And when it was day, the praetors sent the lictors, saying, Let those men go.
The night before had ended with an earthquake and a jailer brought to faith. Paul and Silas were still locked in the prison at Philippi. At daybreak the same officials who ordered the beating send word to let them go — with no explanation and no apology.
The men sent with the order were not ordinary messengers. Their Greek title names the rod they carried.
Rhabdouchos literally means "one who carried a rod." He was a junior Roman officer who attended the magistrates to carry out their orders. Another name for him was lictor. Acts 16:35, 38. These men carried a bundle of rods with an axe in the centre.
Philippi was a Roman colony, and its Roman offices show through the words translators chose. Other versions call the magistrates "praetors" and the police "serjeants."
Another mark of a Roman colony appears here: the praetors employed lictors as their subordinates. The vague name "serjeants" hides who these men were, just as "magistrates" hides the higher officials.
The trouble had died down overnight. That calm shaped what the magistrates did next.
Now that everything was calm, the magistrates tried, in the wisdom of the world, to let the affair blow over in silence. But when God works and shows Himself, He makes it plain that He has rights in this world.
Another writer ties the daybreak order to the work already finished inside the prison.
The work in the prison is done, and now the prison doors can hold them no longer. When day came, the magistrates sent the lictors with a curt message: "Let those men go." But Paul wants no avoidable reproach left on the testimony. He refuses to be dismissed this way. The magistrates had wronged these men in public without ever condemning them.
The wrong had been done in the open. Paul refused a quiet release — not for his own comfort, but for the good name of the gospel.
But now that they had endured all this, it was fitting to prove the truth. Paul and Silas were not evildoers, justly punished with scourging, prison and the stocks. The guilty ones were the guardians of the law. Their injustice against the preachers of the gospel was open, obvious and inexcusable. The time came when the praetors sent to let them go...
Paul said nothing while the rods fell on him. Now he refuses to stay quiet.
The angry, crowd-pleasing surrender to unjust shouting had now passed away. The next morning came word to dismiss the abused prisoners of the day before. The jailer naturally repeated his orders, no doubt glad to release them. But Paul was now as firm for the vindication of the gospel as he and his companion had earlier been meek under their lawless violence. He stood in a dignified way for the law too, which these men were administering so unworthily. If there is a time to keep silent, there is a time to speak. The Spirit alone can guide us as to which. The word alone is enough, since it warrants both, each in its right season.
Paul pressed for vindication, and not one step further.
The preachers of grace were certainly not going to swerve from grace, least of all now that the truth was clear. They had no wish to dishonour any human institution. They wanted the opposite — to be examples of submission to it for the Lord's sake, the very submission they urged so plainly on others. They were easily persuaded, having never thought of a prosecution.
Commentators differ on Paul's appeal to his Roman citizenship.
Paul refused to accept this. But by standing on his rights as a Roman citizen, did he hold to the truth of his heavenly calling? Was he still at the spiritual level of the night before, when he and Silas prayed and sang praises to God? That may be questioned... He did not plead his citizenship to save himself from scourging and imprisonment, but only to expose the injustice of the magistrates.
Another writer judges this occasion right, while pointing to a later use of the same plea:
At Philippi he was right; but his use of the plea that he was a Roman sent him to Rome.
- Public wrong. The wrong was done in the open. A quiet release could never correct a public record.
- Public silence. Under the rods Paul said nothing. The Spirit gives the season for silence and the season for speech.
- Public speech. He refused a whispered dismissal so that no avoidable reproach would stick to the gospel.
- Public reversal. The men who tried to let the affair fade in silence ran into a God who has rights in this world.
- Public grace. Paul never thought of a prosecution. He wanted a cleared name, not revenge.
And the jailor reported these words to Paul The praetors have sent that ye may be let go. Now therefore go out and depart in peace.
The morning after the earthquake, the man who had bolted Paul and Silas into the inner prison comes to them with a release order and a blessing. His message raises two questions. What freedom were the magistrates offering, and why did Paul refuse it?
The man carrying this message had been changed hours before. One writer notes whose words he borrows as he sends them off.
The next morning the magistrates sent word to him: "Let those men go." So he came and said to Paul, "The magistrates have sent to let you go. Therefore come out now and go in peace." What a change between the way he received the Lord's servants and the way he sent them away! A wonderful change comes over a man when he receives the gospel. The jailer knew it well as he said "Go in peace" — the very words his Lord and Saviour had often used to others.
The two ranks named in the verse are Roman. One commentator says the familiar English words hide what they were.
Here is another sign of a Roman colony: the praetors used lictors as their junior officers. The vague English word "serjeants" hides who the lictors were, just as the word "magistrates" hides the higher officials, the praetors.
The order came with no reason given. One account suggests what had disturbed the magistrates, and why Roman citizenship carried such weight.
