Preached · October 12, 2025
Text · Acts 21; Acts 22
Well, good morning again. My name is Anthony Parrott, and it's my pleasure to be here with you all. Thank you so much to Pastor Justin and Pastor Andrea for inviting me. Honestly, it is a relief to know that there is a church like this here in D.C., collaborating and co-working alongside the Table Church and many other churches here in the DMV area, worshiping Jesus, working for the causes of justice and inclusion. And it is an honor and a privilege to finally worship—we've done Good Friday services together, all of that, but it's good to be here on a Sunday morning. So thank you so much.
Black Friday
I want you to use the time machines of your imagination and travel with me back to ye olde days of the early 2010s, which I regret to inform you was about fifteen years ago. I know. I know. It's a tough fact.
Back in the early 2010s, we were a proper nation, and we celebrated a hallowed holiday called Black Friday. And the way that we celebrated was not by going onto Amazon.com or Target.com or seeing what the deals were. We used our bodies to celebrate Black Friday. How many stood in line in a Best Buy or Target or Walmart the night before to get a Black Friday deal? You would not just do the online shopping thing. You would camp outside a store. Some people would literally pitch tents. They would put on their Under Armour and their gloves, and you would wait for the doors to open at six or five or four a.m. to get one of those deals.
And I was one of those people. I was doing ministry at a church in northwest Iowa, and we were a rural community, so we had to drive two hours to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, to get to the Best Buy to get a television for the youth group. Me and my buddy John were camped out all night long in the Best Buy line to get the TV—the flat screen—for the youth group, to give them the upgrade.
And you would stand in line with hundreds of other people. There was kind of crowd control, but not really. And so people would cut, and then there would be some fisticuffs and all that sort of stuff. And then they would hand out the maps, and you would plot out your route for the laptops and the TVs and the video games, and we were gunning for the flat-screen TV for $199 or whatever.
So then the doors open, and it's the rush, right? And there are these tragic stories of people being stampeded because everyone is rushing to get the deal. So me and John, we are part of the stampede. We rush in. We get to the pile of TVs in the center of the store, and lo and behold, there is one left—and there are two women playing tug-of-war with this TV. "I was here first." "No, I was here first." "Well, I had touched it first." "Well, I grabbed it first." And what starts as some friendly jostling then escalates into an all-out screaming match between these two women. To which me and my friend John just sort of back away slowly. It's not worth it. We'll spend the extra money. It's fine.
I'm sure some of us who have gone through this rite of passage as a red-blooded, capitalistic American have some stories that we can tell about Black Friday shopping.
When the Mob Turns
Now, the mob had started as something sort of fun. There's a collective excitement: I'm going to save money today. And what strikes me then, what strikes me now, is how quickly that shifts. The energy shifts from fun and excitement to anger and rage.
And mobs can be fun—when you mob the football field after your team wins, when you mob the bride and the groom, or the two people getting married, because they're finally together. There's this rush to be part of something bigger than yourself, to have your emotion amplified by hundreds of other people who are feeling something similar to you.
And that's all fun and good until the mob turns. Until you become the TV being fought over. Until you're no longer part of the "we," but have become part of the "them."
And this is where we're at in Acts chapter 21, where we find Paul.
Paul and the Mob in Acts 21
So, to reiterate what was read: the seven days have been completed. The Jews from Asia had seen Paul in the temple, and they had stirred up this crowd against him. And they seized Paul: "Fellow Israelites, help! This is the man who's been teaching everyone everywhere"—some exaggeration—"against our people and our law, in this temple"—meaning the place. "And more than that, he's brought Greeks"—non-Jews, Gentiles—"into the temple and has defiled this holy place."
So Paul has been carrying this weight. You all have been traveling through the book of Acts together. Last week, Andrea walked us through the miles traveled, the goodbyes, the fear projected onto him, the impossible tensions that Paul is trying to navigate. He arrives in Jerusalem after covering 2,500 miles. He's exhausted. He's trying to keep the peace. And the church leaders, afraid of rumors spreading about Paul, ask him to go through some purification rituals at the temple to prove that he's still loyal to Jewish customs. So Paul agrees. He's trying to manage the tension and the anxiety. He's trying to show some solidarity. He's trying not to deepen divisions.
And while he's in the temple doing these things, Jews who have been following him around see him and recognize him, and they remember seeing him earlier in the city with Trophimus, a Greek believer. And there's a lesson in there somewhere—this is not part of today's sermon—about trying to manage anxiety and it not actually working out. So there's a lesson there.
But the mob forms, and they jump to a conclusion about Paul: Paul must have brought this Greek into the temple, and if he brought somebody into that sacred space where only Jews are allowed, then we have to attack. Now, it wasn't true, but truth doesn't tend to matter when a mob forms.
