Acts 26 "Don’t Reject the Gospel for Them"

So, imagine if you will… I’m driving on Route 66 and see a sign for a roadside attraction: ONE OF THE SEVEN WONDERS OF THE WORLD! See how nature randomly formed objects that predicted the future millions of years before they existed! Sounds interesting, I pull over. I go inside, and everywhere I look there are skyscrapers, castles, rocket ships, race cars and all kinds of things—all made from little plastic bricks. The tour guide explains, “Each of these marvels came into existence through the chaos unleashed by a cosmic explosion billions of years ago.” But I take a closer look. Every little brick has the word LEGO stamped on it. So what I want to do is raise my hand and say, “I’m sorry, but these are Legos. The individual blocks were manufactured in a toy factory, and someone deliberately snapped them together to make these models. There really isn’t really any mystery here. What are we doing?”

But I’m pretty sure I know how that conversation would go. They’d be offended. Probably call me a religious fanatic for believing in mythical, mysterious toy designers from imaginary places like Denmark. They’d explain to me—like I’m an idiot—that the complexity and interconnectedness of these naturally occurring plastic marvels give us absolutely no reason to believe in a designer or a creator. 

That’s how I feel sometimes when I talk about my faith with someone who doesn’t share my worldview. Because what I bring into every conversation I ever have is the belief that reality has the imprint of its Creator. That every human being has dignity because they were made in the image of God. That good and evil are more than just personal preferences, that love is more than a chemical reaction, that history is going somewhere purposeful, and that Jesus Christ was really here 2,026 years ago—that He lived, died and physically rose again from the dead. That He is the Creator. That’s my basic worldview, and it’s been formed and refined in me for decades. It shapes who I am, what I notice, how I interpret reality, and what I believe everything means.

So, how can I even start conversations with people who don’t think this way? Sometimes it makes me feel incompatible with all these humans who live on the same planet I do, but don’t see that someone designed and snapped this whole thing together.

I want to point to God’s name imprinted on the fabric of reality and say, “Look! It’s right there. How can you not see it? How can you believe all this just happened on its own?” But I’m pretty sure how the conversation would go, too. They’d dismiss me as a religious nut. They’d get defensive. They’d tell me faith and science are at odds. Because they trust what they remember from eighth-grade biology class more than anything the Word of God says. But it was my 9th grade science teacher who was the first person I heard say, “a little bit of science will make you an atheist but a lot of science will show you God is behind everything.” 

We get stuck between faith and reason, biology and theology. We talk past each other. It’s especially true when the person is some other religion or nationality—I don’t even know where to start then. I always think I know how the conversation’s going to end, so I’m tempted to never even start it.

Because we’re all trying to get out of awkward conversations. We’ve all learned ways to avoid them. We change the subject. We make a joke. We turn it into a debate—because that’s not a conversation. We just want to blast them with what we think, we don’t shut up, just monologue, don’t listen to anything they have to say—talk down to them. Conversations require vulnerability. Instead we attack the person. Criticize their delivery. Make personal attacks. Ignore the actual subject of the conversation altogether. Sometimes we just get up and leave. And act like because the conversation has ended, the matter has been settled. Then, of course, we make ourselves the hero when we retell the story later. We told them! 

We’ve been going through the Book of Acts section by section, today we’re in chapter 26. Paul has been locked up in jail for two years. For what? No one knows! A mob of angry zealots attacked him when he went to Jerusalem to give a report about how spreading the Gospel to the Gentiles was going—Roman peacekeepers broke up the mob and put Paul in prison, thinking he was the trouble-maker. He wasn’t but the Jewish leaders kept making plans to murder him, so the Romans kept him locked up to keep him safe. It’s a pretty weird situation. So, now it’s two years later, there’s a new governor who just wants to get rid of him. Paul has appealed his case to Emperor Nero in Rome, but Governor Festus doesn’t know what charges to put in his file. So, today Paul is going to stand before King Agrippa—maybe he can help make sense of it.

