects God’s covenant with us: faithful, permanent, forgiving. That’s why Jesus spoke strongly against easy, casual divorce. He was talking to a culture where men could dismiss their wives with a signature, where protection was granted only to the powerful. When He said that only sexual immorality made divorce permissible, He wasn’t adding fine print—He was restoring the dignity of the brokenhearted spouse, the one left behind.
But there’s another verse—quieter, lesser known, and yet just as essential. In 1 Corinthians 7:15, Paul writes, “But if the unbelieving partner separates, let it be so. In such cases the brother or sister is not bound.” Not bound. Paul isn’t contradicting Jesus. He’s expanding the conversation. God sees that sometimes the covenant is broken by desertion, by abandonment—not only by betrayal in the flesh, but by betrayal of the heart.
The pivot we rarely notice is this: God’s heart is always for restoration, but never at the cost of your safety or soul. He mourns broken marriages, but He doesn’t demand you stay in chains someone else locked.
In Jesus' day, hearts were hard, and laws were twisted to serve pride instead of love. Jesus didn’t tighten the law—He elevated the heart. Divorce isn’t God’s design. But neither is abuse, neglect, or abandonment. If you’ve walked that road, take this in slowly: God does not shame you for what someone else walked away from. He sees you, not as damaged goods, but as beloved still.
Margaret cried as the janitor turned off the lights. In the darkened chapel, she didn't hear condemnation. She heard quiet mercy. Perhaps grace doesn’t come loud—it comes gentle, in the place where hurt lives deepest.
I used to think the Bible was mostly a rulebook. But as I’ve looked closer, I realize it’s a story about broken people and the One who loves them still. Divorce asks hard questions: Am I still loved? Still welcome in God’s story?
Yes. A thousand times yes.
There is more than one kind of sin, and more than one kind of grace. Marriage matters deeply to God. But so do you. He’s not in the business of writing people off—only writing them in, again and again, into redemption.
Someone once said, “Grace doesn’t excuse the sin. It just pays for it.” Let that sink in. Grace is not God’s shortcut around the pain. It’s His presence in the middle of it.
So if your marriage has ended, or limps along in silence, know this: your Savior has not left. The vows may have broken, but your value hasn’t. If you’ve remarried after a painful ending, and wonder if you’re forever unclean—look to Jesus, who wrote new beginnings with broken people like David, like the woman at the well, like you and me.
There is a way forward. It may not be easy, but it is real. And Jesus walks it with you.
Not bound—but beloved.
That’s who He is. And He still is.
Margaret sat in the fourth pew from the back, twisting a gold band around the base of her finger until it left a mark. The room was mostly empty, the church lights dimmed after the Wednesday night Bible study. Her Bible lay open beside her, flipped to Matthew 19, though she couldn’t bring herself to read it again. Behind her, someone vacuumed faintly down the hall. Ahead of her, the silence begged questions no one dared answer out loud.
Was this God’s silence? Or just her ache echoing back at her?
Jesus’ words in Matthew 19:9 gently haunted her: “I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for sexual immorality, and marries another woman commits adultery.” She had tried to love well. She had forgiven seventy times seven times. But in the end, he had left. Not for another woman—just to leave. To be free. She was left with papers and echoes and the sharp, tender uncertainty that follows every marriage that dies one slow breath at a time.
Maybe you’ve felt that too—wondering where you stand with God when vows are broken.
The Bible speaks deeply and directly about divorce and remarriage—not to condemn hearts but to protect them. Marriage is sacred. It reflects God’s covenant with us: faithful, permanent, forgiving. That’s why Jesus spoke strongly against easy, casual divorce. He was talking to a culture where men could dismiss their wives with a signature, where protection was granted only to the powerful. When He said that only sexual immorality made divorce permissible, He wasn’t adding fine print—He was restoring the dignity of the brokenhearted spouse, the one left behind.
But there’s another verse—quieter, lesser known, and yet just as essential. In 1 Corinthians 7:15, Paul writes, “But if the unbelieving partner separates, let it be so. In such cases the brother or sister is not bound.” Not bound. Paul isn’t contradicting Jesus. He’s expanding the conversation. God sees that sometimes the covenant is broken by desertion, by abandonment—not only by betrayal in the flesh, but by betrayal of the heart.
The pivot we rarely notice is this: God’s heart is always for restoration, but never at the cost of your safety or soul. He mourns broken marriages, but He doesn’t demand you stay in chains someone else locked.
In Jesus' day, hearts were hard, and laws were twisted to serve pride instead of love. Jesus didn’t tighten the law—He elevated the heart. Divorce isn’t God’s design. But neither is abuse, neglect, or abandonment. If you’ve walked that road, take this in slowly: God does not shame you for what someone else walked away from. He sees you, not as damaged goods, but as beloved still.
Margaret cried as the janitor turned off the lights. In the darkened chapel, she didn't hear condemnation. She heard quiet mercy. Perhaps grace doesn’t come loud—it comes gentle, in the place where hurt lives deepest.
I used to think the Bible was mostly a rulebook. But as I’ve looked closer, I realize it’s a story about broken people and the One who loves them still. Divorce asks hard questions: Am I still loved? Still welcome in God’s story?
Yes. A thousand times yes.
There is more than one kind of sin, and more than one kind of grace. Marriage matters deeply to God. But so do you. He’s not in the business of writing people off—only writing them in, again and again, into redemption.
Someone once said, “Grace doesn’t excuse the sin. It just pays for it.” Let that sink in. Grace is not God’s shortcut around the pain. It’s His presence in the middle of it.
So if your marriage has ended, or limps along in silence, know this: your Savior has not left. The vows may have broken, but your value hasn’t. If you’ve remarried after a painful ending, and wonder if you’re forever unclean—look to Jesus, who wrote new beginnings with broken people like David, like the woman at the well, like you and me.
There is a way forward. It may not be easy, but it is real. And Jesus walks it with you.
Not bound—but beloved.
That’s who He is. And He still is.
