NOTES ON THE INTERNATIONAL LESSON.
Paul had not been disobedient to the heavenly vision. In Damascus, in Jerusalem, throughout all Judea, and subsequently among the Gentiles, he had been a preacher of repentance and conversion towards God, and a life consistent therewith. This was why the Jews had seized him in the temple and tried to tear him to pieces; but in this and every danger God had helped him, and the testimony which he bore to small and great was no blasphemy, no apostasy, but simply a truth in direct accordance with the teachings of Moses and the prophets, that the Messiah should be liable to suffering, and that from his resurrection from the dead a light should dawn to lighten both the Gentiles and his people. Paul was now launched on the full tide of that sacred and impassioned oratory which was so powerful an agent in his mission work. He was delivering to kings and governors and chief captains that testimony which was the very object of his life. Whether on other topics his speech was as contemptible as his enemies chose to represent, we cannot say; but on this topic, at any rate, he spoke with the force of long familiarity, and the fire of intense conviction. He would probably have proceeded to develop the great thesis which he had just sketched in outline—but at this point he was stopped short. These facts and revelations were new to Festus. Though sufficiently familiar with true culture to recognize it even through these oriental surroundings, he could only listen open-mouthed to this impassioned tale of visions, and revelations, and ancient prophecies, and of a Jewish prophet who had been crucified, and yet had risen from the dead and was divine, and who could forgive sins and lighten the darkness of Jews as well as of Gentiles. He had been getting more and more astonished, and the last remark was too much for him. He suddenly burst out with the loud and excited interruption, “You are mad, Paul; those many writings are turning your brain.” His startling ejaculation checked the majestic stream of the apostle’s eloquence, but did not otherwise ruffle his exquisite courtesy. “I am not mad,” he exclaimed with calm modesty, giving to Festus his recognized title of “your Excellency”; “but I am uttering words of reality and soberness.” But Festus was not the person whom he was mainly addressing, nor were these the reasonings which he would be likely to understand. It was different with Agrippa. He had read Moses and the prophets, and had heard, from multitudes of witnesses, some at least of the facts to which Paul referred. To him, therefore, the apostle appealed in proof of his perfect sanity. “The king,” he said, “knows about these things, to whom it is even with confidence that I am addressing my remarks. I am sure that he is by no means unaware of any of these circumstances, for all that I say has not been done in a corner.” And then, wishing to resume the thread of his argument at the point where it had been broken, and where it would be most striking to a Jew, he asked, “King Agrippa, dost thou believe the prophets? I know that thou believest.” “Then Agrippa said unto Paul, Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.” The noble prisoner, with perfect dignity, said, with all the fervent sincerity of a loving heart, “I could pray to God that whether in little or in much, not thou only, but even all who are listening to me to-day might become even such as I am, except”—he added, as he raised his fettered hand—“except these bonds.” They saw that this was indeed no common prisoner; one who could argue as he had argued, and speak as he had spoken, one who was so filled with the exaltation of an inspiring idea, so enriched with the happiness of a firm faith and a peaceful conscience, that he could tell them how he prayed that they all—all these princely and distinguished people—could be even such as he—and who yet in the spirit of entire forgiveness desired that the sharing in his faith might involve no share in his sorrows or misfortunes—must be such a one as they never yet had seen or known, either in the worlds of Jewry or of heathendom. But it was useless to prolong the scene. Curiosity was now sufficiently gratified, and it had become clearer than ever that though they might regard Paul the prisoner as an amiable enthusiast or an inspired fanatic, he was in no sense a legal criminal. The king, by rising from his seat, gave the signal for breaking up the meeting; Bernice and Festus, and their respective retinues, rose up at the same time, and as the distinguished assembly dispersed they were heard remarking on all sides that Paul was undeserving of death, or even of imprisonment. He had made, in fact, a deeply favorable impression. Agrippa’s decision was given entirely for his acquittal. “This person,” he said to Festus, “might have been permanently set at liberty, if he had not appealed to Cæsar.” Agrippa was far too little of a Pharisee, and far too much of a man of the world, not to see that mere freedom of thought could not be, and ought not to be, suppressed by external violence. The proceedings of that day probably saved St. Paul’s life full two years afterwards. Festus, since his own opinion, on grounds of Roman justice, was so entirely confirmed from the Jewish point of view by the protector of the temple, could hardly fail to send to Nero an elogium which freely exonerated the prisoner from every legal charge; and even if Jewish intrigues were put in play against him, Nero could not condemn to death a man whom Felix, and Lysias, and Festus, and Agrippa, and even the Jewish Sanhedrim, in the only trial of the case which they had held, had united in pronouncing innocent of any capital crime.—Farrar’s Life of Paul.