News of the earthquake may have reached them, or news that Paul and Silas were Romans. As soon as it was day, they sent word to the jailer to "let those men go." He told Paul and Silas the order at once, and wanted them to leave in peace. But Paul refused to accept his freedom without some public admission of the wrong he had suffered… The famous words of Cicero had become a proverb, and they carried great weight everywhere: "To bind a Roman citizen is an outrage, to flog him is a crime."
The jailer's news sounds good. Paul weighs it against the reproach the public beating left on the message he preached.
When day came, the magistrates sent the lictors with a curt message: "Let those men go." But Paul wants no avoidable reproach left on the testimony. He will not slip away like this after such a public wrong done to men whom no court had condemned.
The night before, these two men had taken a public flogging without a word of protest. Now they speak. One commentator sees both responses as coming from the same guidance.
The jailer passed the order on, no doubt glad to release them. But Paul was now just as firm, in a dignified way, in defending the gospel — and even the law, which these men administered so unworthily — as he and his companion had been before, when they bore their lawless violence with uncomplaining meekness. If there is a time to keep silent, there is a time to speak. The Spirit alone can guide us as to which, and for that the word is enough, since it warrants both, each in its due season.
Not everyone reads Paul's response as his finest moment. One writer leaves the question open, and notes the limit Paul set on his own claim.
Paul refused to accept this. But we may ask whether he held to the truth of his heavenly calling when he took the ground of a Roman citizen, or whether he stood as high spiritually as he had the night before, when he and Silas prayed and sang praises to God. Either way, notice this: he did not plead his citizenship to save himself from flogging and prison. He pleaded it only to expose the injustice of the magistrates.
Seen from a distance, the riot served ends the men who started it never intended.
But God uses all of this to direct the progress of His own work and to give it the shape He pleases. The jailer is to be converted, and the magistrates themselves are to confess the wrong they did to the messengers of God. The church is gathered out — a flock full of love and affection, as the letter later written to them shows… The magistrates have to come and plead with Paul. That is the result of the riot. The enemy was mistaken here.
- Peace received. The jailer received peace in the night. By morning he is passing it on, using the very words his Saviour had often used to others.
- Peace announced. The order he carries is Roman: praetors sending word through lictors. English softens their titles into "magistrates" and "serjeants".
- Peace refused. Paul will not slip away quietly. He wants no reproach left on the testimony after a public wrong done to men no court had condemned.
- Peace and speech. Silence under the rods and firmness the next morning come from the same guidance. There is a time to keep silent and a time to speak.
- Peace that spreads. Commentators differ on whether Paul was at his highest ground here. The outcome stands: a jailer converted, magistrates owning their fault, and a church gathered out.
But Paul said to them, Having beaten us publicly uncondemned, us who are Romans, they have cast us into prison, and now they thrust us out secretly? no, indeed, but let them come themselves and bring us out.
The magistrates beat Paul and Silas without a trial, jailed them overnight, then sent word to let them go quietly. Paul refused those terms: the men who punished him had broken the law themselves, and he asked them to undo the wrong in public.
The word "uncondemned" means punished before any verdict. That one word turned the case against the men who gave the order.
They came with a command from their superiors to let the prisoners go. In their zeal for the law those magistrates had ordered a beating and a prison cell. Now they were to learn that they were the law-breakers. They had beaten two men who held the right of Roman citizenship, and had done it without a verdict. The Romans guarded that right closely, and breaking it was no light matter for the offender. The magistrates had thereby laid themselves open to prosecution. So, at the mercy of their victims, they now cringed before them.
A famous saying of the day shows how strong his case was.
The famous words of Cicero had passed into a proverb, and carried immense weight everywhere: "To bind a Roman citizen is an outrage, to scourge him is a crime." The magistrates had plainly broken the Roman laws. But Paul demanded only one thing. They had treated him and Silas as guilty in public, so they must come and declare them innocent in public.
Paul said nothing about his citizenship while they beat him. What changed the next morning was not his temper but the timing.
Earlier Paul and his companion had borne their lawless violence in uncomplaining meekness. Now Paul was just as firm, in a dignified way, in defending the gospel — and even the law, which these men administered so unworthily. If there is a time to keep silent, there is a time to speak; and the Spirit alone can guide as to either.
Paul was not asking for punishment. He wanted the record clear about who had done wrong.
It was right that the truth should be shown. Paul and Silas were not evildoers who deserved the beating, the prison and the stocks. The guardians of the law were the guilty ones, and their wrong against the preachers of the gospel was blatant, obvious and inexcusable… Yet there was no sign of resentment in Paul, and no wish to hurt these men or to squeeze anything out of them. They now lay completely in the power of the two men they had injured for no reason.
The magistrates shamed the two men in public, so Paul asked for a public clearing. Commentators differ over whether claiming Roman rights suited his heavenly calling.
