Acts 23

Acts 23:1-35

The Acts of the Apostles Chapter 22:30 - 23:1-35 Acts 22:30 - Acts 23:1-35 The interest of the first part of this paragraph (Acts 22:30 - Acts 23:1-11) centres in Paul, and there are two things which we will note: first, Paul and his circumstances, that is the story of the day; secondly, Paul and his Lord, that is the story of the night.

It is only as we can put ourselves back into this man’s circumstances that we shall understand some of the things he said, and some of the things he did. The day had been one of turmoil, a day in which he had been brutally beaten, and yet unexpectedly and marvellously protected by the Gentile power. Then followed the night. Paul was physically, bruised; mentally, disturbed by all the happenings of those hours; and spiritually, he was wounded, because he had failed to reach his brethren in Jerusalem, after the flesh.

Glance again at the doings of the day. He had been arraigned before his accusers, by the action of the Roman captain. Therefore their attitude was inevitable, and their finding was a foregone conclusion. This was not a court of justice. The only possible friend he had, as he faced the Sanhedrim, was the Roman captain who had rescued him, and had put him in this position in order to investigate a case which perplexed him.

The shadow of dejection over his spirit is discovered in the very first words that he spoke. “Looking steadfastly on the council,” he said, “Brethren, I have lived before God in all good conscience until this day.”

The high priest immediately commanded that he should be smitten upon the mouth, and in a moment we see Paul losing all his dejection, and flaming into anger: “God shall smite thee, thou whited wall; and sittest thou to judge me according to the law, and commandest me to be smitten contrary to the law?” That was a manifestation of his righteousness. When a man sitting there, ostensibly to judge him, insulted the principle of righteousness, he flamed. He did not know he was the high priest. When he realized that the man who had thus spoken to him was the appointed ruler in the Divine economy, he apologized; not for the protest against unrighteousness, but for the method of it; and in that apology there was evidence of his passion for righteousness as surely as there was in the protest itself.

Paul now became conscious, or woke to the consciousness that the Sanhedrim was divided, that there were Pharisees there. He appealed to them therefore:

“Brethren, I am a Pharisee, a son of Pharisees; touching the hope and resurrection of the dead I am called in question.”

It has been affirmed that in this appeal he was making an effort to defeat that Sanhedrim, and secure his own escape. I do not so read the story. I believe that he was trying to find a vantage ground for reaching his brethren with the evangel of the resurrection. It was his attempt to rearrest men whom he had lost, to get one other chance to win them for his Lord.

Let us now look at Paul in the darkness and quietness of the night succeeding this day of strange and perplexing emotions. Let us try and get with him into the prison. The uppermost thought of his mind would inevitably be that of the disastrous failure of the day. His claim of sincerity had been insulted. His passion for righteousness had been defeated. His purpose of testimony had been frustrated.

I believe there settled upon his spirit that night the sense of utter dejection. I believe he was overwhelmed with a sense of his failure in Jerusalem. I believe he was confronted with grave doubts as to the future of his ministry. We argue these things, first of all from the experiences through which he had passed, and from what it seems natural any human heart would feel. But we also argue them from things Christ said to him. We shall see presently that the three words of Christ exactly met those attitudes of mind.

This man was in prison, dejected, disappointed. He had come up to Jerusalem, bearing gifts, and he had not been granted a hearing. He had not been able to win those he loved, his kinsmen according to the flesh. He had failed in Jerusalem. Then his mind would travel away to those hopes and aspirations that had filled hini for so many months, his passionate desire to reach Rome. He had said, “I must see Rome also.” It was not at all certain now that he ever would.

It looked as though he were hemmed in, and defeated. He was suffering from dejection, despair, and doubt. That is the story of one of the darkest nights in the history of Paul.

The rest of the story is full of splendour. That night the Lord stood by him, and spoke to him. We should insult the very sacredness of this incident if we discussed how the Lord appeared, or how Paul heard Him. He was there, and Paul knew it. He spoke, and Paul heard it.

Mark the fact of the presence. “The Lord stood by him.” Think of all the past, think of those wonderful journeys, and the buffeting and the bruising, and the darkest and most trying of all the days, far more trying than the hour in which he lay well-nigh dead from the stones in Lystra. He was dejected, despairing, full of doubt.

