- Covered In His Dust
- Posts
- Acts Chapter 28 (part 2)
Before you dive into my notes, I encourage you to read Chapter 28 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.
Prepare your heart. We are handling holy things.
We’ve made it. The final chapter of Acts.
Paul has finally reached Rome. The center of the empire. A city pulsing with power, politics, idols, and every nation under the sun. One million people. All roads leading here.
He’s not free. He’s under guard. But he’s exactly where God wanted him to be. Not as a tourist. Not as a preacher on a stage. As a prisoner… who can’t be silenced.
Acts started in a small room in Jerusalem. Now we’re in the capital of the world. Not because everything was easy… but because nothing could stop the gospel.
And that’s what I saw in this last chapter. God’s plan isn’t fragile. It keeps moving. Even when life looks nothing like you pictured.
Let’s get into it.
After three days he called together the local leaders of the Jews, and when they had gathered, he said to them, “Brothers, though I had done nothing against our people or the customs of our fathers, yet I was delivered as a prisoner from Jerusalem into the hands of the Romans.
Everywhere Paul went, he started the same way. Straight to the synagogue. Straight to his people first.
But this time, he can’t. He’s under house arrest. So instead of him going to the synagogue, the synagogue comes to him.
And the first word out of his mouth?
“Brothers.”
Not just a polite greeting. Not just small talk. It’s a reminder.
“I’m still one of you.” He’s not distancing himself from them, even though he’s been accused of betraying everything they stand for. He’s not anti-Jewish. He hasn’t abandoned the law or his heritage.
That word “Brothers” is a bridge. It’s a way of saying, before we talk about Jesus, know this: I’m not your enemy.
Then he gets right to the point: “I haven’t done anything against our people or our customs. But I was still handed over as a prisoner.”
Why start this way? Because Paul knows the rumors have likely reached Rome before he did. The accusations. The whispers. The twisted versions of what happened in Jerusalem.
So before he preaches, he clears the air. He wants a hearing, not a riot. A conversation, not a wall.
And it works. They listen.
When they had examined me, they wished to set me at liberty, because there was no reason for the death penalty in my case.
By the time Paul says this, it’s been years.
Three years since he was grabbed by that mob in Jerusalem.
Two full years locked up in Caesarea, waiting while governors came and went.
And then almost a year traveling — storms, shipwreck, three months stranded on Malta — just to get here.
And during that time?
He’s defended himself again and again.
Before the Jewish mob and the Sanhedrin.
Before Felix.
Before Festus.
Before King Agrippa.
Four official defenses. Each time, the verdict was the same: He hasn’t done anything worthy of death.
But here he is.
Still in chains.
Still waiting.
Still a prisoner because no one in power wanted to upset the Jews back in Jerusalem.
So when he tells these Jewish leaders, “There was no reason for the death penalty in my case,”
it’s not anger.
It’s not whining.
It’s just the truth.
He wants them to know: I’m not here because I betrayed our people. I’m here because I appealed to Caesar… and because God has work for me in Rome.
But because the Jews objected, I was compelled to appeal to Caesar—though I had no charge to bring against my nation. For this reason, therefore, I have asked to see you and speak with you, since it is because of the hope of Israel that I am wearing this chain.”
Paul drops the line that would make every Jewish leader lean in:
“It is because of the hope of Israel that I am wearing this chain.”
The hope of Israel.
The Messiah.
The One every synagogue prayed for.
The One the prophets promised.
Even today, Jewish prayers echo that hope.
One line, often recited as part of the Thirteen Principles of Faith written by the Jewish scholar Maimonides in the 12th century, says:
“I believe in the coming of the Messiah. Even though he may tarry, I will wait for him every day.”
Paul is saying, That’s why I’m in chains.
Not because I hate our customs.
Not because I turned on our people.
But because I believe the Messiah has come.
And His name is Jesus.
And they said to him, “We have received no letters from Judea about you, and none of the brothers coming here has reported or spoken any evil about you. But we desire to hear from you what your views are, for with regard to this sect we know that everywhere it is spoken against.”
This is kind of crazy.
No letters from Judea.
No messengers warning about Paul.
No one whispering in their ear that he’s dangerous.
For the first time in years, Paul isn’t walking into a room where people are already sharpening their knives.
But there’s still tension. They may not know Paul… but they’ve heard about this “sect.”
Christianity.
The followers of the Way.
And their summary is blunt:
“Everywhere, it’s spoken against.”
They’re curious.
What is this movement?
Why does everyone hate it?
And why are you, Paul, chained for it?
It’s the perfect setup for what comes next.
When they had appointed a day for him, they came to him at his lodging in greater numbers. From morning till evening he expounded to them, testifying to the kingdom of God and trying to convince them about Jesus both from the Law of Moses and from the Prophets.
They didn’t just stop by for a quick meeting. They set aside an entire day to hear him.
From morning until evening, Paul opened the Scriptures and spoke about the kingdom of God, showing them how every promise in the Law of Moses and the Prophets pointed to Jesus as the Messiah.