Acts 26:1 says,

“Then Agrippa said to Paul, ‘You may speak in your defense.’ So Paul, gesturing with his hand, started his defense: ‘I am fortunate, King Agrippa, that you are the one hearing my defense today against all these accusations made by the Jewish leaders, for I know you are an expert on all Jewish customs and controversies. Now please listen to me patiently! As the Jewish leaders are well aware, I was given a thorough Jewish training from my earliest childhood among my own people and in Jerusalem. If they would admit it, they know that I have been a member of the Pharisees, the strictest sect of our religion. Now I am on trial because of my hope in the fulfillment of God’s promise made to our ancestors. In fact, that is why the twelve tribes of Israel zealously worship God night and day, and they share the same hope I have. Yet, Your Majesty, they accuse me for having this hope! Why does it seem incredible to any of you that God can raise the dead?’ “

The room is incredibly tense. Paul’s literally in chains standing in front of King Agrippa, his sister Bernice, and the new Roman governor Festus. They’re all in fancy clothes and feeling like they’re the free ones in the room. But Paul doesn’t act like someone interested in defending his own life or trying to be set free—he acts like he’s the one who called the meeting. His “defense” strategy is pretty weird. He points straight to the resurrection of Jesus. He also doesn't start with a philosophical debate about the origins of the universe or point out the grievous sins of his captors. He just does something they can’t argue with: he tells his “faith in Jesus” story.

Acts 26:9 says,

“ ‘I used to believe that I ought to do everything I could to oppose the very name of Jesus the Nazarene. Indeed, I did just that in Jerusalem. Authorized by the leading priests, I caused many believers there to be sent to prison. And I cast my vote against them when they were condemned to death. Many times I had them punished in the synagogues to get them to curse Jesus. I was so violently opposed to them that I even chased them down in foreign cities.’ ”

Paul admits he has a pretty dark past. He was a religious terrorist. Highly educated, incredibly zealous, but completely wrong. He thought he was helping put down a dangerous cult, but he was actually fighting against the Son of God, the Lord of the universe.

Acts 26:12 says,

“One day I was on such a mission to Damascus, armed with the authority and commission of the leading priests. About noon, Your Majesty, as I was on the road, a light from heaven brighter than the sun shone down on me and my companions. We all fell down, and I heard a voice saying to me in Aramaic, ‘Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me? It is useless for you to fight against my will.’ ‘Who are you, lord?’ I asked. And the Lord replied, ‘I am Jesus, the one you are persecuting. Now get to your feet! For I have appeared to you to appoint you as my servant and witness. Tell people that you have seen me, and tell them what I will show you in the future. And I will rescue you from both your own people and the Gentiles. Yes, I am sending you to the Gentiles to open their eyes, so they may turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God. Then they will receive forgiveness for their sins and be given a place among God’s people, who are set apart by faith in me.’ “

If this sounds familiar, it should. This is the third time Paul tells the story of his Damascus road Jesus moment. The first time is in Acts chapter 9. In Acts 22 Paul told the Jewish crowd that was trying to kill him. And now, in 26, he tells it again. Three times in the same book, it must be important. Paul seems to tell his story any chance he gets because it explains everything. "This is who I was. This is what Jesus did. This is why I am here now."

Jesus stops Paul in his tracks with a blinding light and a farming metaphor. When Jesus said, "It is useless for you to fight against my will"—in the Greek it actually says, "why do you kick against the goads." A goad was a sharp stick used to steer an ox. If a stubborn ox didn't want to be led, it would kick back, driving the sharp stick into its own leg. Jesus is telling Paul that his violent, self-righteous crusade is useless spiritual self-mutilation. So Jesus stops Paul from attacking the church, but instead of just destroying his enemy, Jesus shows him grace, gives him a completely new identity, and enlists him to lead the mission to the gentiles. No one could have seen that coming, especially Paul.

Acts 26:19 says,

“And so, King Agrippa, I obeyed that vision from heaven. I preached first to those in Damascus, then in Jerusalem and throughout all Judea, and also to the Gentiles, that all must repent of their sins and turn to God—and prove they have changed by the good things they do. Some Jews arrested me in the Temple for preaching this, and they tried to kill me. But God has protected me right up to this present time so I can testify to everyone, from the least to the greatest. I teach nothing except what the prophets and Moses said would happen—that the Messiah would suffer and be the first to rise from the dead, and in this way announce God’s light to Jews and Gentiles alike.”