One thing more remained to be done. God's servants had been publicly shamed and unjustly condemned, and God would have them publicly cleared… It is a fair question whether Paul, in taking the ground of a Roman citizen, kept true to his heavenly calling. Either way, notice that he did not plead his citizenship to save himself from the beating and the prison. He pleaded it only to expose the injustice of the magistrates.
Paul claimed his Roman rights on another occasion too, and the result was very different.
When Paul tried to use his rights as a Roman to stop injustice, he lost his liberty and went to Rome as a prisoner, even though the Lord was directing everything. But here he did not try to stop the injustice. He submitted to it. He used the right only afterwards, when the question was the innocence of the gospel and of its conduct, and when it turned out that the magistrates, and not he, were in the wrong.
The uproar at Philippi did not stop God's work. It shaped it.
But God makes use of all this to direct the progress of His own work, and give it the form He pleases. The jailer is to be converted, and the magistrates themselves are to confess the wrong they did to the messengers of God. God gathers out an assembly there, a flock full of love and affection… The magistrates have to come and plead with Paul. Such is the result of the tumult. The enemy was mistaken here.
When they came, Paul did not press his advantage.
Their fear drove them to beg Paul and Silas not only to leave the prison, but the city. It is good to see that Paul and Silas were not at all defiant, but went along with it, as true servants of God.
- Wrong — The magistrates beat and jailed two men without a verdict. They broke the very Roman law they were meant to enforce.
- Silence — Paul said nothing about his citizenship while they beat him. He bore it without a word of complaint.
- Speech — There is a time to keep silent and a time to speak. He spoke the next morning, not to escape pain, but to expose the injustice.
- Public — The shame was public, so the clearing had to be public. No quiet dismissal — the magistrates had to come themselves.
- Result — The officials came and pleaded, the gospel stood clear of the charge, and Paul and Silas left the city without defiance.
And the lictors reported these words to the praetors. And they were afraid when they heard they were Romans.
The morning after the earthquake, the officers carry Paul's protest back to the magistrates. One sentence changes everything: the two men they had flogged without trial were Roman citizens.
The men carrying the message were not clerks. The word translated "police" names a specific Roman office:
The word literally means "one who carried a rod." This was a junior Roman officer who attended the magistrates to carry out their orders. He was also called a lictor. Acts 16:35, 38. These officers carried a bundle of rods with an axe in the centre.
The men who had used the rods now had to carry back the news that the beating broke the law.
Fear here is not vague nervousness. It is the fear of men who now see themselves on the wrong side of the law they administer:
In zeal for the law those magistrates had inflicted corporal punishment and imprisonment. Now they were to learn that they were the law-breakers. They had beaten two men without trial, and those men held the right of Roman citizenship. The Romans guarded that right closely, and to act against it was no light matter for the offender. The magistrates had laid themselves open to prosecution. So, at the mercy of their victims, they now cringed before them.
The positions of the previous day are now reversed. One writer draws out what that meant for the two prisoners:
The lictors bring back Paul's words to the magistrates. When they heard that the men they had made suffer were Romans, they could not hide their fear. They came and begged their prisoners. It was a humiliation for them, and just as clearly a triumph for the men entrusted with God's gospel. These men had suffered only as Christians, with the Spirit of glory and of God resting on them.
One writer sees God's purpose behind Paul's refusal of the magistrates' message:
They had been publicly put to shame and unjustly condemned. God would have His servants just as publicly vindicated. In the morning the magistrates sent a message to release the apostles. Paul refused to accept it.
Paul could have said "Romans" before the first blow fell. He said nothing then and spoke now. The same writer treats that timing as a matter of guidance:
Earlier Paul and his companion had borne their lawless violence with uncomplaining meekness. Paul was now just as firm, in a dignified way, for the vindication of the gospel — and even of the law, which these men administered so badly. If there is a time to keep silent, there is a time to speak. The Spirit alone can guide as to either. The word alone is enough for this, for it warrants both, each in its due season.
Paul did not use his citizenship to dodge pain. He raised it only when the issue became the innocence of the gospel and the guilt of the officials:
Here he did not try to stop the injustice; he submitted. He used this right only afterwards. By then the question was the innocence of the gospel and of its conduct, and it had turned out that the magistrates, and not he, were in the wrong.
Commentators differ on whether Paul was at his best here. One writer raises the question openly while agreeing about what the claim was for:
Did he hold to the truth of his heavenly calling when he took the ground of a Roman citizen? Was he still at the spiritual level of the previous night, when he and Silas prayed and sang praises to God? Both may be questioned. Either way, notice this: he did not plead his citizenship to protect himself from flogging and prison. He pleaded it only to expose the injustice of the magistrates.
