34 - For the Hope of Israel

Convinced that Paul was a Roman citizen by reason of his birth in Cilicia, the Procurator Felix placed him under guard in the courtyard of the palace of justice that Herod had built in Caesarea, and waited for his accusers to arrive from Jerusalem.

He also learned that Paul had gone to Jerusalem at the head of a delegation, bringing a great donation of funds for Jerusalem’s poor. Obviously, then, this man was of high importance in his sect. Possibly he was a man of wealth, or perhaps he had access to the wealth of others. He was a prisoner to be valued then, according to the means he could command for his ransom.

Ananias personally followed a few days later, along with a Sadducean interpreter of the law to prepare the indictment. It was quite unusual for the High Priest to involve himself in such a matter, but it became his personal ambition to see Paul condemned after the case was taken out of his hands.

Felix, a freed slave whose soul would forever remain slavish, was one of the worst rulers ever sent to Judea by Rome. Josephus called him “a man of unrestrained lusts, and extraordinarily cruel.” A non-Jew of the time said, “He was a freed slave of the Emperor Claudius, and carried out his master’s orders with slavish baseness.”

This was the man, loathed by the Jews for his persecutions, whom Ananias was willing to cower before. “Under your power,” said Ananias to Felix, “we have lived in peace, and have received many benefits. Each of us renders thanks to you, mighty Felix.”

Through his lawyer the High Priest requested that the Procurator release into his custody “the man who has introduced dissension and tumult among the Jews of all the world, the man who sought to desecrate the Temple, so that we may judge him according to our laws after Lysias the Tribune snatched him from among us.”

With the assurance that nothing could happen to him before he went to Rome, Paul stood before the Procurator and answered boldly, “In the way of the Nazarenes that they call heresy, and of which they accuse me of being the leader, I serve the God of my fathers, and my faith is everything that is written in the Torah and the prophets. And I cherish the same hope they cherish, that the dead will rise again in the resurrection, the just as well as the unjust. And when I stood before the Sanhedrin I said likewise. I am being persecuted now for the resurrection.”

Now it certainly wasn’t in Felix’ nature to release a prisoner of means without a handsome return. So he told the High Priest that the trial would be put off for some days, until he could obtain further details from the tribune, for this was a Roman citizen, and it would be proper for him to be judicious.

So Paul was turned over to a centurion, with instructions to afford the prisoner as wide a liberty as possible, and to permit his friends to have access to him at all times.

The centurion was answerable for the security of the prisoner with his head. Therefore, even though Paul was free to come and go, within certain limits, the officer had himself chained by his left hand to the right hand of his prisoner, so that he accompanied him everywhere, to his couch and to his meals. If he thought that his prisoner was a flight risk, the centurion was free to chain him to the wall.

When Paul saw that he would be chained to the guard, he resolved at once to win the man over, and perhaps even convert him to the faith.


Lying in his prison that night, side by side with his keeper, Paul suddenly started, tugged at his chain, and woke up his companion.

“What is it?” asked the centurion.

“I desire to pray to my God.”

“Now, in the middle of the night?” asked the astonished centurion. “Augustus’ temple is closed, and we have no images of gods here in the prison to kneel before.”

“The temple of my God is never closed,” answered Paul. “He doesn’t live in a house made by human hands. He lives in my heart. We don’t see him with the eyes of flesh, but we see and feel Him at all times in our hearts. He alone guides our actions.”

“Ah, yes, the invisible Jewish God.”

“No, sir, he is not only the Jewish God. He is your God, and my God, and the God of all men. For we all come from Him and we are all created in His image.”

“How can that be when I’ve never brought him an offering?”

“Before you knew Him, He had already chosen you. He chose you and won you by His love for you.”

“What love can He have for me, a stranger who doesn’t know him, and has never brought him an offering?”

“No man is a stranger to my God. And God doesn’t give His love in exchange for offerings. God gives His love freely because we are His children.”

And Paul, sitting in the darkness, chained to his keeper, told him of Jesus Christ, of his death, which he took on himself of his own free will so that all men, including this “stranger,” might be redeemed from sin, and brought to eternal life in God’s Kingdom.

