And the jailor being awakened out of his sleep, and seeing the doors of the prison opened, having drawn a sword was going to kill himself, thinking the prisoners had fled.
At midnight an earthquake throws the prison at Philippi open, and the jailer wakes to see every door standing wide. His first thought is not escape but suicide — so what was he afraid of, and why did God let him come that close to the edge?
His reaction looks extreme until you know the law he lived under, and the habit of the city he lived in.
The jailer wakes up. He realises the doors are open. In a minute he says to himself, "They are all gone; my life is forfeited." He draws his sword, and is about to commit suicide. He knows they will take his life in the morning, for that was the Roman law. If a jailer allowed a prisoner to escape, he had to forfeit his life for the man he had let go. Historians tell us that Philippi was the most remarkable place for suicides. It was quite the fashion, and this poor man was about to launch himself into eternity.
Notice where his mind runs first: to the authorities and what they will do to him. The shock woke him without changing him.
His reaction proves very plainly that the earthquake, and everything that came with it, had not touched his heart. He naturally supposed, when he saw the doors open, that the prisoners were all gone. He could not imagine many prisoners sitting still in jail with the doors open and their chains loose. And then what was to become of him if the prisoners were gone? How could he face the authorities? Impossible. Anything but that. Death, even by his own hand, was preferable to that.
Commentators differ on how far the earthquake reached. Another writer sees the man's conscience owning God's hand, and then his mind sliding to the worst conclusion:
He awoke out of sleep; his conscience owned it as God's dealing. His first feeling was despair and self-destruction. His heart sank and terror filled his mind. His imagination drew the most hopeless conclusion, and Satan's last effort with him was the foul suggestion, "Kill yourself."
The whole crisis rests on a mistake: the prisoners had not gone. The open door looked like God's own invitation to Paul, and he still refused it.
Suppose Paul had not been in full communion with the mind and heart of Christ. He would surely have turned to Silas and said, "Now is the moment for us to escape. God has clearly appeared for us and set an open door before us. If there was ever an opening of divine providence, surely this is one." But no; Paul knew better. He was in the full current of his blessed Master's thoughts, and in full sympathy with his Master's heart. So he made no move to escape. The claims of truth had brought him into prison; the activities of grace kept him there. Providence opened the door; but faith refused to walk out. People talk of being guided by providence; but if Paul had been guided that way, the jailer would never have been a jewel in his crown.
The same God who sent the earthquake could have turned that power against the man who chained His servants' feet. He did not.
God's power is unlimited, both in mercy and in judgment. In this case He would show it in grace. He who struck Saul with blindness and brought him to the Saviour's feet could also bring the jailer there. That all-powerful arm might justly have lifted the sword of vengeance. It could have pierced the heart of the man who dared to chain the feet of His dear servants, and hurled him at once to the pit of eternal destruction. But mercy triumphed over judgment.
How close he came is part of the story — and not only his story.
He was that near to eternal ruin. How often it has happened in the history of souls that they came to the utmost extremity just as grace was about to appear for them.
- Fear: Roman law made his life answer for any escaped prisoner, so open doors meant a death sentence.
- Hardness: An earthquake can shake a prison and leave a heart untouched. His first thought was the authorities, not God.
- Assumption: His despair rested on a lie. The prisoners had not fled, because faith refused to use the open door.
- Mercy: The same power that could have struck down the man who chained God's servants saved him instead.
- Timing: God often brings a soul to the very end of itself just as grace is about to appear.
But Paul called out with a loud voice, saying, Do thyself no harm, for we are all here.
A prison shaken open, a keeper with a drawn sword, and a voice calling out of the dark — this is the moment the Philippian jailer's life turns. Two questions arise: why had none of the prisoners run, and why would Paul care whether his jailer lived?
Roman law stood behind the drawn sword. Behind the sword stood eternity.
Under Roman law, letting a prisoner escape meant death. He knew that death stared him in the face. He was about to send his own soul into eternity by killing himself. Then Paul cried with a loud voice, "Do not harm yourself, for we are all here." These words saved him from physical death. But a far deeper question now troubled him. With the drawn sword in his hand he had stood on the very edge of eternity. His sleeping soul had woken up to its desperate need.
The doors stood open, yet Paul could still say "we are all here."
Here a deeper purpose was in hand, and a great earthquake announced it. Paul and Silas had been praying to God in hymns, and they stayed in the prison to declare His wonderful works. Yes, these other men would naturally have wanted most of all to escape and go back to their lawless life. Yet they were so overawed that not one moved from the opened prison. It was the God of all grace who answered the prayers and praises of His prisoners. He knew how to control the wicked, and He was guiding His servants for His glory.
How did Paul know what the jailer was about to do? Commentators point to knowledge that did not come from sight.
Paul, we should notice, was not in the same room as the jailer. So he could not have seen that the man was about to kill himself. But in some way — God taught him — he saw the trap Satan was laying for this poor soul. He cried with a loud voice, "Do not harm yourself, for we are all here." The jailer was snatched first from death, and what had happened marked his soul so deeply that he saw more than a human hand in it.
The earthquake woke the man. Something else got past his hardness, and it came from the prisoner he had mistreated.
But notice how beautifully the grace of God stepped in. He heard the voice of God's servant, the man he had treated so harshly a few hours before, saying, "Do not harm yourself, for we are all here." See the effect on this man. The earthquake woke him out of his sleep. Yet I do not think it was the earthquake that touched his conscience. It was this: he heard a man he had treated so brutally, only hours before, calling to him in the most tender, loving way, and stopping him from taking his own life, which he would otherwise have done. Is that not a lovely word for every sinner, "Do not harm yourself"? How many are harming themselves, fighting against God, fighting against the truth, refusing to bow to Jesus.
What Paul did not say to the jailer matters as much as what he said.
And notice, Paul did not speak one syllable of reproach to the jailer, or even of criticism. This was Christ-like. It was the way of divine grace. If we look through the Gospels, we never find the Lord throwing reproach at the sinner. He has tears of sorrow; He has touching words of grace and tenderness. But no reproaches — no criticism — not one hard word for the poor distressed sinner.
The same night held a song of praise and a shout to a desperate man. One writer calls both of them priestly work.
They had something better — "the excellencies of Him who called them out of darkness into His marvellous light." And where do these excellencies shine out? In those touching words spoken to the jailer, "Do not harm yourself." These were the words of a royal priest, just as the song of praise was the voice of a holy priest. Thank God for both! The voices of the holy priests went straight up to the throne of God and did their work there. The words of the royal priests went straight to the jailer's hard heart and did their work there.
- Sword — Roman law made a jailer pay with his life for escaped prisoners. The open doors looked like his own death sentence.
- Restraint — Every door stood open, yet not one prisoner moved. The God who answered the singing also held the lawless still.
- Voice — The earthquake woke him, but the voice reached his conscience. Paul could not see him, yet he knew.
- Kindness — The words came from the man he had mistreated hours earlier, and carried no reproach. That is the way of divine grace.
- Question — Rescue from death left him facing a deeper question. His sleeping soul had woken to its desperate need.