The Poise of the Ambassador: Text: Acts 21:37-40
Introduction: Chaos and the Christian Mind
We live in an age of perpetual outrage, an era where the mob is always one tweet away from forming. Our culture thrives on chaos, feeds on confusion, and manufactures panic as its chief export. The world outside the church, and too often within it, is a roiling sea of emotional reaction. People are governed by their feelings, their fears, and their frantic desire for safety or vengeance. They are, in short, a mob. And a mob, by definition, is not thinking.
Into this kind of swirling chaos, the Word of God brings a man. We find the apostle Paul in Jerusalem, having been warned repeatedly not to go. He has been seized in the Temple by a furious Jewish mob, accused of defiling their holy place, and is in the process of being beaten to death. Roman soldiers have to intervene, arresting him to save his life, and are now dragging him up the steps into the barracks. From a human perspective, this is an unmitigated disaster. The mission appears to have failed spectacularly. Paul is bloody, battered, and bound. The crowd is howling for his execution. This is the very picture of chaos.
And it is in this precise moment that we see the radical difference that the gospel makes in a man's mind. Where we would expect to see panic, we see poise. Where we would expect pleading, we see a polite but firm request. Where we would expect a man to be thinking about his own survival, Paul is thinking about his next sermon. He is not a victim of his circumstances; he is an ambassador of the King, and he recognizes that the venue has simply changed. The riot in the street and the steps of the Roman fortress are as much a divinely appointed pulpit as any synagogue lectern. This passage is a master class in Christian composure. It demonstrates what a mind, steadied by the sovereignty of God and commissioned by the gospel, looks like in the teeth of the storm.
The Text
As Paul was about to be brought into the barracks, he said to the commander, "May I say something to you?" And he said, "Do you know Greek? Then you are not the Egyptian who some time ago raised a revolt and led the four thousand men of the Assassins out into the wilderness?" But Paul said, "I am a Jew of Tarsus in Cilicia, a citizen of no insignificant city; and I beg you, allow me to speak to the people." And when he had given him permission, Paul, standing on the stairs, motioned to the people with his hand; and when there was a great hush, he spoke to them in the Hebrew language, saying,
(Acts 21:37-40 LSB)
The Strategic Interruption (v. 37)
The scene opens with Paul being removed from the immediate danger, but his mind is already working on how to turn this situation to his advantage.
"As Paul was about to be brought into the barracks, he said to the commander, 'May I say something to you?' And he said, 'Do you know Greek?'" (Acts 21:37)
Paul is being hauled away, likely up the steps of the Antonia Fortress which overlooked the Temple mount. This is his last chance to address the crowd. He understands that being taken into the barracks means isolation. So, he speaks up. But notice how he does it. He does not scream, "I'm a Roman citizen!" though he will use that card later when it is most strategic. He doesn't protest his innocence. He asks a polite, calm, and intelligent question: "May I say something to you?"
The commander's reaction is one of pure shock. "Do you know Greek?" The question reveals the commander's prejudice and his entire worldview. He had a neat little box for Paul. In his mind, this was just another ignorant, provincial zealot, a religious fanatic stirring up the locals. Such men did not speak the cultured, educated language of the Empire. They spoke in their local dialect and communicated with fists and rocks. But Paul, with a few simple words, shatters the commander's stereotype. He demonstrates that he is not an unthinking brute. He is an educated man, capable of reasoned discourse.
This is a vital lesson for the church. We are not called to be cultural Neanderthals. We are called to be sharp, articulate, and able to engage the powers that be in their own language. Whether it is the language of law, philosophy, science, or art, we should be competent. Paul's education, his fluency in Greek, was not a worldly compromise; it was a tool, honed and ready for the service of the gospel. He surprises the commander, gets his attention, and in doing so, opens the door for the next step in his plan.
A Case of Mistaken Identity (v. 38)
The commander, his initial assumption shattered, tries to fit Paul into another, more dangerous box.
"Then you are not the Egyptian who some time ago raised a revolt and led the four thousand men of the Assassins out into the wilderness?" (Acts 21:38 LSB)
This is fascinating. The commander's mind immediately goes to a political and military category. He references a specific, historical event. This Egyptian was a messianic pretender, a revolutionary who had promised to lead his followers to victory over Rome. The "Assassins" were the Sicarii, political terrorists who would hide daggers in their cloaks to murder Roman officials and their sympathizers in crowded places. The commander can only think in these terms. For him, a disturbance of this magnitude must be about political power, about insurrection, about who wields the sword.