The centurion had heard about this Jesus and knew people, Greeks as well as Jews, who believed in “the Son of God.” But Paul explained it in a way that went straight to the Roman’s heart. They talked through the night, and before dawn, Paul’s keeper accepted this faith that promised rest for his soul.


Prison walls didn’t keep Paul from continuing his work. The delegates from the provinces came to Caesarea to comfort him, although in reality, it was he who strengthened them. He asked them to return to their native cities and make the foundations of the faith firmer. He did keep Luke with him, who was now completely absorbed in his writing of the record, and of the account of “things as they happened in truth.” Aristarchus of Thessalonica also insisted on staying to minister to the apostle.

There are certain people who have no light of their own, but who can be flooded with light from without. Aristarchus was such a man. From the moment he met Paul, he was filled with a sacred awe for the apostle’s work, and was willing to offer himself up in unreflecting sacrifice to the teacher. Aristarchus was a man of subtle intuitions, sensitive to Paul’s unspoken needs. He would stand at the prison gates all day begging the soldiers to let him in until they relented. He became not only Paul’s servant, but also his messenger to the believers in Caesarea. Paul often found himself deriving new strength from the presence of this simple man whose shining eyes reflected the light of an unquenchable faith. It was as if his work shone more steadily in the eyes of his servant than in his own heart, making a constant light in the cell.

Among the Jews of Caesarea the Christians were especially numerous, and there was a great spirit of love and devotion among them. They did all they could to lighten the burden of Paul’s imprisonment. Phillip’s daughters prepared kosher meals that Aristarchus brought to him. Paul’s friends visited, as much as Felix allowed. They came not only to serve him, but to ask his counsel on the affairs of the congregation. From his place in prison, Paul sent messengers out to various communities, in response to their questions. This way he spread the faith in prison just as he had in freedom.

The centurion he won over even let him leave the prison occasionally, in the company of a guard, to attend the common meals at Phillip’s house. But Paul took advantage of this privilege sparingly, so as not to imperil the centurion’s life.


Felix’s Jewish wife Drusilla had been brought up strictly in the faith, for her mother was under the influence of Rabban Gamaliel, who often visited the palace of her father, King Agrippa the First. Her father had betrothed her to an obscure Asian prince, whose faith she’d also accepted. But Felix had stolen her heart, and now she was living with this Gentile, when she was really the wife of another. Her conscience weighed on her heavily, and the touch of Hasmonean blood in her veins, of which she was inordinately proud, gave her mind no rest.

Felix often had Paul brought to his own palace, the luxurious building of white marble Herod had constructed. Drusilla loved to hear the apostle speak of the hope of her people and of the dream that had become reality.

Yet whenever the apostle confronted her, she felt his glance pierce the secret place of her heart, uncovering her regret and shame. And as if to sting deeper, Paul spoke of the righteousness, purity, and modesty that faith in Christ imposed on all people, all things she had transgressed against. How much righteousness was there in her husband’s conduct of state affairs? How much purity and modesty was there in their common life?

As she listened to the apostle, her face became pale, and her eyes fell. Her heart hammered within her. The apostle sat before her like a prophet revealing her hidden thoughts. She was seized with dread when Paul spoke of the last day, when Christ himself would ascend the throne of judgment, and every soul would be called to account.

And the dread in Drusilla’s heart touched an answering chord in the heart of her husband. But it wasn’t Christ that Felix was thinking about. He dreaded the day when he’d be called to account for his misdeeds before Caesar in Rome.

Sometimes at night, Drusilla would dream about Judgment Day and wake up screaming. Her husband trembled, too, thinking of the complaints that poured into Rome from the Jews, Samaritans, and other people. But the guilt feeling would only cause him to stop in the middle of a conversation with Paul without allowing him to finish.

“I have no more time now,” he would say, a bit hastily. “Perhaps another day.”

In spite of Felix’s conscience, or perhaps because of it, he would have turned Paul over to the High Priest a long time ago were it not for the thought of possibly squeezing a bag of gold from the apostle. He was tired of the man’s presence, but he always heard the ringing of gold dinars behind the reproachful words. So days and months went by until two years had passed.