The magistrates were now open to prosecution and at Paul's mercy. Nothing came of it:
The preachers of grace were not inclined to turn away from grace, least of all now that the truth was clear. Nor had they any wish to dishonour any human institution. They wanted rather to be patterns of that submission themselves, for the Lord's sake — the very submission they were so well known for urging on others. They were easily persuaded, having never thought of a prosecution.
- Rods — The messengers were lictors, the officers who had used the rods on Paul the day before. The same men now carried his protest back.
- Fear — The word "Romans" showed the magistrates who the real law-breakers were. They had beaten citizens without trial, and now faced prosecution themselves.
- Silence — Paul bore the beating without a word. Scripture warrants both silence and speech, and the Spirit shows which season calls for which.
- Vindication — Paul never claimed citizenship to escape suffering. He raised it to clear the gospel's name once the wrong was plain, though commentators differ on whether he was at his best in raising it.
- Grace — The two men held every legal advantage and pressed no charges. They chose instead to model the submission they preached.
And they came and besought them, and having brought them out, asked them to go out of the city.
The morning after the earthquake, the officials who had Paul and Silas beaten want the matter dropped without fuss. Instead they end up at the prison door themselves. This verse shows what their fear produced: an apology, an escort out of the cell, and a plea that the two men leave town.
Their alarm was legal. The men who had handed out the punishment now learned which side of the law they were on.
In their zeal for the law, those magistrates had beaten the men and put them in prison. Now they were to learn that they themselves were the law-breakers. They had flogged two men who held Roman citizenship, and had never even tried them. The Romans guarded that right jealously, and breaking it was no light matter for the offender. So the magistrates had left themselves open to prosecution. Now they were at the mercy of their victims. They cringed before them and, as Paul had insisted, came in person, brought them out of the prison, and asked them to leave the city.
He did not ask for damages or punishment. He asked that the wrong done in public be undone in public.
The famous words of Cicero had become a proverb, and they carried immense weight everywhere: "To bind a Roman citizen is an outrage, to flog him is a crime." The magistrates had clearly broken the Roman laws. Yet Paul demanded only one thing. They had publicly treated him and Silas as guilty, so they must now come and publicly declare them innocent. They did this willingly, seeing what wrong they had done.
These men had taken the flogging in silence. Now they spoke up, and both responses had their place.
Earlier Paul and his companion had borne their lawless violence with quiet, uncomplaining meekness. Now Paul stood just as firm, in a dignified way, to clear the name of the gospel — and even of the law, which these men administered so unworthily. If there is a time to keep silent, there is a time to speak; and the Spirit alone can guide as to either.
The scene turns around. The men in authority now come to the prisoners and plead with them.
The officers bring Paul's words back to the magistrates. When they heard that the men they had punished were Romans, they could not hide their fear. They came and begged their prisoners. It was a humiliation for them, and just as clearly a triumph for the men entrusted with God's gospel. These men had suffered only as Christians, with the Spirit of glory and of God resting on them.
Paul refused a quiet exit. He was thinking of the reputation of the work he was leaving behind in Philippi.
Paul is concerned that no avoidable reproach should be left on the testimony. He will not let them dismiss him like this after the public wrong done to men who were never tried.
They had made their point and took it no further. They agreed to leave.
The preachers of grace were certainly not likely to turn away from grace, least of all now that the truth was clear. They had no wish to dishonour any human institution. They wanted to be examples of the very submission to it, for the Lord's sake, which they so plainly urged on others. They were easily persuaded, for they had never thought of a prosecution.
Another writer draws out the same restraint in their reply to being shown the door: the men asked to leave did not stand on their rights a second time.
Their fear drove them to beg Paul and Silas to leave not only the prison but the city. It is good to see that Paul and Silas were not at all defiant, but submitted to this urging, as true servants of God.
Not every writer treats Paul's use of his citizenship as beyond question.
Paul refused to accept this. He now stood on his rights as a Roman citizen. Did that hold to the truth of his heavenly calling? Was he still on the spiritual level of the previous night, when he and Silas prayed and sang praises to God? Both may be questioned. Either way, notice this: he did not plead his citizenship to save himself from flogging and prison, but only to expose the injustice of the magistrates.
- Fear. The magistrates learned that they, not their prisoners, had broken the law.
- Reversal. Their fear drove them to the prison door in person. It humbled them, and it was an open triumph for the message they had tried to silence.
- Motive. Paul sought no damages. He asked only that men shamed in public be cleared in public, so no needless reproach stuck to the testimony.
- Restraint. They exposed the injustice, then prosecuted no one and left as asked. They were examples of the submission they urged on others.
- Question. Commentators differ over whether pleading Roman citizenship fitted Paul's heavenly calling. But he used it to expose injustice, not to escape suffering.
And having gone out of the prison, they came to Lydia; and having seen the brethren, they exhorted them and went away.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.