So, verse 30 says:
Then all the city was aroused, the people rushed, they seized Paul, they dragged him, and they shut the doors.
And nothing good happens when you're closing doors to hurt somebody. This is mob language. This is Black-Friday-gone-wrong mob energy, but not aimed at a TV on sale—aimed at a human being. They dragged him and they beat him, and verse 31 says they are trying to kill him.
The accusation is that Paul has defiled a holy place. The accusation is that he's teaching against the people and against the law and against everything sacred to the Jews. That's the accusation. The real issue is that Paul's message about Jesus has been crossing boundaries. There is, according to Galatians, no longer Jew and Gentile, or slave and free, and male and female, or insider and outsider. Paul has been preaching a kingdom, as we just sang about, a kingdom where those distinctions don't determine who's in and who's out. And that kind of message is dangerous to people whose identity and whose power depend on those distinctions remaining in place.
So the mob forms. The energy shifts. And Paul becomes the target.
Out of the Frying Pan: The Empire Steps In
Verse 31 says:
While they were trying to kill him, word came to the tribune of the cohort that all Jerusalem was in an uproar.
Rome would send these cohorts of soldiers to watch over the far-out lands of the empire. So the tribune of the cohort gets word, and immediately he takes some soldiers, centurions, and runs down to the mob. And when the mob sees the tribune and the soldiers, they're like, "Oh, we weren't doing anything bad. We stopped. Never mind."
So the military shows up. They see the mob beating a man. They intervene, and they arrest Paul and bind him with two chains. And in this moment—this is the ironic moment for Paul—he goes from being a victim of mob violence to being a victim of state violence. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. Great: I'm no longer being beaten by the mob; now I'm being held by chains.
The tribune doesn't even bother asking Paul what happened. He doesn't investigate. He just assumes Paul must have done something to deserve this. Verse 34 says:
Some of the crowd shout one thing, some another. And he couldn't learn the facts because of the uproar. He ordered them to be brought into the barracks.
"Law and Order," Roman Style
So the tribune can't figure out what's going on. There's too much noise and there's too much chaos, and all the people are shouting different accusations. So his solution—verse 24, jumping ahead—he orders Paul to be, quote, "examined by flogging." You know, the "beatings will continue until morale improves" sort of attitude. Torture—that's the Roman solution. Beat him until Paul confesses to something.
And this is law and order, Roman style. Restore peace through violence. Maintain control through force. Don't bother with justice; just make the problem go away.
And notice, Paul almost experiences this. He's about to be tortured without trial, without charges, without any semblance of justice. It's only when he reveals his privilege, his Roman citizenship—only then, when he leverages that—that the tribune backs off in fear.
Paul on Both Sides
Paul is very familiar with mob violence, because he's been on both sides of it. He's been both the receiver as well as the one holding the coats while everyone else kills Stephen. Paul was the one who was stirring up the mobs. He was the one getting people arrested. Paul was the one who was the agent of violence, convinced that he was defending what was holy.
So in chapter 22, Paul tells his own story. And this offers a flavor of authenticity to the book of Acts—Luke, or the author of the book of Acts, has no interest in cleaning up Paul's profile. He lays it all out there. Paul was the one who approved of the killing of Stephen, the first martyr. Paul was the one who was going and arresting and then gathering the Christians for them to receive the justice, so-called, of the priests. Paul was a true believer. He thought that the Jesus movement was a threat to everything sacred. He used violence—legal, sanctioned, righteous violence—to stop it.
And then Jesus himself interrupts him. The light from heaven, a voice: "Saul, why are you persecuting me?" Which, again, a lesson there: when we hurt God's people, we are hurting God himself.
And Paul's whole world flips. The people he thought were threats were actually following God. The violence he thought was righteous was actually resisting God's work.
So when we see Paul here in Acts 21—dragged from the temple, beaten by a mob, about to be tortured by soldiers—Paul knows. The tables have turned. He knows what it's like to be the persecutor, and now he knows what it's like to be the persecuted. He has seen and been part of both the mob's violence and the state's violence. And he's learned they're not that different.
What This Means for Us
So what does this mean for us, here in D.C. in October 2025? Watching another government shutdown unfold. Watching, participating, and helping schools and families navigate ICE and immigration raids. Watching federal workers being turned into political pawns. Watching the National Guard being deployed in our streets since this summer. Watching law-and-order rhetoric used to justify control rather than create justice. What then do we do with a text about mobs and state violence?
So let me offer three things. Not answers, but tensions. Invitations to reflection.
