Acts 22:23 "Good Gifts Make Terrible Gods"

The very first show my band, Atomic Opera, played on our tour in 1994 was a massive music festival in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. We had no idea at the time but it would also be the biggest audience we would ever play for. It was called Summerfest. Somewhere around twenty-five thousand people. We played just before the Stone Temple Pilots when they were one of the biggest bands in the world. So much fun. It was loud, chaotic, and the security they needed to keep it from being insane was intense. My wife, Kim, was in Illinois for a wedding so she drove up to be there for our debut tour performance, and she brought her sister and niece along for the ride.

Before I left, I gave her the ultimate status symbol in the world of rock music: the All-Access backstage laminate. It would get you and your friends into any Atomic Opera show. It’s supposed to be a magical golden ticket. VIP status. Part the crowds, bypass the lines, and immediate access to the band’s backstage deli tray. If you wear one of these, you are an insider. You belong.

So Kim walked up to the gate security checkpoint with her sister and niece, backstage pass in hand, ready for those gates to swing wide open. But no, the security guard took one look at her and her homemade laminate—didn’t look legit to him. Who’s Atomic Opera? Access denied.

From the guard’s perspective, he didn’t see a singer’s wife with legitimate VIP access. He thought he was looking at another crazy groupie trying to get in free, trying to sneak backstage. This was probably the 50th person today. 

It wasn’t the first time it had happened to Kim, either. She hated this. It had been happening for years at smaller rock clubs where bouncers loved to flex their authority. But this time was worse. She had driven 300 miles. It was a massive festival, very intimidating, plus it’s happening right in front of her family. Very frustrating and embarrassing. 

I know, why doesn’t she just call me and clear it up? Hard to remember the days before cell phones, isn’t it? She couldn’t just pull a magic piece of glass out of her pocket and tell me she was stuck at the gate. She’s just out there, standing in the sun, with absolutely zero power. Eventually, after much pleading, a security guard used his walkie-talkie to have someone find me. I had to drop what I was doing, walk through the crowd to the gate where she was stuck, and vouch for her. Frank to the rescue, all’s well that ends well.

Except she absolutely hated those situations. She hated that her pass wasn’t enough. She hated that her status was questioned. She hated standing there feeling like a total imposter until someone from the inside came out to validate her existence to a guy in a yellow windbreaker.

We all have passes we rely on. All our earthly credentials. Drivers license, Student I.D., Certifications, diplomas. Maybe our bank account balance, or the letters after our last name on that resume. Maybe our political affiliation, our zip code, or just that we know the guy who knows the guy who owns the restaurant. We love having some special status, having a card to play. We look to these things to validate who we are, to protect us, give us entry, and secure our place in the world.

It feels great when we think we have an edge. When we can use our status to get past the red tape everyone else has to deal with. But just like that backstage pass, earthly status is fragile. It just takes one skeptical guard, one financial crisis, one bad medical report, or one really bad headline in world news to realize those precious credentials aren’t going to help us. Because when our only hope is in our worldly status, we will constantly be at the mercy of things that can fail us without warning. And then we’re left standing on the outside the gate, feeling embarrassed, isolated, and completely helpless, wondering why the things we were counting on aren’t saving us.

We’ve been going through the Book of Acts line by line, verse by verse, and today we’re in chapter 22. The Apostle Paul finds himself in a bad place, caught between the hostility of a crowd and the possible leverage of his earthly status. In last week’s message, Paul arrived in Jerusalem, and things went completely sideways. A massive riot broke out because the crowd thought Paul brought a Gentile into the temple where only Jews were allowed to go, which was punishable by death. Under both Jewish and Roman law. So the Jewish mob is literally trying to beat him to death in the street. A Roman commander rushes in with his soldiers, arrests Paul, and drags him up the steps of the barracks just to keep the crowd from ripping him apart. Then a bizarre thing happened. Paul asks the Roman commander for permission to speak to the crowd, which he allows for some reason, the mob gets quiet and listens to Paul as he tells his story about coming to faith in Jesus. They listen until he mentions that God sent him to offer salvation to the Gentiles. Then they lose their minds again. 