“Sometimes a light surprises The Christian while he sings. It is the Lord, Who rises With healing in His wings.” “The Lord stood by him.” The Lord was familiar with his experiences. He also had been in Jerusalem, buffeted, broken, bruised, alone; but He had been victorious over those very experiences. He was filled with genuine sympathy, not pity. Pity is often an insult. Sympathy is another matter. It is bearing with, entering into the experiences of another. Was Paul dejected? The Lord standing by him, felt in the mystery of His own Divine mind, all the misery of his dejection. Was Paul disappointed and in despair, because he had failed in Jerusalem? All the iron of it entered into the very spirit of his Lord. Was Paul in doubt about the future? His Lord knew the pang of the pain.

Then He spoke to him, and in doing so covered all the ground of his need. He had a word for his dejection, “Be of good cheer.” He had a word for his sense that he had failed in Jerusalem, “Thou hast testified concerning Me at Jerusalem.” There may have been failure in method, in policy, but the motive was pure, and therefore the Lord could say, “Thou hast testified.” He had a word for his fear about the future, “So must thou bear witness also at Rome.” What a night it was. How full of light, how full of glory. His Master’s word of cheer to chase away the dejection of his spirit; his Master’s word of commendation astonishing him, and yet comforting him in view of his failure; his Master’s word of appointment, filling him with certainty that in spite of all the difficulties in front of him, he should preach in Rome.

If I were asked to express the teaching of this paragraph for my own heart, I would use the first great words of our perpetual benediction: “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ.” As to the present, He ever brings us in hours of darkness the cheer of His nearness. When He does so, prisons become sanctuaries; dark nights become golden days of sunlight. As to the past, we have His word of approval. Notwithstanding all failure of method and accomplishment, if the motive has been pure, He will say, Well done. As to the future, we have the certainty of His appointment.

In the rest of our paragraph (Acts 23:12-35), we have the story of how the first word of the Lord, spoken in the night, was vindicated, and the last word was fulfilled.

The vindication of the first word, “Be of good cheer,” will be found finally as we follow Paul through the vicissitudes of the next two and a half or three years. The final vindication of the Lord’s last word, “So must thou bear witness also at Rome,” will be found in the closing paragraph of the book of the Acts of the Apostles.

There are three matters of interest in this paragraph: first the mental mood of the apostle; second, the surrounding circumstances in the midst of which we find him; and finally, the unseen Presence, the overruling Lord.

Observe Paul’s mental mood. The night had passed; the close, intimate, mystic, and exceptional consciousness of the Presence had gone. The voice was sounding no longer in his ears; he was still in prison, and conscious of the hostility outside, which was increasing; he was face to face with multiplying difficulties. Yet everything was changed, and the mood resulting from that holy fellowship in the darkness of the night with his Lord is seen in all the subsequent story. There was perfect assurance. This man never wavered again, through all perils which grieved, tried, and brought suffering upon him. Turn to the Corinthian letters, and see the description of some of his trials. But through them all, faith never wavered.

But more, there was poised and balanced judgment manifest ever after in this man’s attitudes and activities. All his actions were the reasonable activities of faith; neglecting nothing, attending to all things. He passed on the report of the plot to the chief governor, and expected that Rome would do its duty, and be just. A little later on he availed himself of his citizenship, and made his appeal to Caesar. He took charge of the ship in the hour of coming peril. There was no recurrence of dejection, no more sadness on account of failure.

His Lord had said to him, “Thou hast testified concerning Me at Jerusalem,” and he was content to abide by his Master’s measurement of his work rather than by his own. Moreover he had no further doubt as to the issue. He would reach Rome in spite of shipwrecks and Euraquilo, barbarians, and vipers, and he knew it. Henceforth he is seen as a man moving quietly and strongly onward toward the goal. His story is that of a triumphal progress, in which he is seen superior to all circumstances, and yet all the way buying up the opportunities. He had passed into the realm of a great and dignified peace and quietness and confidence, because he dared believe what his Lord had said to him in the quietness of that one night.

