Commentary - Acts 28:1-6

Bird's-eye view

In this brief but potent narrative, the sovereign providence of God is on full display. After a harrowing shipwreck from which every soul was saved, just as Paul had promised, the survivors wash ashore on the island of Malta. This episode is far from a random detour on the way to Rome; it is a divinely orchestrated demonstration of the kingdom's power before a pagan audience. The central event, Paul's miraculous survival of a viper's bite, serves as an apostolic sign, a credential that authenticates his message. The incident starkly contrasts the fickle, superstitious worldview of the natives with the steadfast power of the God of the Bible. They swing wildly from one false conclusion to another, first judging Paul a murderer pursued by cosmic "Justice," then deifying him as a god. Through it all, God is working His purposes, setting the stage for the gospel to be received on the island and proving yet again that His plans cannot be thwarted by storms, seas, or serpents.

This passage is a microcosm of the book of Acts. The gospel advances through apparent disasters. An apostle, representing the King, demonstrates the power of that King over the forces of nature and death. And the primitive, reactive reasoning of the unbelieving world is exposed as foolishness. God's triumphs are often cleverly disguised as disasters, and this shipwreck and snakebite are no exception.

Outline

Context In Acts

This passage follows immediately upon the heels of the dramatic shipwreck in Acts 27. Paul, a prisoner on his way to trial in Rome, had effectively taken command of the situation, assuring everyone on board that not a life would be lost, based on a direct revelation from an angel of God. The miraculous survival of all 276 people was a direct fulfillment of that prophecy, establishing Paul's credentials with the Roman centurion and all aboard. Now, cast ashore on an unknown island, Paul's apostolic authority will be confirmed once more, this time not over the sea, but over the serpent. This entire sequence, from the storm to the snakebite, serves to show that Paul's journey to Rome is under divine protection and propulsion. No force, natural or supernatural, can stop him from bearing witness to Caesar. This is the gospel advancing, as it always does, through chaos and into the heart of the empire.

Key Issues

Providence, Vipers, and Vacillating Pagans

One of the central lessons of Scripture is that God writes straight with crooked lines. He is the master storyteller, and His best plot twists often look like unmitigated disasters to the characters in the story. A shipwreck is a catastrophe by any human measure. But in God's economy, it is simply the means of getting His apostle to a place where he needs to be. The entire episode on Malta is a lesson in what we might call hard providence. God's will is being done, not in a quiet and orderly prayer meeting, but in the midst of a howling storm, a shattered ship, and a venomous snake.

The reaction of the natives is instructive for us. They are not secularists; they are deeply religious. They see an event and immediately seek a theological explanation. A man survives a shipwreck only to be bitten by a viper? Clearly, the goddess Justice is hunting him down. But when he doesn't die, their theology flips 180 degrees. He must be a god himself. This is the essence of paganism. It is reactive, unstable, and ultimately man-centered. It interprets events based on raw power and immediate outcomes, creating its gods and its morality on the fly. The Christian faith, in stark contrast, interprets all events through the fixed reality of who God is and what He has revealed in His word. The storm, the snake, the survival, all of it is understood within the framework of a sovereign God working all things for the good of His people and the glory of His name.

Verse by Verse Commentary

1 And when they had been brought safely through to shore, then we learned that the island was called Malta.

The opening phrase, "brought safely through," is a deliberate echo of the promise of God through Paul in the previous chapter. This was not a lucky accident. This was a deliverance. Luke, the careful historian, notes the name of the island, Malta, a small but strategic point between Crete and Sicily. They were not just anywhere; they were somewhere on God's map, exactly where He intended them to be for the next chapter of His unfolding plan.

2 And the natives showed us extraordinary affection; for because of the rain that had set in and because of the cold, they kindled a fire and received us all.

The word translated "natives" is barbaroi in the Greek, from which we get "barbarians." It did not mean they were savages, but simply that they were non-Greek speakers. And these "barbarians" exhibit a level of kindness that often shames the supposedly civilized. They see 276 cold, wet, shipwrecked people, and their response is immediate and practical: they build a fire. This is common grace in action. God can stir the hearts of unbelievers to show kindness to His people, and He uses this "extraordinary affection" to preserve the lives of the survivors and set the stage for what is to come.

3 But when Paul had gathered a bundle of sticks and laid them on the fire, a viper came out because of the heat and fastened itself on his hand.

