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- Acts Chapter 23 (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.
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Before you dive into my notes, I encourage you to Read Chapter 23 HERE first.
I include all the scripture below, but there’s something about sitting with the whole chapter first — giving yourself room to be curious.
What catches you off guard?
What doesn't make sense?
Where is that?
Who's that?
Why?
Those questions will make the notes hit deeper.
Prepare your heart. We are handling holy things. 🙏🏽
Before we jump into Part 2, let me catch you up.
Last week, Paul stood in front of the Sanhedrin. He was bloodied, exhausted, and fresh out of another riot.
He said one thing: “I’ve lived with a clear conscience before God.” And the high priest had him punched in the mouth.
But Paul didn’t back down. He saw the room was split—Pharisees and Sadducees—and he knew exactly what would divide them.
“I’m on trial for the hope of the resurrection.”
And just like that, they turned on each other.
The Romans had to pull him out AGAIN.
Then that night, Jesus showed up. “Take courage. You’re going to Rome.”
That’s where we left off.
I'm back from Cuba. I’ll be sending a special update on Wednesday with what I saw, and what God is doing there.
Let’s jump back into Acts 23.
When it was day, the Jews made a plot and bound themselves by an oath neither to eat nor drink till they had killed Paul. There were more than forty who made this conspiracy.
They went to the chief priests and elders and said, “We have strictly bound ourselves by an oath to taste no food till we have killed Paul. Now therefore you, along with the council, give notice to the tribune to bring him down to you, as though you were going to determine his case more exactly. And we are ready to kill him before he comes near.”
How on earth did these men justify a murder plot?
These weren’t gangsters. They were religious men. Devout. Probably Pharisees. Probably respected in their circles.
And yet here they are… planning an ambush. Swearing themselves to death if they can’t pull it off.
How does that even happen?
Simple. They thought they were doing it for God.
Paul wasn’t just annoying to them, he was dangerous. A traitor. A blasphemer who used to be one of their own and was now converting people to “the Way.” In their minds, killing him wasn’t murder… it was justice.
When pride takes over... When power becomes the goal… When you’ve convinced yourself you’re right and everyone else is a threat…
You’ll justify just about anything.
Even breaking one of the clearest commandments God ever gave.
And still call it holy.
Now the son of Paul’s sister heard of their ambush, so he went and entered the barracks and told Paul.
Wait. Paul has a sister???
We don’t know her name. We don’t know anything about her faith. We don’t even know if she lived in Jerusalem or was just visiting. But we do know this:
She had a son. And that boy overheard a group of grown men plotting a murder. Forty men. Fasting and scheming. Whispering about when and where to strike.
And somehow, this kid hears it. He doesn’t freeze. He doesn’t run. He goes straight to the barracks… and saves Paul’s life. Crazy.
God uses a Roman commander to rescue Paul.
God uses courtroom chaos to turn enemies into defenders.
And now? God uses a boy.
No name. No title. Just a young listener with courage.
God
doesn’t
need
the
powerful.
He uses whoever is willing.
Paul called one of the centurions and said, “Take this young man to the tribune, for he has something to tell him.”
Paul was a prisoner, but not just any prisoner, he was a Roman citizen.
And that changed everything.
When he tells the centurion, “Take this boy to the commander,”—they listen. That kind of access wasn’t normal. But Paul’s status gave him rights, protection and a voice.
Even in chains, God was making a way.
So he took him and brought him to the tribune and said, “Paul the prisoner called me and asked me to bring this young man to you, as he has something to say to you.”
The tribune took him by the hand, and going aside asked him privately, “What is it that you have to tell me?”
That little detail, “he took him by the hand”, almost feels out of place, but it’s actually powerful.
This is a Roman military commander.
A tribune.
A man in charge of a thousand soldiers.
And yet when this young Jewish boy is brought to him… he takes him by the hand.
It’s a small act of kindness, gentleness and protection.
He doesn’t interrogate him in front of everyone. He pulls him aside. Lowers his voice. Treats him with compassion.
It shows us something we don’t expect: This tribune isn’t just following orders, he’s paying attention. He’s trying to do the right thing.
And in a book full of mobs and corrupt leaders, this quiet moment stands out.
Even in the middle of chaos, God can stir compassion in the hearts of powerful people.
And he said, “The Jews have agreed to ask you to bring Paul down to the council tomorrow, as though they were going to inquire somewhat more closely about him. But do not be persuaded by them, for more than forty of their men are lying in ambush for him, who have bound themselves by an oath neither to eat nor drink till they have killed him. And now they are ready, waiting for your consent.”
So the tribune dismissed the young man, charging him, “Tell no one that you have informed me of these things.”
It reminds me of Esther.