Then Felix was indeed called to Rome to give an account of his stewardship.

Festus, who was a more typical representative of Roman legalism, replaced him. For Festus only the law existed. No feelings, no opinions of his own, ever intruded on his literal understanding of the law. His body was as inflexible as his spirit, a bronze image, polished and adorned in a silver breastplate and a row of glass medals.

Festus’ first act as procurator was to visit Jerusalem, the capital, and to receive a deputation of representatives from the Jews, headed by the High Priest. Among other things, the High Priest presented a petition demanding that Paul be finally released to him for judgment according to Jewish law. During the two years of Paul’s confinement the High Priest’s servants had accumulated statements from several hundred witnesses about his illegal activities. But Festus, a true Roman official, would not deliver up a man, especially a Roman citizen, without having heard both sides of the story. So he told the High Priest to come to Caesarea, where he would hear both the accusers and the accused.

In Caesarea, Festus called for an open trial. He took his place on the judgment seat, and had Paul brought in. The representatives of the High Priest presented many witnesses to make their charge.

Paul simply answered, “I have transgressed neither against the law of the Jews, nor against the Temple, nor against Caesar.”

Festus’ duty as Rome’s representative was to follow the law of the land. This included assisting the High Priest in carrying out the judgment of the Jewish court, but it was the latter’s business to judge cases of transgression against the Jewish faith. Since it was evident that this was a strictly Jewish affair, Festus really only had one option.

He addressed Paul, “Will you go to Jerusalem and be judged there before me?”

Paul was silent for a while. A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind. Christ had assured him that nothing could happen to him in Jerusalem before he went to Rome. The Pharisees saved him at the first trial and would try to save him again at the second. And he worried about the possible riots that could ensue if he went to Jerusalem, was found guilty, and escaped the ultimate punishment.

So Paul decided to avoid the Jewish court and deliver himself into the hands of Rome. True, he’d always been reluctant to use his Roman citizenship, and had even reproved the Corinthians for submitting their disputes to other than Christian courts. But in this case he decided that he would rather put his head into the lion’s mouth with no assurance from Christ as to what would ultimately happen to him in Rome.

So he answered clearly, “I have done no wrong to the Jews. If I have done anything worthy of death I am ready to die. I appeal to Caesar!”

There was silence in the judgment hall. The prisoner had decided his own fate. Festus and his legal expert whispered together. A citizen of Rome had called on Caesar’s name, and no one could try him now except Caesar himself.

Festus answered, “You have appealed to Caesar, to Caesar you will go.”

* * * * *

To a fanfare of trumpets, a parade of legionaries, and a floating sea of banners, King Agrippa, of Galilee, Perea, Caesarea Philippi and other provinces, approaches the audience chamber of the palace. Dressed in the white silver-threaded robe of royalty, his tiara on his head, he is accompanied by his sister Bernice and a great suite of attendants.

Bernice is no less famous than her brother. Formerly Queen of Chalcis, and still Queen of Cilicia, she is famous for both her beauty and her wealth. Her dazzling white skin shines through the thin veils of black that she wears because of her Nazarite vows. Poets in Jerusalem, Alexandria, and Rome have sung of her flaming, golden hair that cascades over her veils. Her throat is straight and slender like a column of alabaster, and she walks with swaying, rhythmic steps that bring out the suppleness of her young body. She approaches the judgment throne on her brother’s arm between two lines of legionaries and officials, and takes her place by the side of the judge. It’s as if a goddess has come down from an Athenian temple to mingle with men of flesh and blood.

The princess is in the flower of her womanhood, being barely thirty years old. She’s already buried two husbands, one of whom was her uncle, King Herod of Chalcis. It’s also been rumored that there is more than just natural affection between this brother and sister. It’s said that the King gave her in marriage to King Palema of Cilicia to silence these rumors. It seems that in order to win her, the unhappy Gentile had himself circumcised, but he’d barely carried out the operation when Bernice left him and returned to her brother, reckless of the opportunity this would give for the repetition and strengthening of the slanderous rumors concerning her relationship with her brother.