Acts 22:23 says,

“The commander brought Paul inside and ordered him lashed with whips to make him confess his crime. He wanted to find out why the crowd had become so furious.”

The Roman commander wanted to know what was going on, he thought the best way to get the truth out of someone was torture. It was perfectly legal to whip a Jew as the first step in interrogation. So they took Paul into the barracks and stretched him out on a rack. This was no small thing. The prisoner would be stripped to the waist and forced to bend over a wooden rail with his feet and hands chained to the floor. Then they’d take a whip made of leather straps with jagged pieces of bone and metal attached to them, designed to rip their back. The commander’s like, “Play stupid games like causing a riot and win stupid prizes.”

Acts 22:25 says,

“When they tied Paul down to lash him, Paul said to the officer standing there, ‘Is it legal for you to whip a Roman citizen who hasn’t even been tried?’ When the officer heard this, he went to the commander and asked, ‘What are you doing? This man is a Roman citizen!’”

Quick thinking on Paul’s part. A little dramatic flair, too. He waits until he is stretched out and tied down, and he calmly asks a devastating legal question. “Excuse me, officer, but are you sure you won’t get in trouble for torturing a Roman citizen without a trial?” I’m sure Paul was only thinking of the well-being of the Roman soldier. Ha. He pulls out his Roman citizenship and legal standing, since Roman law strictly forbids the punishment of a citizen without a trial. Paul was counting on the soldiers being aware of this, too. They’d face serious, life-threatening charges if they went ahead with it. This halted the whipping party immediately.

Acts 22:27 says,

“So the commander went over and asked Paul, ‘Tell me, are you a Roman citizen?’ ‘Yes, I certainly am,’ Paul replied. ‘I am, too,’ the commander muttered, ‘and it cost me plenty!’ Paul answered, ‘But I am a citizen by birth!’”

The Romans are panicking. They look at the bloody guy chained to the floor, “Are you really a Roman citizen?” This isn’t good. The commander mutters something about how much his citizenship cost him, usually a year’s wages. Paul’s like, “That ain’t nothing. I’m a citizen by birth.” Which is even higher status than buying it.

Acts 22:29 says,

“The soldiers who were about to interrogate Paul quickly withdrew when they heard he was a Roman citizen, and the commander was frightened because he had ordered him bound and whipped. The next day the commander ordered the leading priests into session with the Jewish high council. He wanted to find out what the trouble was all about, so he released Paul to have him stand before them.”

The Roman war machine grinds to a halt. The soldiers back away with apologies. They know how close they came to a career-ending, life-ending mistake. So he unchains Paul and plans on handing him over to the Sanhedrin to figure out what is going on.

Notice what happened here. God used Paul’s completely ordinary, earthly Roman status to rescue him and keep the mission going. Paul doesn’t act like his Roman citizenship is meaningless. He doesn’t spiritualize it like earthly rights are worthless because he is a citizen of heaven. He uses it. He says, "I'm a Roman citizen. You can't legally do this to me." And that’s how God saves him this time. No earthquake, no angels. God usually works through ordinary things. Money can actually feed you. Education can actually open doors. The law can actually protect you. Political and civil rights can actually be tremendous blessings. Paul understands his Roman citizenship is a gift from God, and he uses it for God’s purposes.

So it’s not that earthly rights and credentials don’t mean anything. But they become a problem when we ask them to give us what only Christ can give us. National citizenship is a wonderful gift, but it’s a terrible god.

Compare Paul and the commander. Both of them have Roman citizenship. The commander is very aware of what it cost him. It’s part of his identity, his security blanket. Paul has citizenship too, but he can use it when he needs to without being defined by it. Can we say the same?

We turn our earthly status and credentials into our ultimate identity. We weaponize our rights at other people’s expense. We scream at customer service reps when we don’t get our way, we drop names to make ourselves feel important. We use our wealth to build walls of comfort around our lives to keep the messy, painful world out. We hold our metaphorical VIP passes so tightly our fingers hurt, furious at anyone who dares to question who we think we are. We count on our money, our education, our social status to save us. Whatever we think our credentials are. Whatever we think proves we matter. But when the systems fail—when the market crashes, when the diagnosis is bad, when the culture turns against us... We’re left with very little defense. We are naked, chained down, and waiting for the whip.