Paul didn't just have a nice emotional religious experience; Jesus redirected his entire life. He went from arresting Christians to telling everyone that Christ suffered, died, and rose from the dead to bring light to the world. Keep in mind, this is Paul’s defense. Is this what would be on your mind if you had been stuck in jail for two years and were finally getting a hearing for your case? 

Agrippa and Festus were confused about what Paul was trying to accomplish, too.

Acts 26:24 says,

“Suddenly, Festus shouted, ‘Paul, you are insane. Too much study has made you crazy!’ But Paul replied, ‘I am not insane, Most Excellent Festus. What I am saying is the sober truth. And King Agrippa knows about these things. I speak boldly, for I am sure these events are all familiar to him, for they were not done in a corner! King Agrippa, do you believe the prophets? I know you do—’ Agrippa interrupted him. ‘Do you think you can persuade me to become a Christian so quickly?’ Paul replied, ‘Whether quickly or not, I pray to God that both you and everyone here in this audience might become the same as I am, except for these chains.’ “

Paul finishes his “how I met Jesus story,” and the room goes nuts. Festus can’t help himself and blurts out that Paul’s lost his mind. But he calmly replies, “No, I just want you to know the truth.” Then he looks Agrippa right in the eye and asks if he believes the prophets or not.

Which makes the Jewish King very uncomfortable so he dodges with a little sarcasm. “What do you think is going to happen here, Preacher Man? That I’m going to become a Christian and bow before Jesus as Lord and Savior?” I think he’s feeling it but deflects by making a joke—make everyone think he’s nowhere near actually believing all this Jesus stuff.

But Paul doesn’t think it’s funny. He raises his shackles and says he prays to God that every single person there would hear the Gospel and become a Christian—just like him, minus the chains. 

Luther wrote a beautiful reflection on this verse. He said genuine faith produces an unquenchable desire for the salvation of others. A deep, holy desperation that can’t be satisfied until the people in your life get the same grace that rescued you. Paul wants his captors to have the same hope and forgiveness in Jesus he has.

And how do they respond to Paul’s altar call to believe in Jesus?

Acts 26:30 says,

Then the king, the governor, Bernice, and all the others stood and left. As they went out, they talked it over and agreed, “This man hasn’t done anything to deserve death or imprisonment.” And Agrippa said to Festus, “He could have been set free if he hadn’t appealed to Caesar.”

Once they got behind closed doors, Festus and Agrippa agree that Paul is innocent of any charge. It seems like Agrippa’s final comment is a jab at Festus, basically saying the governor should have already declared Paul innocent and let him go long before Paul appealed to Caesar—too late now. They heard the truth, recognized that Paul didn't do anything wrong, but… oh well. Sucks to be Paul. They hear the Gospel that could set them free but… oh well, they stand up, end the conversation, and leave unchanged. Sucks to be them.

We picture Agrippa and Festus walking away from salvation and shake our heads. Why didn’t they listen to what Paul was saying? As if we never ignore the truth. Also,  how often do we do the same thing to people? How often is our specific sin not just that we dodge uncomfortable conversations, we actually reject the Gospel for them? We look at someone whose worldview seems incompatible with ours, and we decide in advance that they’re not going to listen. We assume they’re too far gone, too intellectual, too stubborn, or just too different. They'll think what we have to say is stupid. Or we don’t think we can explain it good enough, or we’re afraid they'll ask a question we can't answer. We don’t even give them the chance to believe. It’s like we’ve decided the Holy Spirit couldn’t possibly reach them—at least not through us, not now—and then we pat ourselves on the back and call our silence "wisdom."

That’s one way we blow it.

We get it wrong other ways, too. Sometimes we actually do talk a little about our "faith story." We tell someone about our church. But we do it in a way where Jesus is entirely optional. We tell them how we love it here, how it’s a great community. Maybe talk about how the things we learn make us a better person, help us overcome hard times, or give our life meaning. We make it sound like Christianity is like a really effective self-help program. But if we can tell the story of our faith without Jesus dying on a cross to save us from our sin, if we can tell our story without getting to Jesus at all, then we haven’t told the story Paul kept telling. We haven't shared the Gospel. It was just storytime with some religious decorations.

