- Covered In His Dust
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- Acts Chapter 22 (part 2)
"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.
If this is your first time receiving Covered in His Dust, WELCOME. I’d love to hear where you’re reading from. Just reply and let me know.
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.
God is more satisfying than anything you will touch today… let’s go deep.
Before we finish up Chapter 22, let’s recap where we are.
Paul has traveled to Jerusalem, fully aware that danger awaited him. The Holy Spirit had warned him—again and again—not to stop him, but to prepare him.
Paul has just finished speaking to a crowd of thousands—his own people, packed into the outer courts of the temple.
They’d listened quietly, all the way up until one sentence. When Paul said that God sent him to the Gentiles… it broke them.
They erupted.
Because to them, that wasn’t just offensive.
It was blasphemy.
It’s interesting. As we get near the end of Acts, I find that my eyes, and my heart, are also turning toward Rome. That’s where Paul was hoping to go, and that’s where we’re heading next in our study.
Rome wasn’t just another stop for Paul. It represented something deeper. A calling. A burden. A final stretch of obedience.
And for us, the book of Romans is no light read. It’s dense. It’s challenging. It’s one of the most theologically rich letters in the New Testament—and one of the hardest to fully grasp.
But that’s what makes it so worth it.
Paul didn’t write it from a place of comfort. He wrote it from a place of deep conviction. He’d seen the risen Jesus. He’d walked through suffering. And now, as a prisoner, he was still pointing people to truth.
We won’t rush through it.
We’ll take our time.
Because there’s treasure there.
But, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
Let’s jump into the rest of Chapter two.
Up to this word they listened to him. Then they raised their voices and said, “Away with such a fellow from the earth! For he should not be allowed to live.”
“Gentiles”
Up to that word… they listened.
But when he said Gentiles—everything changed.They raised their voices and shouted,
“Away with this man! He doesn’t deserve to live!”
The same crowd that had been silent was now a violent mob.
All because he said the gospel wasn’t just for them.
It was for the outsiders too.
And they wanted him dead for it.
And as they were shouting and throwing off their cloaks and flinging dust into the air, the tribune ordered him to be brought into the barracks, saying that he should be examined by flogging, to find out why they were shouting against him like this.
The Jews are losing it.
They’re shouting, throwing off their cloaks, and flinging dust into the air.
This wasn’t just anger—it was rage. The kind that spills out in physical ways.
They were done listening.
Done reasoning.
And probably getting ready to stone him.
In the Old Testament, people threw dust on themselves when mourning.
But here, it’s part riot, part ritual.
An explosion of fury in the holiest place on earth.
The Roman tribune sees it all going down.
He doesn’t understand the language.
He doesn’t understand the theology.
But he knows a riot when he sees one.
So he orders Paul to be taken away and flogged—beaten until the truth comes out.
That was the Roman way.
Pain until confession.
They didn’t care who was innocent.
They just wanted control.
But when they had stretched him out for the whips, Paul said to the centurion who was standing by, “Is it lawful for you to flog a man who is a Roman citizen and uncondemned?”
The whips are coming, and then Paul speaks.
Not with shouting.
Not in protest.
But with a calm, cutting question:
“Is it lawful for you to flog a Roman citizen… who hasn’t even been found guilty?”
Everything stops.
In the Roman Empire, citizenship was a big deal.
You couldn’t beat a Roman citizen without a trial.
It was illegal. A serious offense.
And Paul doesn’t just say he’s a citizen at the arrest.
He waits.
He waits until they’ve tied him up, until the whip is about to land and then he drops the truth.
He waits.
Lets them go too far.
And then, with one sentence, he exposes the whole thing.
Flogging wasn’t a slap on the wrist. It was brutal.
They’d strip a man down, tie him up, and beat him with a whip—sometimes made with sharp pieces of bone or metal woven in.
It tore skin.
It left people bloody, broken, sometimes unconscious.
It wasn’t just for punishment.
It was used to force confessions.
To get answers.
Why did Paul wait???
He’d been beaten before. Stoned. Locked in prison. Shipwrecked. Pain didn’t scare him anymore.
He was waiting.
If he’d said something earlier, they probably would’ve backed off and gone on with their day. But by waiting until he was tied down and ready to be flogged, Paul made sure they felt the full weight of what they were doing.
