Acts 16:25-40 "Midnight Singing"
I remember one day I got so frustrated. I don’t remember what the final straw was. Could’ve been an argument, a work email, a pile of dishes, or just one of those hundred tiny things that gang up on you all at once. I walked out the door, got in the car—and just sat there. I wasn’t going anywhere. I didn’t even start the engine. I just gripped the steering wheel, fantasizing about driving away. Not in a “Goodbye forever!” kind of way—just escape. From everything. From the stress, the noise, the pressure, the people. Get on the highway and don’t look back. You ever felt that? Like life has backed you into a corner, and all you want is an exit?
There are times when life feels like a trap.
Like the walls are closing in. Like no matter what we do, we’re stuck—stuck in circumstances we didn’t choose, with people we wouldn’t have chosen, under pressures we didn’t see coming.
It might be a job that’s crushing you slowly, or a family situation that keeps reopening old wounds. Maybe your health, your finances, your marriage—maybe even your church—feels like a prison cell. And you find yourself thinking, “Is this really how it’s going to be?”
You just want to escape? Drive until your problems can’t catch up? Or maybe the opposite—not leave your house—just close the door, pull the covers over your head, and pretend the world doesn’t exist? Yeah. Me too. We all have prisons. And I don’t mean orange jumpsuits and steel bars. Work that drains you. Family drama you can’t fix. A marriage that feels like solitary confinement. Kids. Health issues. Financial stress. Guilt. Shame. The fear of getting found out. The fear of being alone. Prisons.
Because we all want the door to swing open, the chains to fall off, and the light to pour in.
We want to be rescued.
But what if God doesn’t want to rescue you right now?
What if He put you there to rescue someone else?
That’s a hard thought, isn’t it?
We want the Gospel to be good news for us—and it is. But sometimes it comes with bruises, a sore back and shackled feet. Sometimes the miracle that sets us free—also calls us to stay. But staying in difficult places is going to be difficult. Duh.
And here’s what we usually do in those situations: we try to escape. We numb out. We self-medicate. We blow up at people. We shut down. We blame everyone else and live in self-delusion. We hide.
The Gospel of Jesus sets us free. True. But what if that has nothing to do with God getting us out of those prisons just yet? What if He’s trying to use these prisons—to make us into the person He actually wants us to be? To stick around and share the Gospel with other people in the pit with us? What if our darkest moments—bleeding, shackled, hopeless—is what God is using for someone else's salvation?
It’s not the way the world thinks.
We live in a world that says:
“Protect yourself.”
“Don’t let anyone take advantage of you.”
“Cut off toxic people.”
“Make sure your boundaries are fortified and bulletproof.”
And I get it. There’s a place for boundaries and safety—even comfort.
But the Gospel calls us to something beyond that.
It calls us to stay in the prison long enough for the jailer to be saved.
It calls us to sing in the cell so the other prisoners can hear about our hope.
It calls us to live in the world—not to escape it—but to transform it.
We’ve been going through the Book of Acts line by line—the story of the early church taking the message of Jesus to the world.
Paul and his crew rolled into Philippi following a vision from God—straight into a Roman colony full of retired soldiers, pagan temples, and zero synagogues or churches. So they went down to the river and found a women’s prayer group, which was led by Lydia—a fashion mogul with a heart God cracked wide open. She and her whole purple palace household were baptized, and suddenly the Gospel had a foothold in Europe and a house church with really nice curtains. Things were going pretty great but then came a demon-possessed slave girl fortune teller—yelling half-truths like a sarcastic spiritual hype man. Really getting on Pauls’ nerves. Disrupting everything. After several days, Paul got so annoyed he turned around and cast the spirit out of her in Jesus’ name. Which was great for her—but bad for business. Her owners were furious. They stirred up the crowd, dragged Paul and Silas into court, and had them beaten and thrown into a dungeon without even asking for ID. So that’s where we left them—bruised, bloodied, and shackled in a Philippian prison—a desperate hopeless situation. So, what are they going to do?