He cannot conceive of a kingdom that is not of this world. He cannot imagine a conflict that is spiritual in nature. The world always misinterprets the church's mission in this way. They see our firm moral stances as a play for political power. They see our evangelism as a form of conquest. They mistake the spiritual revolutionary for a political terrorist. Paul is indeed leading a revolt, but it is a far greater one than the Egyptian's pathetic rebellion. Paul is leading an assault on the very gates of Hell, and his weapon is not the dagger of the Sicarii, but the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God.
The Ambassador's Credentials (v. 39)
Paul now corrects the commander's error and establishes his true identity, using every part of his background as a strategic asset.
"But Paul said, 'I am a Jew of Tarsus in Cilicia, a citizen of no insignificant city; and I beg you, allow me to speak to the people.'" (Acts 21:39 LSB)
Paul's answer is a brilliant piece of rhetoric. First, "I am a Jew." This immediately connects him to the very crowd that wants to kill him. He is not an outsider, not a Gentile defiling their Temple. He is one of them. He is laying the groundwork for the speech he is about to give. Second, he is "of Tarsus in Cilicia." This tells the Roman commander that he is not some peasant from the Galilean backwoods. Tarsus was a major center of learning, a university city known for its philosophy and culture. It was a prominent city in the Roman Empire.
He drives this point home by adding that he is a "citizen of no insignificant city." There is a proper, godly confidence here. He is not boasting in himself, but leveraging the providential placement of his birth for the sake of the gospel. God had prepared Paul for this very moment, giving him a Jewish heritage to reach the Jews, a Tarsian education to engage the Greeks, and Roman citizenship to navigate the empire. All the parts of our identity, our nationality, our education, our family background, are not accidents. They are tools given to us by a sovereign God to be used in His service.
And having established his credentials as a man of substance, he makes his audacious request: "allow me to speak to the people." He doesn't ask for a lawyer. He doesn't ask to be released. He asks for a pulpit. He sees the angry mob not as a threat, but as a congregation. This is the heart of an apostle. Every crisis is an opportunity for proclamation. Every arrest is a chance to preach.
The Authority of the Spirit (v. 40)
The commander, intrigued and impressed, grants the request, and we see a remarkable shift in the atmosphere.
"And when he had given him permission, Paul, standing on the stairs, motioned to the people with his hand; and when there was a great hush, he spoke to them in the Hebrew language, saying," (Acts 21:40 LSB)
Imagine the scene. Paul, standing on the stairs, elevated above the crowd, is now given the stage by the very Roman authority that arrested him. God's providence is a beautiful thing to watch. He motions with his hand, and a "great hush" falls over the seething mob. Moments before, they were a chaotic, screaming mass. Now, they are silent. What caused this? It was the quiet, fearless authority of a man filled with the Holy Spirit. One man, standing in the truth and utterly devoid of fear, can have more authority than a legion of soldiers or a mob of thousands. He commands their attention without raising his voice.
Then comes the final, brilliant stroke. He speaks to them "in the Hebrew language." This was most likely Aramaic, the common language of the Jews in that day. Just as he disarmed the Roman commander with his cultured Greek, he now disarms the Jewish mob with their mother tongue. He is communicating on multiple levels. He is saying, "I am not a Hellenizing traitor. I am one of you. I honor our fathers. I know the Scriptures. Listen to me." He builds a bridge of common identity, not to compromise, but to carry the exclusive claims of Jesus Christ across that bridge into their hearts.
Conclusion: Every Christian an Ambassador
Paul's conduct on these stairs is a permanent lesson for the church. We are not called to be victims, tossed about by the chaotic whims of a hostile culture. We are ambassadors for Christ, and we must learn to conduct ourselves with the poise and intelligence that befits our station.
First, we must be unflustered by chaos. When the world melts down, when the mob rages, the Christian should be the calmest person in the room. Our peace is not based on our circumstances, but on the unshakeable reality that our God reigns. He is working all things, even riots and wrongful arrests, for our good and His glory.
Second, we must be strategically articulate. We need to be ready to give an answer for the hope that is in us. This means knowing God's Word, but it also means knowing our audience. We must learn to speak Greek to the Greeks and Hebrew to the Hebrews, finding common ground not to dilute the truth, but to declare it more effectively.
Finally, we must see every difficulty as a divine appointment. Paul saw a flight of stairs as a pulpit. We must ask God to give us eyes to see our traffic jams, our difficult bosses, our hostile neighbors, and our cultural crises as platforms for the gospel. The world thinks it is putting us in chains, but as Paul would later write from prison, the Word of God is not bound.
This kind of courage and composure is not something we can manufacture on our own. It is the fruit of a life lived in submission to the Lord Jesus Christ. He stood before Pilate, a captive King, and was in greater command of that room than the man who held His life in his hands. Because He faced His accusers with perfect, sovereign poise, we who are in Him can face our own mobs with a holy hush, ready to speak His truth, in His time, for His glory.