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- Acts Chapter 22
"When disciples followed a rabbi, they followed him closely so they would never be out of his sight, never be someplace where they couldn’t hear him speak. They followed him so closely that his sandals often kicked up dust."
May you be covered in His dust.
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Before you dive into my notes, I encourage you to read Chapter 22 first.
Yes, I include all the scripture below, but there’s something about sitting with the whole chapter first — giving yourself room to be curious.
What doesn’t make sense?
What catches you off guard?
Who’s that?
Where is that?
Why???
Those questions will make the notes hit deeper.
Good morning, Saints! ☀️
Last week ended with Paul standing on the steps of the Antonia Fortress, right at the edge of the Temple Mount—bloodied, bound, and surrounded by Roman soldiers.
Thousands of people.
Holding their breath.
Waiting to hear what he’ll say.
The crowd that tried to kill him is finally silent, and Paul lifts his hand to speak.
Not to defend himself.
Not to fight back.
But to preach.
Ready for Chapter Two? Let’s go!
“Brothers and fathers, hear the defense that I now make before you.”
Not “You’re wrong.”
Not even “Let me defend myself.”
He speaks in Aramaic, their heart language… and he calls them brothers. He honors the elders by calling them fathers.
Even though they just tried to kill him.
He’s not angry.
He’s not afraid.
He’s not trying to win an argument.
He’s trying to win their hearts.
Man. What a scene.
And when they heard that he was addressing them in the Hebrew language, they became even more quiet. And he said:
“I am a Jew, born in Tarsus in Cilicia, but brought up in this city, educated at the feet of Gamaliel according to the strict manner of the law of our fathers, being zealous for God as all of you are this day.
Something about hearing him address them not in Greek, not in the language of the empire, but in their heart language, made them stop and really listen.
And then Paul begins.
He doesn’t shout.
He doesn’t accuse.
He starts with shared identity.
“I am a Jew,” he says. “Born in Tarsus, raised here in Jerusalem, educated under Gamaliel.”
Paul doesn’t say, “I was a Jew.” He says, “I am a Jew.”
Even after being beaten and rejected by his own people, even after years of ministry to the Gentiles, he doesn’t disown his identity or his roots.
He’s telling them: I was raised here. I grew up in this city. I studied under one of the most respected rabbis in our history. I lived according to the law. I was just as zealous for God as you are right now—maybe more so.
I’ve lived it. I’ve felt it. I get you.
He’s not distancing himself from the crowd. He’s placing himself right in the middle of them.
What they’re feeling… that fire, that drive, that desire to defend the truth… he’s felt it too.
Only something happened. And that’s where this story is about to turn
Gamaliel was a highly respected rabbi and a leading member of the Sanhedrin (the Jewish ruling council).
He’s first mentioned in Acts 5:34, where he defends the apostles, warning the council not to kill them too quickly. He says, “If this plan or this undertaking is of man, it will fail; but if it is of God, you will not be able to overthrow them.”
That statement shows both his wisdom and his measured authority.
In Jewish writings, he’s referred to as “Rabban Gamaliel,” which is a title even higher than “Rabbi.”
To the average Jew in Jerusalem, saying you were trained by Gamaliel would be like saying today you got your law degree from Harvard and were mentored by the Supreme Court Justice.
It carried weight, credibility, and honor.
I persecuted this Way to the death, binding and delivering to prison both men and women, as the high priest and the whole council of elders can bear me witness.
From them I received letters to the brothers, and I journeyed toward Damascus to take those also who were there and bring them in bonds to Jerusalem to be punished.
He says, “I persecuted the Way to the death,” meaning some believers actually died because of him.
He dragged men and women from their homes, showing no mercy. He ripped families apart and imprisoned people who had done nothing violent or illegal. People whose only “crime” was believing that Jesus was the Messiah.
And he didn’t do it alone or in secret. He carried out these actions with the full support of the religious leaders, the same ones who were likely standing near him in that very crowd.
He wasn’t just an angry bystander watching it happen from the sidelines…
He was the one kicking in the doors,
the one giving the orders,
and the one leading the charge.
Some of the crowd may have heard Paul’s name before, but to them, he was just the man who stirred up trouble among the Gentiles, a figure known for challenging their traditions and showing disregard for the law and the temple.
Many of them didn’t know he was a Jew.
So when he began speaking in Aramaic, clearly, calmly, and with reverence, they were probably confused.
Some may have asked themselves why someone with his background would ever abandon the law he had once defended so fiercely.
Why were early Christians called “the Way”?
The term “the Way” was one of the earliest names for the followers of Jesus. It probably came from Jesus’ words in John 14:6:
“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”
Jesus didn’t say He’d show the way.
He said He was the Way.
“As I was on my way and drew near to Damascus, about noon a great light from heaven suddenly shone around me. And I fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to me, ‘Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?’
And I answered, ‘Who are you, Lord?’ And he said to me, ‘I am Jesus of Nazareth, whom you are persecuting.’
Now those who were with me saw the light but did not understand the voice of the one who was speaking to me.
There’s so much to unpack here.
Paul begins to share his testimony.
Not a defense.
Not a theological argument.
Just the story of how and when he realized… he was wrong.
It was noon.
The middle of the day.
The sun already blazing overhead.
But this light—whatever it was—was brighter.
It stopped him cold.
Dropped him to the ground.
“And I fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to me, ‘Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?’”
This wasn’t a feeling.
It wasn’t a thought or a vision in his mind.
It was a voice.
Paul asked, “Who are you, Lord?”
And then came the answer that changed everything:
“I am Jesus of Nazareth, whom you are persecuting.”