Glance at the surrounding circumstances. Forty men were plotting and planning, and pledging themselves neither to eat nor drink until he was dead. Then remember his loneliness; he had no help from the Church, there was no message sent to him from that assembly. In an earlier chapter we find that when Peter was in prison there was a prayer meeting. We do not read that there was any for Paul. Perhaps it is not safe to build upon the argument of silence, but I think we are warranted in saying there was no praying.

At least there was no attempt to help him. There was no one in Jerusalem to whom he could turn. The only man likely to be friendly toward him, and that was a very questionable friendship, was Claudius Lysias, the chief captain. The determined hostility of the men outside had as its inspiration religious fanaticism, and that is always the most deadly form of hostility. There was no change from former conditions save for the worst; no ray of earthly light breaking upon the darkness; and yet he was quiet and strong. How can it be accounted for?

The Lord had been with him, the Lord had said, “Be of good cheer.” The music of that anthem was singing itself out in his soul, while men outside were plotting, and all forces were against him. The Lord had set the seal of His approval even upon his testimony in Jerusalem. The Lord had declared he should witness in Rome, and he knew no hostility could prevent His purpose.

The overruling Lord is not seen in this paragraph by the eyes of sense. As a matter of fact beyond that vision of the night there is nothing miraculous here. It is a commonplace story. There was no great crisis, no thunder, no lightning, no bolt from the blue. The first instrument was Paul’s sister’s son. We know absolutely nothing about him. He never appears again in the narrative. He heard the rumour of the plot, and he went to tell Paul. The unseen Lord took hold of the youth, and working along the line of the commonplace, proceeded to the ultimate deliverance. He found entrance to the prison, and was taken to Paul; and then the message was sent by Paul to Lysias.

The next person to notice is Lysias. The heart of this man was moved. An Egyptian had recently led out a host, and there had been much bloodshed and slaughter. Their Roman governors were watching these turbulent Jews very carefully, and this man was afraid of a riot. He told Felix how he had delivered Paul from the mob, when he found that he was a Roman citizen, and that he brought him to the council of the Jews. His action was a result of the touching of his heart either with fear or sympathy, but by the unseen Lord.

Look at the issue. Forty men were lying in wait, and getting ready on the morrow to kill him. How did his Lord save him from the forty? By setting him out, not on foot, to drag his bruised and weary limbs along the wayside, but on horseback, with four hundred and seventy men. That was how he left Jerusalem. For between thirty-five and forty miles through the night he rode in the midst of these soldiers, as far as Antipatris. Then the danger zone being passed, four hundred of them went back to Jerusalem, and Paul went on to Caesarea, sitting in the centre of seventy of the Roman cavalry. That is how the Lord took care of him.

It all ends with these words: “kept in Herod’s palace.” Built by Herod, the Idumsean, appropriated by the Roman procurator, taken away from Herod at this time, the palace was used by the Lord as a safe place for His servant. It was a prison, but a prison is a palace when the Lord provides it for His servant.

Said this man in his letters, “There is one Lord.” This is the Lord, his Lord, and our Lord. “There is one faith.” It was his faith in this Lord that made him strong. Our faith is in this Lord. “There is one baptism,” the baptism of the Spirit whereby the believing soul is made one with this Lord. We have shared that baptism if we are Christian souls. “One God and Father of us all, Who is over all, and in all, and through all,” the God and Father of that Lord and that apostle, and of us all.

Look back then at this story, and in its light let us look back on our own lives, and as we do so, we see a mosaic. Oh the supernaturalism of the natural! It was the Lord Who turned us to the side street, Who sent the caller at that moment, Who made the inquisitive boy care to hear the story and tell it. It was the Lord!

We take up the Old Testament, and read a sentence like this, “In that night could not the King sleep.” What kept him awake? The supernatural God kept him awake. To amuse himself that yawning, restless king said, Bring me out those records, and read; and they read to him about Mordecai. Oh the little natural things, and the supernatural Lord!

We look back, and life is a mosaic. Look round, and it is all confusion. There is no hope in circumstances, there is no help in man. But the Lord is committed to us, and we may be quiet. He will use the small thing to save us; the curious boy; He will compel the great things to our service, the Roman soldiers if need be shall guard us. It is indeed a commonplace story, but it is radiant with the light of God’s eternal day.