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- Acts Chapter 28
"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 28 HERE 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 catches you off guard?
What doesn't make sense?
Where is that?
Who's that?
Why?
Those questions will make the notes hit deeper.
Good morning Saints! ☀️ We made it. Almost.
Chapter 28.
The final chapter of Acts.
And after the storm, after the crash, after two weeks of chaos at sea… they finally wash up on shore.
Cold. Wet. Battered.
But alive.
Just like God said.
We’ve come a long way since that room in Jerusalem where fire fell from heaven. Since Peter stood up and preached. Since Stephen was stoned. Since Saul met Jesus on the road.
We’ve watched the Church go from an upper room in Israel… to the shoreline of the known world.
Rome is next ♥️.
And this last chapter is a picture of exactly what the Christian life looks like:
You survive one storm,
and find a snake waiting by the fire.
You finally get to safety,
and discover more work to do.
You’re not where you thought you’d be,
but somehow, you’re exactly where God wants you.
Let’s get into it.
After we were brought safely through, we then learned that the island was called Malta. The native people showed us unusual kindness, for they kindled a fire and welcomed us all, because it had begun to rain and was cold.
For years, I imagined it all wrong.
In my head, it looked like Indians. Maybe aboriginal tribesmen. Like a scene out of an old movie with face paint, spears, and grass huts.
But why?
Because of how the ESV puts it: “The native people showed us unusual kindness.”
And then a few verses later… “The chief man of the island.”
It plants a picture in your head.
Especially when they build a fire. You can almost hear the drums in the background.
But that’s not what was happening.
The Greek word translated “native” is barbaroi—and it doesn’t mean primitive or wild.
It just means they didn’t speak Greek.
To the Roman world, anyone who didn’t speak Greek sounded like they were babbling—bar-bar-bar. So they were called “barbarians.” Outsiders.
And the “chief man”? That wasn’t a tribal elder. It was more like a Roman official. Publius was the governor. The island had structure, leadership, a harbor. It wasn’t remote. It just wasn’t Rome.
So yeah, I pictured it wrong. Maybe you did too.
When Paul had gathered a bundle of sticks and put them on the fire, a viper came out because of the heat and fastened on his hand. When the native people saw the creature hanging from his hand, they said to one another, “No doubt this man is a murderer. Though he has escaped from the sea, Justice has not allowed him to live.”
Seriously?
A snake launches out of the fire and latches onto his hand?
And it’s not just a quick bite. It hangs there.
Think about that image. Paul, standing there, hand held out, snake attached.
And the locals?
“No doubt this man is a murderer. Though he escaped the sea, Justice has not allowed him to live.”
Notice the capital “J” in Justice.
Dikē (Δίκη) in Greek mythology was the goddess of justice, specifically moral justice and human fairness. She was one of the goddesses of order and a daughter of Zeus and Themis, who represented divine justice.
So when the people on Malta saw the viper latch onto Paul’s hand, and they said, “Justice has not allowed him to live,” the Greek actually says:
“ἡ Δίκη οὐκ εἴασεν ζῆν” “Dikē did not allow him to live.”
They weren’t just talking about “justice” as a concept.
They were invoking an actual deity. The goddess who made sure the guilty paid.
But they were wrong.
This wasn’t judgment.
It was proof that nothing,
not storms, not shipwrecks, not snakes,
could stop what God was doing.
He, however, shook off the creature into the fire and suffered no harm. They were waiting for him to swell up or suddenly fall down dead. But when they had waited a long time and saw no misfortune come to him, they changed their minds and said that he was a god.
He just… shook it off.
The snake that should’ve killed him? Back in the fire.
But the people are still watching. They were waiting for him to swell up or suddenly fall down dead.
They had already made up their minds.
This man must be cursed. He’s done for. Just wait.
But time passed… and nothing happened.
So they changed their minds again.
“He must be a god.”
First a murderer. Now a god.
Now in the neighborhood of that place were lands belonging to the chief man of the island, named Publius, who received us and entertained us hospitably for three days.
Publius, the governor of Malta, doesn’t throw Paul and the others into a holding cell. Instead, he opens his home.
He feeds them. Shelters them. Cares for them.
That’s not normal.
What’s crazy is that, even though it’s not spelled out, it was probably just the centurion, Paul, Luke, and maybe a few others who were welcomed into Publius’ home.
Paul
was
a
prisoner.
And he’s being treated like a guest of honor.
That kind of favor doesn’t make sense.
Unless you’ve seen God do it before.
And we’ve seen it again and again. It’s the invisible hand of God. Still leading. Still providing.
It happened that the father of Publius lay sick with fever and dysentery. And Paul visited him and prayed, and putting his hands on him, healed him. And when this had taken place, the rest of the people on the island who had diseases also came and were cured.