1. Name the Mobs We Are Tempted to Join
Number one, I think we name the mobs that we are tempted to join.
Because an uncomfortable truth—I'll speak at least for myself here—an uncomfortable truth for me is that, given the right circumstances, I am happy to become part of the mob. As I proved on Good Friday fifteen years ago. I'm sorry—Black Friday, not Good Friday. Lord, forgive me. Oh, man. I'm all too happy to join the mob and confuse the death of my Savior with a good deal.
The Jews from Asia, the people following Paul, were not evil people. I'm not willing to say that they were evil people. They were defending what they believed was sacred. They saw someone who—in the narrative that they had spun, or had been told, or somebody had lied to them, or whatever—they believed had violated their holy space. And they reacted. And the crowd that formed, I don't think, was full of monsters. They were ordinary people who heard an accusation, felt their anger rise, and went with the energy of the moment.
Mobs form whenever we stop seeing people as people and start seeing people as threats. As problems to be solved. As obstacles to what we want or what we think is right. Mobs form when our fear gets amplified by other people's fear. It has this multiplying effect, and so nobody's really thinking clearly anymore. Everyone's just reacting.
And here in 2025, we live in a culture designed to create unthinking mobs. Social media algorithms that are designed to amplify outrage. News cycles that are designed to reward the most extreme takes. Political rhetoric that is designed to divide into "real Americans" and everyone else. We are constantly being invited to join mobs. Online mobs, political mobs, cultural mobs, religious mobs. Your choice.
The thing about it is that it feels good. It feels righteous. "Well, I didn't join that mob. I joined this one." It feels like we're finally doing something. Like we're finally standing for what's right, finally pushing back against what's wrong. And so somebody dares to ask: Who are we aiming this at? What happens when we succeed?
So the invitation, number one, is to notice the mobs that form around you. Notice when you feel that rush of collective anger. Notice when complex human beings are being reduced to simple villains. Notice when nuance disappears and anyone who disagrees is suddenly the enemy. And then ask: is that the Spirit's leading, or is it just mob energy?
So invitation number one: name the mobs we are tempted to join.
2. See the Violence That Hides in "Safety"
Number two is to see the violence that hides in—scare quotes—"safety." We have to see the violence hiding in so-called safety and so-called order.
The Roman tribune thought that he was restoring order. He saw chaos. He intervenes. He arrests the problem. But his order, his safety, means chains for Paul. It means planned torture. It means violence dressed up as justice.
Law and order always sounds good until someone asks: Whose law? Whose order? Who pays the price?
When politicians promise to restore order by deploying troops, whose safety are we talking about? When government shutdowns are used as negotiating tactics, who suffers while politicians play chess? Or checkers. Or Go Fish. I don't know—chess just seems too complimentary. Who suffers when federal workers are offered deferred resignations—"you're not fired, it's a reduction in force"—and then lose their paycheck? Whose security matters?
And I know there was a Friday night massacre—a bunch of people were sent emails Friday night saying, hey, you could lose your job. As I heard a friend describe it, a "hey, have a crappy weekend" email. And I just want to offer: I'm sorry. It sucks.
Law-and-order rhetoric is almost always about maintaining control. It's not about creating justice—justice where all get their due. It's about making some people feel safe and making other people feel the weight of state power.
Paul knew this. He had been an agent of righteous violence against the early church. He thought he was defending what was holy. He thought he was keeping order. And then Jesus shows him: you're persecuting me.
The violence that hides in "keeping the peace" is the violence that falls on people who threaten the status quo. The violence that hides in "keeping the peace" falls on people who dare to cross boundaries, who include the wrong people, who preach a kingdom where the distinctions that give us power don't matter anymore.
So the invitation is: Where are you seeing violence dressed up as safety? Where is order actually oppression? And who is being made to carry the weight of someone else's sense of security?
So, number one: name the mobs we're tempted to join. Number two: see the violence that hides in safety.
3. Remember the Kingdom That Cannot Be Chained
Number three: remember the kingdom that cannot be chained.
And this is the good news. This is where hope lives.
Paul is bound with two chains. He's carried by soldiers because the mob is still trying to kill him. He's about to be tortured. And what does Paul do? He asks to speak. Verse 37: "Can I say something to you?"
Even bound, even bloodied, even facing torture, Paul wants to bear witness.
The tribune is surprised: "You know Greek?" He thought Paul was some Egyptian rebel who recently stirred up trouble.