Some of us don't flaunt our credentials at all. We just quietly need them. We need to be competent. Needed. Respected. Right. And when someone questions that identity, we discover how much we were trusting it.

The devil will do whatever he can to get us to trust in the things of this world. Just so he can watch us squirm when they’re taken away.

That’s why Jesus came to rescue us. He set aside His rights and came down to our level to save us. Jesus had the ultimate status. He held all the rights and privileges of Heaven. He was the King of Glory, the Author of Life, the absolute VIP of the universe. At any point, He could have flashed His divine credentials and commanded legions of angels to rescue Him. He could have demanded His rights. Instead, He laid them down.

When Jesus was arrested, He didn't look for a legal loophole. He didn't demand a fair trial. He was also stretched out, stripped, and tied to a Roman whipping post, but He kept His mouth shut. The whip that Paul avoided with a single sentence cracked on the back of Jesus. He took the brutal Roman torture. He took the thorns. He took the mockery, the nails. He also took the weight of all our sin. The absolute, deadly wrath of God against all of our idolatry, all our pride, and all our desperate attempts to save ourselves.

Rome could flog Jesus. Rome could crucify Jesus. Rome could seal His tomb with a heavy stone and post guards to keep the world out. But they couldn’t keep Him in. They couldn’t keep Him dead. You’ve been saved by a risen Divine King whose citizenship survives death itself. Because of the cross, and because of the empty tomb, you are perfectly safe.

Paul appealed to his citizenship of Rome to save his life, but you have something greater, you’re an eternal citizen of heaven.

How do you know that eternal citizenship is actually yours? Christ didn't just purchase it and leave you hoping your name made the final paperwork. He put His name on you. In your Baptism, you were joined to Christ and He was joined to you. His death became your death. His resurrection became your life. His Father became your Father, and His kingdom became your kingdom, your inheritance. Your identity is secure, entirely grounded in Him. You’re a citizen of Heaven, fully known, fully forgiven, and fully loved. With all the rights and privileges thereof. 

So what does that mean? How should we live now? Well, we live as dual citizens. We live in this world, navigating its messy, broken systems, but not of this world because we belong entirely to another Kingdom. We don't have to feel weird or guilty for having earthly rights, privileges, or resources. Having an education, a good job, or constitutional freedoms are good things. Earthly citizenship is a great gift. But because our eternal identity isn’t bound up in these temporary things, we can completely change how we use our earthly status and credentials.

Because our true citizenship is with Christ in heaven, we don’t have to use our status down here for self-preservation. So, we can use whatever earthly rights, influence, money, position, or access we possess to worship God and love and serve people instead of just trying to hold onto it. If we have wealth, use it to bless people. If we have a voice, use it to speak for those who are ignored. If we have a seat at the table in our corporate office, our neighborhood HOA, or the local school board, use that influence to build bridges of grace. Even in the little things, our time, our home, our attention—all these things are gifts to be shared.

When you know your eternal future is totally secure, you can afford to be generous with your earthly present. You don't have to panic when someone disrespects you. You don't have to get mad and defend your ego—it doesn’t matter who they say you are. Your identity is safely hidden in Christ. Live in God’s wisdom. Live boldly, use whatever temporary VIP passes you have in this life to open doors so others can know about the hope you have in Christ.

Time keeps moving on, situations change. The privileges of this world eventually fade away. Systems break down, money runs out, and VIP passes eventually expire. But the Christian hope isn’t ultimately about having the right credentials so God will let us through the gate.

Remember poor little Kim at the music festival? She had the right pass, but the guard wouldn't believe her until someone came out and personally identified her. She finally got in not because she argued harder about how important she was or the validity of that laminate! She got in because someone came out and said, "She’s with me.”

That’s the Gospel. It’s not just Jesus giving you a better pass. It’s Jesus coming out to get you. You’re not going to stand outside the gates of Heaven trying to convince God you belong, like a St Peter joke. The Son of God Himself has already claimed you. He identifies Himself with sinners like us. He took our place outside. He took our rejection, and He personally brings us into His Father's house with Him. AMEN.