She wasn’t a prophet. She wasn’t a warrior. She was just a young woman who happened to be in the palace when a plan was set in motion to wipe out her people.
No one knew who she really was. No one expected her to speak up. But when the moment came, she did.
Same with this boy. He’s not a soldier. He’s not a leader. He’s just Paul’s nephew—barely mentioned.
But he hears the plan. And instead of running or freezing, he walks straight into the Roman barracks and speaks up.
God used Esther to stop a massacre. And He used this boy to stop a murder.
Same pattern.
Quiet faith.
Bold courage.
And a God who’s a thousand steps ahead.
Then he called two of the centurions and said, “Get ready two hundred soldiers, with seventy horsemen and two hundred spearmen to go as far as Caesarea at the third hour of the night. Also provide mounts for Paul to ride and bring him safely to Felix the governor.”
470 soldiers to escort one man.
At night.
With horses.
As fast as they can move.
It’s like a first-century version of a bulletproof limo with a SWAT team—overkill in every direction.
Why?
Because the tribune wasn’t taking any chances.
Paul’s a Roman citizen. There’s a murder plot. And if anything happens to him, it’s on the commander.
So he sends the cavalry. Literally.
This wasn’t about protecting Paul because they cared.
It was about protecting themselves.
But God still uses it.
Paul doesn’t sneak out in the dark. He rides out like royalty— Escorted by nearly 500 armed soldiers, while 40 starving assassins wait in the dark.
They never even get close.
And he wrote a letter to this effect:
“Claudius Lysias, to his Excellency the governor Felix, greetings. This man was seized by the Jews and was about to be killed by them when I came upon them with the soldiers and rescued him, having learned that he was a Roman citizen.
And desiring to know the charge for which they were accusing him, I brought him down to their council. I found that he was being accused about questions of their law, but charged with nothing deserving death or imprisonment.
And when it was disclosed to me that there would be a plot against the man, I sent him to you at once, ordering his accusers also to state before you what they have against him.”
This letter is... interesting.
Claudius Lysias is writing to cover his own back, and he tweaks the story to make himself look a little better.
Notice the spin:
“I rescued him, having learned that he was a Roman citizen.”
Yeaaaaa. Not quite. He found out Paul was a Roman citizen after he had him bound and was about to flog him. That moment could’ve gotten him in serious trouble.
So now? He edits the timeline and calls it a rescue.
But even with the spin, the letter still makes something clear:
Paul’s being accused over religious issues, not crimes.
No violence.
No rebellion.
Nothing deserving death.
Claudius knows it. He’s basically telling Felix, “This isn’t my problem anymore. He’s your headache now.”
God’s setting the stage. And He’s using Rome to do it.
So the soldiers, according to their instructions, took Paul and brought him by night to Antipatris. And on the next day they returned to the barracks, letting the horsemen go on with him.
Wait. Why drop the protection?
Antipatris was about 35 miles from Jerusalem, halfway to Caesarea. And more importantly, it was out of danger.
That stretch between Jerusalem and Antipatris was rough terrain. Isolated. Perfect for an ambush. That’s why they needed the full escort, especially at night.
But once they hit Antipatris?
The road flattened out. Open fields. Roman-patrolled territory. Much easier to defend and harder for assassins to hide.
So the foot soldiers head back to Jerusalem, and the cavalry, faster and more mobile, finishes the job.
God got Paul through the danger zone… and kept him moving forward.
When they had come to Caesarea and delivered the letter to the governor, they presented Paul also before him.
On reading the letter, he asked what province he was from. And when he learned that he was from Cilicia, he said, “I will give you a hearing when your accusers arrive.” And he commanded him to be guarded in Herod’s praetorium.
In other words: We’ll do this by the book.
No mob.
No rushed trial.
No beatings.
Just due process.
And then Felix orders Paul to be held in Herod’s praetorium—a palace.
Not a dungeon. A guarded palace.
That might not seem like much, but it’s protection. It’s provision. It’s God placing Paul exactly where He wants him.
Because this isn’t the end of Paul’s journey. It’s just the next step on the road to Rome.
By the way, if you’re worried about the soldiers who pledged their lives to kill Paul…
Don’t be.
They made a big scene. Swore they wouldn’t eat or drink until he was dead. They were being dramatic—like kids swearing on their mother. All passion. No plan.
And within 24 hours Paul was gone. Escorted by nearly 500 Roman soldiers. Out of the city. Out of their reach.
They didn’t die of hunger. Honestly, they probably had dinner that night.
There are 5 chapters left in Acts…
and as Paul marches toward Rome, so do we.
Through trials, storms, delays, and prison, God keeps moving the mission forward.
And when we finish Acts, we’ll step into one of the most powerful and theologically rich letters in the Bible.
Romans.
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.