The Verdict of the World and the Providence of God
Introduction: The Impotence of Earthly Thrones
We come now to the end of Paul's great defense before the powers that be. Here we have a scene of high political theater. We have Festus, the Roman governor, a man concerned with expediency and Roman procedure. We have King Agrippa, the petty potentate, a man steeped in Jewish customs but a stranger to the Jewish faith in his heart. We have Bernice, his sister, a woman of sordid reputation. These are the representatives of worldly power, gathered in all their pomp and circumstance to pass judgment on a chained apostle of Jesus Christ.
And after all the testimony, after Paul has laid out the glorious truth of the resurrection with unanswerable logic and white-hot passion, the court retires to deliberate. What we see in these closing verses of Acts 26 is a microcosm of the world's relationship to the gospel. The world, when it is being honest, when the doors are closed and it is talking to itself, is forced to admit the innocence of Christ's church. But this admission of innocence is coupled with a profound impotence. They see the truth, but they cannot act on it. They recognize righteousness, but they are bound by their own systems of power, their own prior commitments, their own appeals to a higher authority, in this case, Caesar.
This passage is a study in contrasts. It contrasts the freedom of a man in chains with the bondage of men on thrones. It contrasts the clear verdict of conscience with the convoluted demands of political maneuvering. And most importantly, it shows us the hidden hand of God's providence, working through the very machinery of the Roman Empire to bring His chosen instrument exactly where He wants him to be, which is Rome.
The world thinks it is in charge. It holds its meetings, it confers, it renders its opinions. But all the while, God is the one setting the agenda. Agrippa's conclusion is correct on a human level, but it is spiritually blind. He sees the mechanics of Roman law but is oblivious to the mechanics of divine sovereignty. He sees a legal predicament, but God is orchestrating a missionary journey.
The Text
And the king stood up and the governor and Bernice, and those who were sitting with them, and when they had gone aside, they began talking to one another, saying, "This man is not doing anything worthy of death or imprisonment." And Agrippa said to Festus, "This man could have been set free if he had not appealed to Caesar."
(Acts 26:30-32 LSB)
The Private Admission (v. 30-31)
We begin with the reaction of the assembled authorities:
"And the king stood up and the governor and Bernice, and those who were sitting with them, and when they had gone aside, they began talking to one another, saying, 'This man is not doing anything worthy of death or imprisonment.'" (Acts 26:30-31)
The audience is over. Paul has made his case. He has preached the law and the prophets, the death and resurrection of the Messiah, and the call to repentance. Festus thinks he is mad. Agrippa is almost persuaded. And now, the powerful withdraw to their chambers to compare notes. The public face is set aside, and the private conversation begins.
Their conclusion is unanimous and unequivocal: "This man is not doing anything worthy of death or imprisonment." This is a stunning vindication of Paul. It is the fifth time Roman authorities have declared him innocent. Claudius Lysias found no fault in him. Felix left him in prison for two years knowing he was innocent. Now Festus, Agrippa, and the whole assembly concur. This is not the verdict of friends or fellow believers. This is the verdict of the world, a pagan governor and a compromised Jewish king. They are, in effect, functioning as character witnesses for the defense.
This is a pattern we see throughout the Scriptures. Pilate declared Jesus innocent multiple times before washing his hands and turning Him over to be crucified. The world, in its more sober moments, knows that the accusations leveled against the faithful are baseless. They know the charges are trumped up, driven by envy and malice. When they accuse us of being hateful, or dangerous, or disturbers of the peace, they are very often projecting. In the quiet of their own counsels, they know the truth. The problem is not a lack of evidence; the problem is a lack of integrity.
Notice the players here. Agrippa, the expert in Jewish law, sees no violation of that law. Festus, the Roman governor, sees no violation of Roman law. They represent the two legal systems Paul was accused of offending, and both declare him guiltless. This is God's way of publicly stripping every last shred of legitimacy from the case of the Sanhedrin. Their entire campaign against Paul is shown to be a fraud, a malicious prosecution based on nothing but their hatred for the resurrected Christ whom Paul proclaims.
The Worldly Predicament (v. 32)
Agrippa then articulates the apparent problem, the legal catch-22 that prevents them from acting on their verdict of innocence.