I have a pet theory about that, by the way. My pet theory is that when the Romans asked, "Are you the Egyptian who brought four thousand people out into the wilderness to stir up trouble?"—I think that could be a description of Jesus, seen from a weird perspective. Jesus migrated out of Egypt back to Galilee, and then the feeding of the 5,000 and the 4,000 could have been seen by Roman authorities as a sort of insurrectionist act. When you draw a massive crowd out into the desert and start giving them food, that's a threat to the Roman sense of Pax Romana. And so I wonder if this Roman centurion heard a story about this Egyptian who went out to the desert. I wonder. It's a pet theory. Do with it what you want.
So the tribune is surprised: "Do you know Greek?" He thought Paul was this Egyptian rebel. Paul responds, "I'm a Jew from Tarsus, a citizen of an important city. Let me speak."
And Paul does something remarkable. He turns towards the mob that was just about to kill him, and he speaks to them in Hebrew—or, more likely, Aramaic—the language of their people at that time. He's speaking in their own language, trying to build connection even in the chaos.
And Paul tells his story, his Damascus Road encounter, this repeated refrain throughout the book of Acts: I was persecuting the Christians. I saw Jesus. My life changed. Paul tells this story, and Luke tells this story, over and over again. He tells them the story of the Damascus Road and his calling to be an apostle, a sent one, to the Gentiles.
And they listen—up to a point. Up until verse 22, when Paul mentions going to the Gentiles, and the mob erupts again: "Away with such a fellow from the face of the earth."
And Paul's message—that God's kingdom is inclusive, it includes all people, it transcends all boundaries, that the Spirit is moving beyond the boundaries that they so desperately want to maintain—that message is too much.
But what we need to see is that Paul keeps testifying anyway. Not because he thinks he'll convince them. Not because he believes the mob will suddenly change their minds. Not because he expects Rome to be just. He testifies because the resurrection means empire does not get the last word. Because God is building a kingdom that mob violence cannot touch and state power cannot chain.
Yes, Paul has Roman citizenship, and he uses it to protect his body. But he doesn't use it to protect his message or his mission. His citizenship is a tool. But his true citizenship, his real identity, is in a different kingdom. The one that Jesus announced. The one where there is no Jew or Greek or slave or free or male or female. The kingdom where the powers don't get to decide who's in and who is out.
And that kingdom is still breaking in. Even here. Even in D.C. in 2025. Even in government shutdowns and deployed troops and political chaos. Even in exhaustion and fear and the feeling that nothing is getting better. I believe that the Spirit is still moving and still expanding and still crossing boundaries. And still including the so-called wrong people. And still building something that the empire can't control. And it does it through churches and through people like you.
The Invitation This Week
So my invitation to you this morning, Christ City, is to remember that you are not alone. You are not crazy for feeling exhausted by the chaos. You are not weak for feeling afraid. You are not failing if you can't fix everything.
Paul couldn't stop the mob. Paul couldn't change Roman torture policy. He couldn't resolve the tensions in the Jerusalem church or make the fears go away. But what Paul could do—what he did do—is he kept testifying. He kept bearing witness. He kept following the Spirit into the hard and difficult places. Into the Jerusalems that he could not and would not avoid.
And I think we—and you—are invited to do the same. You are not invited to be the hero. You are not going to win every argument. You are not going to convert the mobs or convince the empire. That is not the example that Paul leaves. Paul leaves an example of testimony. Of bearing witness. Of being willing to speak the truth. To keep following the Spirit even when it is hard. Even when it leads into resistance. Even when your body is tired and your spirit is weary.
And so your invitation this week is to notice when the mobs form—online, in your own heart, in the cultural waters that you swim in—and to step back. To refuse to join the mob, even when the energy feels righteous. To notice when law-and-order rhetoric is being used to maintain control rather than to create justice, and ask who is being made to pay the price for someone else's peace. And number three, to tell your own Damascus Road story to someone. To tell the story of what it means for you to follow and to trust Jesus. When the last time was that you changed your mind. Where you saw God's Spirit moving in your life or someone else's life. And you tell these stories not to win, not to convince. You do it because bearing witness is what resurrection people do.
Closing Prayer
Let's pray.
God, we thank you that we belong to a kingdom that the empire cannot touch. We thank you that we are held by a Spirit that mobs cannot overcome. We thank you that we are part of a story that you are still writing. God, even when the weight is heavy—especially when the weight is heavy—may your Spirit carry us. Sustain us.
There are people in this room, people watching online, and all the families and friends and neighbors that we represent too. They're scared. They're nervous. They're anxious. Their pay is uncertain. Their ability to stay in this country is unclear. The anxiety is real, God. And so we ask that your Spirit would speak peace to us, and that we would have eyes to see the kingdom that is breaking in. The kingdom that's us—resurrection people, bearing witness and speaking the truth. Carry us, God, we pray. Amen.
This is a transcript of the sermon as preached, lightly edited for readability.