About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them.Acts 16:25
It’s the middle of the night. They’re chained to the walls of a pitch black dungeon. They’ve been beaten. Their backs are still bleeding. Their legs are twisted in the stocks. And they’re singing. Not complaining. Not plotting revenge.
Singing. Probably Psalms, which are all songs they would have known. Like Psalm 40 that talks about waiting patiently for the LORD who turns to them and lifts them out of the pit. Like Psalm 23 that says they will not be afraid even in the darkest places. Like Psalm 46, which Luther used to write “A Mighty Fortress is Our God” and has the lyrics, “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.”
And the other prisoners were listening. There’s no greater evangelism in this world than faithful suffering. It left quite an impression on the other prisoners that these guys being tortured in the dungeon were praising God.
Suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken. And immediately all the doors were opened, and everyone’s bonds were unfastened.Acts 16:26
This is what they were praying for. Here’s the deliverance they were hoping for! Doors open, chains fall off! If that was me, I’d be out the door and halfway to Taco Bell already. All the doors were opened, all the chains fell off—but none of the prisoners left. That’s weird! Doesn’t say why but there had to be a reason. I think they were looking to see what Paul was going to do—I think it left that much of an impression on everyone with his worship and prayer that caused an earthquake and set them free. They wanted to know more about whatever God they were talking about. Running away from this holy moment would have been running away from God Himself and true freedom.
When the jailer woke and saw that the prison doors were open, he drew his sword and was about to kill himself, supposing that the prisoners had escaped.Acts 16:27
Earthquake or not, if the prisoners escape on his watch, he’s a dead man. He sees the doors are open and assumes the worst. Kinda jumping to conclusions if you ask me, I think I’d at least check the cells, but this guy draws his sword and is about to jab it through his belly.
But Paul cried with a loud voice, “Do not harm yourself, for we are all here.” Acts 16:28
Somehow Paul saw the guard just in time and told him to stop. God’s grace usually shows up through the voice of someone else just like this.
And the jailer called for lights and rushed in, and trembling with fear he fell down before Paul and Silas. Then he brought them out and said, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?”Acts 16:29-30
I think we have to keep the whole story together for this to make sense: The slave girl saying they were servants of the Most High God before she had the demon cast out, the way they were singing and praying even though they were bleeding in chains, and of course the obvious miraculous earthquake that opened the doors and removed their shackles.
The jailer asks what everyone asks—and it’s the wrong question. He asks what he must DO to be saved. Everyone thinks they have to DO something. But Paul and Silas give a radically grace-centered answer.
And they said, “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household.” And they spoke the word of the Lord to him and to all who were in his house. Acts 16:31-32
What did they have to do? The Gospel demands nothing. It gives everything. It even gives the faith required to believe. “For you are saved by grace through faith.” Their answer is so simple, but we sure tend to forget it, don’t we? If someone asks us how to be saved—we make it a lot more complicated. “Believe in the Lord Jesus and you’ll be saved.”
They’re still in the prison. The jailer’s house would have been connected to the jail—everyone is awake now, too. Wife, kids, servants. The earthquake made sure of that. Everyone is up and part of this midnight church service. And everyone got the message, everyone believed.
And he took them the same hour of the night and washed their wounds; and he was baptized at once, he and all his family. Acts 16:33
The jailer washes Paul and Silas, then Paul washes the jailer and his whole family. Baptizes them. The same water for washing wounds and washing away sin.
Then he brought them up into his house and set food before them. And he rejoiced along with his entire household that he had believed in God. Acts 16:34
How late do you think it is at this point? Never too late for HangTime. Food, joy, fellowship—quite a turnaround from suicidal fear. This guy and his whole family are giving thanks for the Gospel hope they got from these prisoners.
This night turned out very different than any of them were expecting.