Here we see the apostle's character. Paul is not a man to stand by while others work. Though he is the spiritual leader, he gets down to the menial task of gathering firewood. And out of this humble act of service comes the great confrontation. A viper, driven from its torpor by the fire's heat, strikes and latches onto his hand. This is not a glancing blow; it "fastened itself" on him. In the ancient world, and especially in this region, such a snake was known to be deadly. This is the ancient enemy, the serpent, making his move. Just when it seems the danger of the sea is past, the danger of the land appears. Satan's opposition to the gospel mission is relentless.

4 And when the natives saw the creature hanging from his hand, they began saying to one another, “Undoubtedly this man is a murderer, and though he has been saved from the sea, Justice has not allowed him to live.”

The natives immediately put on their theologian hats. Their worldview has categories for this. They see a cause-and-effect relationship governed by an impersonal, moralistic force they call Justice (Dikē, the name of a Greek goddess). Their logic is simple: shipwreck is a form of judgment. Survival of shipwreck means he temporarily escaped. A snakebite is another form of judgment. Therefore, this man must be a particularly heinous criminal, a murderer, whom the universe is determined to kill. They are right that sin brings judgment, but their application is pure superstition. They know nothing of this man, but they pronounce a verdict with absolute certainty: "Undoubtedly this man is a murderer."

5 However he shook the creature off into the fire and suffered no harm.

Paul's reaction is beautifully understated. There is no panic, no crying out, no elaborate ceremony. He simply shakes the snake off into the fire. The action is dismissive. This lethal threat, this manifestation of the curse from Genesis 3, is treated as a minor nuisance. And then the key phrase: "and suffered no harm." This is not just good luck. This is a direct, miraculous fulfillment of the words of Jesus in Mark 16:18, that His followers "will pick up serpents with their hands." This is an apostolic sign, a demonstration that the servant of God has authority over the curse. The fire that warmed the survivors now consumes the serpent.

6 But they were waiting for him to soon swell up or suddenly fall down dead. But after they had waited a long time and had seen nothing unusual happen to him, changing their minds, they began to say that he was a god.

The natives are now spectators at a theological drama. They wait. They expect the venom to do its work. They are watching for the inevitable result of their theological premise. But nothing happens. Their system is broken. The man who should be dead is perfectly fine. Their response is not to question their entire system of thought, but simply to flip the conclusion. Their first verdict was "he is a murderer." Their second verdict is "he is a god." They swing from one blasphemous extreme to the other. First, he is sub-human, a criminal worthy of death. Now, he is super-human, a deity to be revered. This is the folly of paganism. It cannot comprehend a man who has a right relationship with the one true God. It only has categories for criminals and gods, never for a redeemed sinner who walks in the power of the Holy Spirit.

Application

This passage is a bucket of cold water for our modern, sanitized, and often cowardly Christianity. We are reminded, first, that the advance of the gospel is not hindered by chaos, but often thrives in it. Our God is the Lord of shipwrecks and snakebites. When our plans fall apart, when the storm hits, when the serpent strikes, our first thought should not be that God has abandoned us, but rather that He may be setting the stage for a demonstration of His power. We must learn to see the hand of His hard providence in our trials and trust that He is writing a better story than we could have written for ourselves.

Second, we must see the foolishness of the world's judgments. The world, like the Maltese natives, is constantly making theological pronouncements based on superficial evidence. When a Christian suffers, they say, "See, his God has failed him." When a Christian prospers, they are tempted to say, "He must be doing something right," which is just another form of works-righteousness. Or, like the natives at the end, they might be tempted to deify human success. We must be steadfast, refusing to be swayed by the world's vacillating verdicts. Our identity and security are not based on our circumstances, whether we are shipwrecked or safe, bitten or not, but on the finished work of Christ.

Finally, Paul's simple act of shaking off the snake is a picture of how we are to treat the accusations and assaults of the enemy. Through Christ, we have authority over the serpent. His venom, which is sin and death, has been rendered powerless against us. When temptation fastens itself to us, when accusations hang from our hand, we are not to panic or despair. By faith, we are to shake it off into the fire of God's judgment that fell on Christ, and suffer no ultimate harm. We are not murderers under a curse, nor are we gods. We are something far more wonderful: forgiven children of the King.