That one sentence shattered everything Paul thought he knew.
And it probably stunned the crowd too.
Jesus?
From Nazareth?
Speaking from heaven?
Remember…
Paul is standing there with chains on his wrists and ankles.
He’s bruised.
Beaten.
Paul wasn’t just telling a dramatic story.
He wanted them to open their eyes.
He wanted them to see what he saw.
Paul would have given anything to see his brothers turn to Christ.
In his letter to the Romans, he even says:
"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."
That’s
raw
love.
And I said, ‘What shall I do, Lord?’ And the Lord said to me, ‘Rise, and go into Damascus, and there you will be told all that is appointed for you to do.’
And since I could not see because of the brightness of that light, I was led by the hand by those who were with me, and came into Damascus.
That’s true conversion.
That moment right there, where Paul says, “What shall I do, Lord?”—that’s the turning point.
It’s surrender.
It’s obedience.
It’s the beginning of a completely new life.
You know what I love about that verse?
Jesus doesn’t lay out the whole plan. He doesn’t explain how Paul will suffer, or preach to kings, or write half the New Testament.
He just gives him the next step.
“Go into Damascus.”
That’s it.
Paul was on a need-to-know basis.
“And one Ananias, a devout man according to the law, well spoken of by all the Jews who lived there, came to me, and standing by me said to me, ‘Brother Saul, receive your sight.’
And at that very hour I received my sight and saw him. And he said, ‘The God of our fathers appointed you to know his will, to see the Righteous One and to hear a voice from his mouth; for you will be a witness for him to everyone of what you have seen and heard.
And now why do you wait? Rise and be baptized and wash away your sins, calling on his name.’
Ananias wasn’t just any believer.
He was devout. Faithful to the law. Well respected by the Jews who lived in Damascus. That matters. He wasn’t some outsider trying to stir up trouble. He was someone Paul could respect. Someone trusted.
And this is who God sends.
Ananias comes and stands next to Paul, this violent persecutor, this enemy of the church, and calls him…
“Brother.”
That one word says so much.
Paul hadn’t earned his trust. He hadn’t apologized. He hadn’t proven himself yet. But God had already claimed him, and Ananias saw it.
That’s what the gospel does.
It doesn’t wait for you to clean yourself up.
It makes you family the moment God steps in.
“When I had returned to Jerusalem and was praying in the temple, I fell into a trance
Most people miss this.
There’s a three-year gap between verse 16 and 17.
Three years off the grid.
Three years in the shadows.
Three years of God breaking, building, and preparing him.
According to Paul in Galatians 1:15–18:
“When he who had set me apart before I was born… was pleased to reveal his Son to me… I did not immediately consult with anyone… then after three years I went up to Jerusalem.”
Here’s the order of events:
Paul is saved and baptized in Damascus. (Acts 9:18, Acts 22:16)
He preaches there for a short time. (Acts 9:19–22)
Then he heads into Arabia. (Galatians 1:17)
After that, he returns to Damascus.
That’s the moment Paul begins to describe in Acts 22:17.
Three years later, Paul finally returns to Jerusalem.
But he doesn’t stay long.
He’s only there about a week when Jesus Himself tells him to leave.
and saw him saying to me, ‘Make haste and get out of Jerusalem quickly, because they will not accept your testimony about me.’
Interestingly, Paul tries to explain to God why he should stay. Almost like, “I’ll be fine. They know me. They know what I used to be.” He thinks his past credibility—his reputation as a persecutor—will somehow help him reach them.
But God says no.
They’re not going to listen. Get out. Even Paul had to learn—passion doesn’t equal fruit.
Obedience does.
And I said, ‘Lord, they themselves know that in one synagogue after another I imprisoned and beat those who believed in you. And when the blood of Stephen your witness was being shed, I myself was standing by and approving and watching over the garments of those who killed him.’
Let’s reset the scene for a second.
It’s easy to get caught up in the story, but remember, Paul is still giving his testimony. He’s standing in front of a crowd of Jews who had just tried to kill him.
He’s bruised.
Chained.
Bleeding.
And he’s telling them that Jesus appeared to him… and told him to leave Jerusalem.
That alone is huge.
But then comes the moment that shifts everything.
And he said to me, ‘Go, for I will send you far away to the Gentiles.’”
Jesus didn’t just tell Paul to leave. He told him where to go…
to the Gentiles.
Paul’s not announcing something new here. He’s telling them what Jesus told him over twenty years ago. He’d been carrying this calling ever since.
That one sentence was like striking a match in a room full of gasoline.
The crowd didn’t explode when Paul talked about Jesus.
They didn’t explode when he talked about his conversion.
But the moment he said “Gentiles”—it was too much.
To many in that crowd, Gentiles weren’t just outsiders.
They were seen as unclean, undeserving, and beyond God's mercy.
Some rabbis even taught that Gentiles were created to fuel the fires of hell.
Jesus was saying something radical.
The ground at the foot of the cross is level ground.
Rich or poor.
Slave or free.
Jew or Gentile.
Come as you are.
“But you must come through Me.”
And just like that—everything explodes.
The moment Paul says the word “Gentiles,” the crowd goes nuts.
They stop listening.
They start shouting.
And it’s only the beginning.
Get ready for the rest of Acts 22.
I love you,
George
Uncovering Scripture
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George Sisneros is a full-time missionary in Guatemala and the founder of Ordinary Missionaries and the El Rosario Christian Academy for Boys.
He’s been married to his wife, Vonda, for 26 years. He’s a father to nine children, five adopted.
In 2024, George and his wife expanded to Cuba, joining forces with nine pastors committed to transforming lives through the gospel.