"And Agrippa said to Festus, 'This man could have been set free if he had not appealed to Caesar.'" (Acts 26:32 LSB)
Here is the great irony. Paul's appeal to Caesar, his use of his Roman citizenship to escape the murderous plots of the Jews and the political cowardice of Festus, is now seen as the one thing keeping him in chains. From a purely human and legal standpoint, Agrippa is correct. Once an appeal to the emperor was lodged, the case was out of the hands of the local governor. The legal machinery had been engaged, and it must now run its course. Festus could not simply release Paul, even though he knew him to be innocent.
This is a beautiful illustration of how earthly power works. It creates systems and procedures that bind even those who run them. Festus is trapped by his own desire to placate the Jews, which led him to suggest the trial in Jerusalem, which in turn prompted Paul's appeal. Now he is trapped by the consequences of that appeal. He has an innocent man on his hands that he is legally obligated to send to Rome. Worldly power is a kind of slavery. These men, who looked so free and powerful in their purple robes, were in fact bound hand and foot by their own political calculations and the inflexible demands of the imperial system.
But there is a deeper principle at work. Paul appealed to Caesar, and to Caesar he must go. Why? Because God had told him he must testify in Rome (Acts 23:11). Paul's appeal was not an act of panic. It was an act of faith, aligning himself with the revealed will of God. What looked to Agrippa like a legal blunder was, in fact, a masterstroke of divine providence. God intended for Paul to go to Rome not as a tourist, but as a prisoner of the state, with a Roman military escort, all at the expense of the empire. God commandeered the entire Roman legal system to provide Paul with a free, protected trip to the heart of the pagan world to preach the gospel.
Agrippa says, "if he had not appealed." But that "if" is an impossibility. He had to appeal, because God had ordained it. The conversation in that room is dripping with dramatic irony. The rulers of the earth believe they are discussing a legal technicality, a procedural snag. They are blind to the fact that they are merely stagehands in a divine drama, the plot of which was written before the foundation of the world. They think Paul is bound for Caesar's judgment, but in reality, Caesar is bound for Paul's testimony. The gospel is not on trial in Rome; Rome is on trial before the gospel.
Conclusion: Free in Chains
So what do we take from this brief, behind-the-scenes glimpse of worldly power confessing its own impotence? We must see, first, the true nature of Christian freedom. Paul is in chains, yet he is the freest man in the room. He is bound to no man's opinion. He is not trapped by political expediency. He is a servant of Jesus Christ, and that is the only perfect freedom. Agrippa and Festus are in their fine robes, but they are slaves. They are slaves to public opinion, slaves to political pressure, slaves to Caesar, slaves to their own sin. The world mistakes the external trappings of power for freedom, but the Bible teaches us that a man can be in a dungeon and be free, or on a throne and be in the tightest bondage imaginable.
Second, we see the sovereignty of God over the affairs of men. The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together, against the Lord and against His Anointed (Psalm 2). And what is God's response? He who sits in the heavens laughs. He holds them in derision. He uses their councils, their laws, their prisons, and their appeals to accomplish His own purposes. Agrippa's statement is the world's lament: "We could fix this, if only..." But God's purposes are not subject to the "if onlies" of men. Paul's appeal to Caesar was not a frustration of justice; it was the fulfillment of prophecy. God wanted a witness in Caesar's household, and so He arranged for one to be delivered there.
Finally, we are reminded that the world's verdict on our innocence is not what ultimately matters. It is a mercy when it comes, and it exposes the wickedness of our accusers. But our ultimate vindication comes from God. Paul was not looking for a piece of paper from Festus declaring him "not guilty." He was looking for the "well done, good and faithful servant" from his Lord. Like Paul, we are called to be faithful witnesses, whether in the dock or in the pulpit. We make our case, we speak the truth, and we leave the results to the God who governs all things. Whether we are set free or sent on to Caesar is a small thing. The important thing is that the gospel goes forward, unimpeded, and that Christ is proclaimed. For we, like Paul, have appealed to a higher authority than Caesar. We have appealed to the King of kings, and it is to His court that we are all ultimately heading.