The heart of Paul’s story wasn’t, "I was searching for God and I finally found Jesus." Paul wasn’t searching for Jesus. He was going to Damascus to destroy the lives of Christians. Paul didn’t find Jesus, Jesus found him. Paul’s testimony isn’t the story of a good man who finally figured it out. It is the story of Jesus stopping his enemy, forgiving him of terrible things, redirecting and claiming him, and giving him a completely new life—a new identity.

And that’s your story, too. Your testimony is ultimately Christ’s testimony—it’s the objective reality of what He did for you. Jesus didn't wait for you to get your worldview sorted out. You didn’t find Him, He found you—while you were resisting Him—kicking against Him. He stepped down into the mess of human history and took your sins, your silence, and your cowardice on the cross. He died the death you deserved, and then He rose from the dead. When His eyes opened in the tomb, He opened your blind eyes. He washed you clean in the water of your Baptism. He brought you out of the darkness and gave you a place in the light, in His church, in His family.

He didn’t choose you because of how smart you are, or what He could get out of you. It was all because of His grace. All a gift. And because it’s a gift—available to everyone, anyone—you can share it with people who seem completely incompatible with you. Their coming to faith doesn’t depend on your ability to produce an airtight philosophical or theological argument. Paul himself is living proof that Jesus can reach someone who’s actively hostile to the truth. Jesus is the One who does the saving; you just tell the story about how He saved you. Leave the changing of hearts and minds up to God.

Just tell your story. You don't need a theology degree. Keep it simple. This is who I was. This is what Jesus did. This is why I’m here now. Tell them who you were, who you used to be. What were you trusting in, pursuing in life, what were you afraid of, or fighting against before Jesus found you? Then tell them what Jesus did that changed everything. How did Christ confront you with His truth, His grace, and show you His forgiveness? And what’s He doing in your life now? How has His grace changed the direction of where you’re going?

But you have to get to that middle part—what Jesus did—that has to be the absolute center, the point. If your story isn't about Christ crucified and risen for you, it isn't a Christian story. I’m not saying your story has to be as dramatic as a blinding light on a desert road. Maybe you can’t even remember the moment you were saved because you were baptized as a baby and raised in the church your whole life. That’s awesome! There isn’t a better testimony than that! That really is all about Jesus, all about grace—not about you at all. Thanks be to God. But even then, when did your parents' faith become your own faith? There was a moment when you realized you’re a sinner saved by grace. That’s the same story that belongs to all of us. We were guilty, and Jesus forgave us. And He’ll forgive us again today, and again tomorrow.

So, we’re all walking around in this roadside attraction of the wonders of the world. Some of us can see the name imprinted on the building blocks and some of us can’t. But we need to stop giving up on conversations with people before we actually have them. Maybe we’re right about a particular person. Maybe our worldviews really are incompatible. Maybe they’ll think we’re naïve, strange, irrational, or crazy. Festus thought Paul was crazy. That’s okay. Agrippa tried to turn his testimony into a joke. So?

Paul told them anyway. 

He didn't try to explain everything about the cosmos. He didn’t argue. He just looked at them and said, “This is who I was. This is what Jesus did. This is why I’m doing what I’m doing now.” And hey. As far as we know, nothing really came of it, even with Paul—they just walked away. That’s okay, too. It’s not on him.

You have a story too. You need to tell it. But if you can’t tell it without making yourself the hero—if you can go through your entire spiritual journey without ever saying Jesus Christ suffered and died to save you—then maybe you don’t fully understand your story.

Or maybe His story hasn’t become yours yet.

How about now? Right here, right now. Today, Jesus Christ comes to you—not because you’ve finally figured everything out—just because He came to rescue you. He carried your sin to the cross. He died in your place. He rose from the grave. And now, He gives this unbreakable promise: Your sins are forgiven. You belong to Him. His grace is for you. You are no longer who you were. Jesus has saved you, and the future is yours. I want you all to have the hope I have. Like Paul said, “I pray to God that everyone here might become the same as I am, except for these chains.” AMEN

Prayer

Heavenly Father, thank You for finding us when we were lost and giving us forgiveness and new life through Jesus. Give us courage to tell what Christ has done for us, and trust You to change hearts through Your Word. In Jesus’ name, amen.