The commander was rattled. Embarrassed.
Suddenly, Rome was the one in danger, not Paul.
Roman citizenship came with real protection. He would eventually use it to appeal to Caesar himself. This was leverage. And he knew it.
Because Paul wasn’t just bold… he was smart.
Raised in Roman territory.
Trained by the best Jewish teachers.
He understood people.
He understood power.
He knew when to speak and when to wait. This wasn’t hesitation…
It was strategy.
“My boys wicked smaht.”
When the centurion heard this, he went to the tribune and said to him, “What are you about to do? For this man is a Roman citizen.” So the tribune came and said to him, “Tell me, are you a Roman citizen?” And he said, “Yes.” The tribune answered, “I bought this citizenship for a large sum.” Paul said, “But I am a citizen by birth.”
Becoming a Roman citizen wasn’t easy, and it meant everything. It came with legal protections, privileges, and status that most people in the empire would never experience.
Think of it like being handed a U.S. passport in a time when the rest of the world had no rights at all.
When our five adopted little ones became American citizens, I remember the weight of it. They’d been ours long before the paperwork said so. But something changed that day.
Protection.
And a new identity.
It gave them access.
This is how someone became a Roman citizen:
1. By birth. This was the most straightforward, and the most rare.
If your father was a Roman citizen, you automatically were too.
That’s Paul. Born in Tarsus, but born into citizenship. Which means someone in his family line—probably his father or grandfather—earned it through loyalty, money, or service.
2. You could buy it. This is what the Roman tribune mentions.
It was expensive. Only the wealthy or well-connected could afford it. And it didn’t carry the same weight or honor as being born a citizen. It was legal, but it was earned by wealth, not bloodline.
3. By military service
Auxiliary soldiers (non-citizens who served in the Roman army) could be granted citizenship after 25 years of service. That citizenship extended to their children, which is how entire families could move up in status over time.
4. As a political or imperial reward
And sometimes, rarely, an emperor or general would grant citizenship to an individual—or even an entire city—as a gift or reward for loyalty, service, or helping Rome in some way. This happened during conquests or after major alliances were formed.
So those who were about to examine him withdrew from him immediately, and the tribune also was afraid, for he realized that Paul was a Roman citizen and that he had bound him.
They backed off.
They were about to beat a Roman citizen.
And they’d already tied him up.
That alone was illegal.
The tribune, the man in charge, is suddenly afraid because he knows he crossed a line.
And in Rome, messing with a citizen could cost you everything.
But on the next day, desiring to know the real reason why he was being accused by the Jews, he unbound him and commanded the chief priests and all the council to meet, and he brought Paul down and set him before them.
The tribune still has no idea what just happened.
So he calls in the chief priests.
The entire council.
He brings Paul in—unchained this time—and sets him in the center of the room.
This isn’t a riot.
This is the Sanhedrin.
The most powerful religious leaders in the nation.
Men with authority.
Men with history.
Men who helped put Jesus on trial.
They file in slowly, robes flowing, faces stern.
Composed on the outside—but their eyes tell a different story.
Frustration. Confusion. Maybe even fear.
Paul is standing alone.
The Romans on one side.
The Sanhedrin on the other.
Paul’s about to say something that will split the room in half.
Annnnnnd that’s where the chapter ends.
You can wait until next week to find out what Paul says or you can
just
keep
reading.
There are 6 chapters left! And then we travel to Rome.
By the way 👇🏽👇🏽👇🏽
I’m building something big.
It started with one Bible chapter and a question:
“What if my kids—teens even—could actually love reading the Bible?”
Not just learn it.
Love it.
Read it and say, “Wait… that’s in there?”
So I started writing one chapter at a time.
Stories they’d never forget.
Truths they’d never seen.
And it worked!
It’s not a devotional.
It’s not a workbook.
It’s a chapter-by-chapter supplement that makes Scripture impossible to ignore.
It’s coming soon.
And it might just change the way your kids see God forever.
(Let me know if you’re interested)
One Minute Inspiration (it’s been a bit… but I think you’ll like this one.)
I love you,
George
Uncovering Scripture
PS: If a friend shared this Bible study with you and you’d like to receive it straight to your inbox, just click HERE to subscribe—it’s free and always will be!
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.