As I’m writing this and trying to imagine the scene, these Jewish leaders, men of influence in Rome, are sitting in the home of a prisoner. It shows genuine curiosity, and even a measure of respect, for both Paul and the message he carries.
And some were convinced by what he said, but others disbelieved.
It’s a familiar pattern.
Everywhere Paul went, the gospel cut the room in half. Some believed. Others refused.
But this one had to sting.
These weren’t random crowds or passing travelers. These were Jewish leaders in Rome. His own people, the men he had prayed for, prepared for, and hoped would finally see what all the Law and Prophets pointed to.
The word “disbelieved” here isn’t soft. It doesn’t mean they just weren’t ready. It carries the weight of rejection, as if they’d already decided, I will not believe this.
It’s still happening today. People hear about Jesus, some for the first time and some for the hundredth, and they turn away. They refuse to believe.
Just like that day in Rome. Some do. Some don’t.
But.
Don’t miss it.
Some do.
Everywhere the gospel is preached, God opens hearts. Some hear and believe. Some see for the first time. And that’s why Paul keeps preaching. That’s why the gospel keeps moving.
Even when some walk away.
The room doesn’t turn on Paul.
They’re not shouting him down or throwing stones like in Jerusalem.
They’re arguing with each other.
Some believe.
Some don’t.
And the tension is rising.
Before they leave, Paul adds one last word. It feels almost like, “By the way… one more thing.”
He quotes Isaiah 6, words every one of them would know.
“And disagreeing among themselves, they departed after Paul had made one statement:
‘The Holy Spirit was right in saying to your fathers through Isaiah the prophet:
Go to this people, and say, You will indeed hear but never understand, and you will indeed see but never perceive.
For this people’s heart has grown dull, and with their ears they can barely hear, and their eyes they have closed; lest they should see with their eyes and hear with their ears and understand with their heart and turn, and I would heal them.’
Paul isn’t just quoting a prophet.
It feels heavier than that.
It feels like he’s saying, “God said this would happen.”
The words hang in the air.
It’s uncomfortable.
And you can almost hear the unspoken thought:
“Isaiah was talking about you.”
Therefore let it be known to you that this salvation of God has been sent to the Gentiles; they will listen.”
Paul wasn’t known for pulling punches and he lets one land here.
These were the leaders of Israel’s people, heirs of the promises, the ones who had spent their lives waiting for the Messiah. And Paul is telling them, You’re rejecting what you’ve been waiting for.
It’s not anger. It’s not pride. It’s a sobering reality: if they harden their hearts, the gospel will move on without them.
And it did.
He lived there two whole years at his own expense, and welcomed all who came to him, proclaiming the kingdom of God and teaching about the Lord Jesus Christ with all boldness and without hindrance.
The last verses, of the last chapter, of Acts.
It feels abrupt.
The way it ends.
Like Luke just sets his pen down mid-story.
Almost incomplete.
But maybe that’s the point. The story wasn’t supposed to end here.
Paul is still in chains.
He spends two full years in Rome.
But he isn’t frustrated.
He isn’t bitter.
He isn’t angry.
I think most of us would be.
We’d want out.
We’d want answers.
But Paul knows something we often forget. He knows he’s exactly where God put him.
I get the sense he’s soaking it in.
The people who come to see him…
The conversations…
The gospel echoing through that small room.
Luke says Paul preached and taught “without hindrance.” That word doesn’t mean life was easy. It means nothing and no one could stop the message.
He may be bound, but the gospel isn’t.
Philemon’s runaway slave, Onesimus, found Paul here, and found Christ, too.
Curious seekers show up.
And Paul always has an audience, even if it’s just the soldier on duty.
Those guards were Caesar’s elite. The Praetorian Guard. Every few hours, a new one would take his place. Chained to Paul.
Can you picture it?
The questions.
The Scripture.
The gospel, over and over, until the name of Jesus began to spread.
Paul even writes in Philippians that the whole imperial guard had heard the gospel, and that believers were now in Caesar’s household
I can’t imagine those Bible studies.
If I could be transported to any moment in history, this would be on the list. To hear Paul teach. To watch the Word of God move like fire through a city like Rome.
Paul wrote letters during those years too. Letters we still read today:
Ephesians.
Philippians.
Colossians.
Philemon.
As someone who writes, I love that Paul didn’t just preach to the people who came to him. He wrote. He put truth on paper so the gospel would outlive him, so his words could reach places his feet never would.
There are so many things we could take away from the book of Acts.
The miracles.
The bold preaching.
The transformation of Paul.
The courage of men like Stephen.
The unstoppable growth of the Church.
The power and presence of the Holy Spirit.
But for me, this is what stood out most.
God’s will,
God’s Word,
God’s truth,
God’s love,
Cannot be stopped.
Storms couldn’t stop it. Chains couldn’t stop it. Rome couldn’t stop it.
And they still can’t.
I’ll share some final thoughts on our study of the Book of Acts next week, and I’ll give you a map of where we go from here.
After a short break, we’ll be diving into the Book of Romans — considered by many to be one of the most powerful, if not the most powerful, letters ever written.
As we close Acts, my prayer is simple: “God, use me.”
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.