They also honored us greatly, and when we were about to sail, they put on board whatever we needed.
It tells us a lot more than you might think.
There’s something really interesting in the Greek that gets lost in English.
In Acts 28:8–9, two different words are used for “healed” and “cured.”
Verse 8 “Paul visited him and prayed, and putting his hands on him, healed him.” Greek: ἰάσατο (iasato)
This means a supernatural healing. A miracle. It’s the same word used when Jesus healed people.
Verse 9 “...the rest of the people on the island who had diseases also came and were cured.” Greek: ἐθεραπεύοντο (etherapeuonto)
That’s where we get the word therapy. It means they were cared for. Treated. Not necessarily healed on the spot, but given medical attention, ongoing help, compassion.
We know that Luke was with Paul, and Luke was a physician. So after that first miracle, word spreads.
People line up.
Paul prays.
Luke treats.
God used the storm to get Paul to Malta. And He used Malta to take care of Paul.
That’s how He works. Every time.
After three months we set sail in a ship that had wintered in the island, a ship of Alexandria, with the twin gods as a figurehead.
Putting in at Syracuse, we stayed there for three days.
And from there we made a circuit and arrived at Rhegium.
Paul travels from Malta | Bible Mapper
The “twin gods” refers to Castor and Pollux, also known as the Dioscuri, sons of Zeus and protectors of sailors. Their images were often carved on the front of ships.
Ironic, right? Paul boards a ship with pagan gods carved into the bow… but this ship isn’t making it to Rome because of the gods on the front. It’s making it because of the God who’s actually in control.
And after one day a south wind sprang up, and on the second day we came to Puteoli. There we found brothers and were invited to stay with them for seven days.
Puteoli. Not Rome yet, but close.
About 150 miles south. This is where the grain ships usually stopped. Rome didn’t have a deep-water harbor, so this was the end of the sea journey.
And then, “we found brothers.” Believers. A church.
Not planted by Paul.
Not started by Peter.
No apostle had been here.
But the gospel had.
And so we came to Rome. And the brothers there, when they heard about us, came as far as the Forum of Appius and Three Taverns to meet us.
On seeing them, Paul thanked God and took courage.
They’d never met him.
But they knew who he was.
Paul had already written to them, in one of the greatest letters ever recorded. The book of Romans.
It wasn’t just a note or a ministry update. It was deep, rich theology, line after line of truth that shook the soul.
He wrote of sin and salvation.
Of Abraham and Adam.
Of law and grace.
Of what it means to belong to Jesus.
Of what it means to suffer with Him,
and be raised with Him.
It was bold. Clear. Personal. And they held it in their hands.
They’d read his words. They’d copied them. They passed them from house to house. And they wrestled—just like we do— with what it meant to be saved by faith alone.
That letter formed them. It grounded them. It gave them a gospel bigger than their pain, and a Savior stronger than Rome.
And now they hear… he’s coming.
Paul. The man who wrote those words. The man who’d been beaten, imprisoned, shipwrecked… and kept going.
So what do they do?
They start walking. As far as 43 miles outside the city. Just to meet him on the road.
No one told them they had to. They just knew what it meant.
To show honor. To say thank you. To remind him he wasn’t alone.
And when Paul saw them, those brothers and sisters he’d never met…
He thanked God. And took courage.
Because the gospel was alive in Rome.
And when we came into Rome, Paul was allowed to stay by himself, with the soldier who guarded him.
He was most likely under house arrest. Not in a dungeon. Not in a public jail. But he couldn’t leave either.
Later in Acts 28 we’ll read he stayed there “two whole years at his own expense.” So he probably rented a small room, or maybe stayed with someone willing to take him in.
“With the soldier who guarded him.”
Most scholars believe it was a few shifts a day, probably from the Praetorian Guard, Caesar’s elite force.
Which means every few hours, a new soldier would walk in. Sit beside Paul. Maybe even chain himself to him.
And Paul?
He shared the gospel. He answered questions. He just kept doing what he always did.
What was Rome like?
Think New York City at its peak. Crowded. Loud. Diverse. Powerful. A city that didn’t sleep.
It was the center of the world. One million people lived there. That was unheard of in the ancient world.
It had running water through aqueducts, giant public bathhouses, temples on every corner, slaves everywhere, and a brutal class divide.
You’d hear Greek, Latin, Aramaic, Egyptian. A swirl of languages from every corner of the empire.
There were markets, guards, idols, politics, and filth, all jammed into a city that was as awe-inspiring as it was dark.
And this is where Paul ends up.
As you read this, I’m on a plane back from Cuba.
My heart is full. There’s more to say, more to share. But for now, I’m just sitting here thinking about Paul. How he didn’t waste a moment. How he kept going.
May we do the same.
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.