But when it was day, the magistrates sent the police, saying, “Let those men go.” Acts 16:35
The city officials who had beaten and thrown them in prison sent word to let them go. They figured they had made their point and satisfied the angry mob. So, even without the miracle, Paul and Silas were going to be released in the morning. But what fun would that have been? Ha. No… God had a bunch of people He wanted to save first.
He also had another thing or two up His sleeve…
And the jailer reported these words to Paul, saying, “The magistrates have sent to let you go. Therefore come out now and go in peace.” But Paul said to them, “They have beaten us publicly, uncondemned, men who are Roman citizens, and have thrown us into prison; and do they now throw us out secretly? No! Let them come themselves and take us out.” Acts 16:36-37
Guard is like, “Good news! My boss says you can go.” Paul sees an opportunity, “I don’t think so! What’s going to stop them from doing this same police brutality nonsense and unlawful imprisonment to the church we just started at Lydia’s house? No, if they want us out of here, they’re going to have to do it face to face. Make sure to tell them we’re Roman citizens, that should get their attention.
I probably would have been more like, “We should go before they change their mind.” Paul’s got some spine!
The police reported these words to the magistrates, and they were afraid when they heard that they were Roman citizens. So they came and apologized to them. And they took them out and asked them to leave the city. Acts 16:38-39
Now that’s called vindication. It’s rare but it sure feels good. A public apology from people in power. The men who shamed Paul and Silas are now shaming themselves. They have a selfish motive, of course, if Paul took a complaint to Rome they’d be in a world of trouble themselves.
They asked Paul and the boys to leave the city, and they will, but they’re going to take their sweet time. They have a pitstop to make first…
So they went out of the prison and visited Lydia. And when they had seen the brothers, they encouraged them and departed. Acts 16:40
This little Philippian church is going to be one of Paul’s favorite groups of people. They stopped by the Purple Palace, gave Lydia and all their friends a big hug. I’m sure he wanted to tell them all about the earthquake and everything that happened—probably took the jailer and his family with him to introduce them to the church. Probably doubled the size of that congregation overnight. Then they headed out to the next city to do it all over again.
Have you thought about how this crazy adventure might apply to you?
Like—what’s your prison?
Where has God put you—not for your sake, but for someone else’s?
And how have you been acting while in that prison?
You been singing at midnight, or sulking like it's all about you?
Let’s not play games. Some of you are trying to use your Christianity like a weapon—to control your spouse, to shame your kids, to feel morally superior at work. You think your faith is a passcode to get out of hard things or to get your way. But Paul and Silas show us something else: faith stays put when it's hard. Faith suffers with purpose.
And let’s talk about how you respond to difficulty. When your life shakes, when the foundations crack, what comes out of your mouth? Praise? Or complaints? Prayers? Or profanity? Do you trust God in your suffering? Or do you lash out at everyone else? Some of you are burning bridges with your anger and calling it conviction. Which is missing the whole point. Your prison—the world—isn’t about you.
Here’s the hard truth:
If your faith doesn’t cost you anything, it’s probably not faith in Jesus.
If your faith allows you to be unkind to your spouse, your kids, or your coworkers, then it’s not Christian faith—it’s spiritual pride with a nice Bible cover on it.
And if you’re trying to move past your mistakes without confession or repentance—just quietly hoping no one notices, like the magistrates trying to sweep their abuse of power under the rug—you’re not walking in the light, you’re hiding in the shadows. That’s not humility. That’s damage control. That’s just the way of the world.
And if the only time you praise God is when things go your way—then you’ve missed the whole point. Of life. Of the Bible. Of what faith is for. Certainly missed the point of this story…
Paul and Silas didn’t start singing after the earthquake—they sang before.
That night they didn’t worship God because He saved them—they worshiped because God was with them.
So how about you?
Are you treating your family, your coworkers, your enemies (the jailer), like people who need to hear the Gospel through your love, your patience, your praise?
Or are you just waiting for God to open the doors so you can run away?
Because let me say this plainly:
There is no version of Christianity where your faith is only for you.