Having been brought up in the highest Roman society and endowed with a deep understanding of beauty in literature and art, Bernice couldn’t trade her cultured brother’s company even for the crown of the rich province of Cilicia. She lived in her brother’s palace and shared his royal functions. So it was now that she came with Agrippa to the palace in Caesarea.

The King was on Paul’s side even before he spoke a word. Just the fact that the High Priest was the accuser made Paul innocent in his eyes. There was a bitter struggle between King and Priest, who were jealous of each other’s powers. It was for this reason that Agrippa expressed the wish to hear Paul in person after learning of the case.

This was an opportunity Paul had long dreamed of, for he had no less desire to speak to the mighty than he had to speak to the poor and enslaved. As an outsider to the hatred that Roman oppression inspired in the Jews of Palestine, he never had a problem preaching the gospel to officials or military men in the cities of the Diaspora. But it wasn’t even a question here of trying to win a Gentile. This was Agrippa the Jew he was about to talk to, and in the language of the Jews, the language of promise and hope, of the resurrection, Christ, the Torah, and the prophets.

“And especially because you are expert in the problems and customs of the Jews, I ask for your patient hearing.”

Then Paul began the story of his life, from its first days in Jerusalem. He told of his persecution of Christians in Jerusalem, how he went to Damascus for the same purpose, and how he was intercepted by the vision. He told of the voice that asked him in Hebrew, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” Then followed the story of his conversion, how he who had been a persecutor became an advocate of the hope of Israel.

“And here I stand until this day, and testify before great and small, and I say nothing but what was said by Moses and the prophets, that Christ would suffer and be the first to rise from the dead, and he would be a light to Israel and to the Gentiles.”

A savior of Israel who should be a light to Jew and Gentile? Who ever heard of such a thing? This was too much for Festus and, forgetting his dignity, he burst into a snort of laughter and cried, “Paul! You are mad! Much learning has made you mad.”

“No, most noble Festus, I am not mad. . . . The king knows of what I speak. . . . King Agrippa, do you believe the prophets? I know you believe.”

Agrippa was listening attentively. He was much too much the Roman aristocrat to ever entertain any hopes for the independence of his people, and his Herodian heritage placed him on too high a level to sympathize with the nationalist longings of the Jews. The best he could do was to occasionally risk the displeasure of Caesar by pleading their cause against the decree of some high Roman official. Encouragement of the national dream of independence would be outright rebellion. However, he was not indifferent to those Messianic hopes and traditions Paul now touched on. Something awakened in him, and he had to call on his courtly training to sound as if he were on Festus’ side rather than Paul’s so as not to betray his emotions in his answer.

And so with a good natured smile, he spoke half kindly and half ironically, “Paul, you almost persuade me to become a Christian.”

Bernice, the daughter of a pious mother, was even more deeply touched by Paul’s words than Agrippa. She often took some Nazarite vow or other in remorse that followed a sin, to diminish the luxuriousness of her life. She was sometimes seen entering the Temple to bring an offering. She loved her people more than her brother, and she had a deeper insight into its spiritual being and its moral values. She often talked of these things with her learned protégés. Paul’s words made her uncomfortable now. Her lovely blue eyes were flooded with a strange light, and her breath came and went restlessly.

Paul could see immediately the effect he produced on the royal pair. He answered Agrippa’s words in a similar tone, “I would to God that not only you, but all who hear me, might be even as I am. Except for these chains.” And he raised his bound hands.


A little later the royal pair stood with Festus in a corner of the hall, consulting as to what they could do for the prisoner. Agrippa would have gladly taken Paul under his protection and rescued him from the High Priest. What a blow that would’ve been for the House of Annas!

“The man has done nothing whatsoever that calls for death or even chains,” he said with a sigh. “He should even now be set free, if he hadn’t appealed to Caesar.”

But the appeal to Caesar had been made, and there was nothing that could be done. Paul would be sent to the place he desired to go – to Rome!