You don’t get to choose your prison—meaning the difficult places God calls you to live in the world. But you do get to choose how you act in it. The way you show the world that you’re in the world but not of it. There has to be a difference in how you respond to the hard things in this world that the way the rest of the world responds. That’s what God is calling you to do—commanding you to do. This is the hard part. It’s not for you, it doesn’t save you. It’s for the people around you.
But here’s the good news:
Jesus didn’t escape the prison either.
He was accused, beaten, chained.
But instead of running, He endured it—for you.
He went to the cross so you could be freed. He even sang a Psalm while dying on the cross—did you know that? Psalms are songs, they didn’t say them, they sang them. The lyrics of Psalm 22 say,
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? (That’s the only part most of us know, but it goes on to say…) You are holy, enthroned on the praises of Your people. In You they trusted, and You delivered them. To You they cried and were rescued. Oh, LORD, do not be far off! You are my help! Come quickly to my aid! Deliver me! (this is what Jesus was singing on the cross…) All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the LORD! All the families of the nations shall worship before you! The Lord is King, and He rules over the nations! (This is why He was on the cross, it ends with this line…) It shall be told of the Lord to the coming generations—they shall come and proclaim His righteousness to a people yet unborn—that He has done it!”
That’s quite a song for Jesus to have been singing on the cross, don’t you think? Makes sense why that Roman soldier came to faith watching Him, listening to Him—he had never seen anything like this. There was also darkness and an earthquake at the moment Jesus died.
Then He went into the tomb, descended to death, did all this so you could be freed, so you could live... So you could be saved.
He’s already saved you.
You’re already free. The doors are open, the shackles are off.
But you still have to live in the world—not run away from it, not try to escape it—but to share your hope and try to rescue others. They have to hear you singing. They have to see your faith through your faithfulness. Through your kindness. Through your self-control.
The Gospel says:
You are forgiven.
You are redeemed.
You are not forgotten.
Jesus prayed this in, “John 17:14–16 "I have given them your word, and the world has hated them because they are not of the world, just as I am not of the world. I do not ask that you take them out of the world, but that you keep them from the evil one."
In other words—Jesus saves you from the judgment that is coming for the world, but He doesn’t take you out of the world, not yet—you are in the world but not of the world. He prays that you will be delivered from the evil one, the devil, but your ministry is in the prison of this world as long as you live—until Jesus comes back.
And the prison you’re in isn’t to punish you—it’s your platform. It’s your opportunity.
The people around you are listening.
They’re watching how you deal with the hard things that happen in your life.
How you speak when you’re suffering.
How you treat people when you’re frustrated.
How you love when it costs you something.
What are you singing when you’re in the dark places? “Gloom, despair, and agony on me?” Or a Disturbed song like “Down With The Sickness.” If Paul and Silas had been chained up at midnight growling “I’m drowning deep in my sea of loathing,” the jailer probably wouldn’t have asked how to be saved. He’d have just slammed the door and gone back to bed.
What are you singing?
And through your song, your scars, and your staying, God is working to open their hearts.
He’s also working on your heart, to make you the person He created and saved you to be. God works through our suffering—suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.
But maybe you feel stuck.
Trapped in a job, or a marriage, or a diagnosis, or just a season of life you didn’t ask for.
Maybe you’ve been praying for the door to open—for the pain to stop—for the exit plan.
But what if the way you react—your song at midnight—is the very thing God wants to use to bring someone else to faith?
What if your gentle response, your humble kindness, your quiet trust in God is the earthquake that sets someone else free?
Paul and Silas didn’t leave when the doors flew open—because the Gospel wasn’t done yet.
And neither are you. No matter where you find yourself.
Even in your darkest places… you are not alone.
You are in the world—but not of it. You’re still in the prison but you’ve been set free.
Jesus calls you to a different perspective in life.
That means you’re where you are and what’s happening in your life—it’s not just for yourself, but also for the sake of someone else in your world. Don’t run from it—ask God for the strength and the wisdom for you to be the reason they might be set free. Amen.