What God Says and Does

Father, we don’t want to listen to a man just talking. We want to hear from your Word. We want this always and in every case. And it is our earnest prayer now that as we look at the verses that we have read together, that the Spirit of God might be our teacher. And so help us to this end, we ask, humbly, in Jesus’ name. Amen.

If your Bible is open, you’ll be able to look down at 18:20, because it’s probably 18 and 19 on the same page of your Bible, if it’s like mine. And you will note there that Luke tells us that in his first visit to Ephesus, the people in Ephesus asked if Paul would stay with him for a little while longer. He told them that it was important for him to leave, but he made a promise to them in verse 21: “I will come back if it is God’s will.” And now, according to what we read here in chapter 19, it was God’s will, and once again he is back in Ephesus. Last time, we looked at his address to the about twelve almost-Christian men who were there listening to him speak, and this morning, we resume our study by looking at what we’re told in verse 8 and following.

Listen to What God Says

The people in the synagogue would have been sitting up straight. They would have been listening expectantly. The arrival of Paul was something that they looked forward to, it was something that they had been hoping for, and they were not going to be disappointed by his approach to them. He doesn’t come in and tell them tall stories. He doesn’t come in and fill them with anecdotal material that might be easy to absorb, but Luke tells us that he comes in and “for three months” he speaks “boldly”—you will notice the verb—and he argued “persuasively,” and he did so concerning “the kingdom of God.”

Now, this, we might say, was an indication of Paul’s usual strategy and Paul preaching, if you like, his usual sermon. I’m not suggesting that he preached the same sermon all the time but that he didn’t really deviate very much in these days from his plan of attack. We saw in Acts chapter 17 that he “went into the synagogue,” in Thessalonica, and for three Sabbaths “he reasoned with them from the Scriptures, explaining and proving that the Christ had to suffer and rise from the dead.”[1] And we noted on that occasion the important verbs—again, reasoning, proving, explaining. In other words, he wasn’t just off-loading a bunch of easily absorbable information, but he was taking time to lay down the foundations to encourage their thoughtful response. And on that occasion in Acts 17, in Thessalonica, he was there for three weeks. Here we discover he was in the synagogue doing this for some three months.

And Luke tells us that he was “arguing persuasively about the kingdom of God.” Now, again, I want you to note that for Luke to refer to him as dealing with the kingdom of God is not to suggest to us that he had set aside, as it were, speaking about Jesus—his life and his death and his resurrection and so on—but rather, to speak about the kingdom of God was just another way of describing what he was doing. Because it was impossible for him to explain the nature of the kingdom of God except that he explained it in terms of who Jesus is and what Jesus has done.

We should bear in mind, too, that the Jewish mind had a clear understanding of God’s kingship. From the very earliest days, even from the song of Moses in Exodus 15, the Jew was anticipating a king who would reign in sovereign power. In the song of Moses and Miriam in Exodus 15, you will find there, right around verse 18, that reference. The psalmist spoke about the universal kingly rule of God in Psalm 103:19.

And indeed, if you know the Bible at all, you will know that God granted to his people the privilege and opportunity of appointing kings. And there were some particularly good ones, and the people thought perhaps that the expectation of Exodus and the acknowledgments of the psalmist may actually find their fulfillment, for example, in David, who was a great king of Israel. All of these kings essentially were vice-regents of the divine King who rules and reigns in heaven. And down on the earth, as it were, these individuals were emblematic of God’s kingly rule.

But, of course, as you read, again, the Old Testament, you know that the monarchy imploded in Israel. It fell in on itself, and people were left to wonder about this whole idea of a king. And, of course, I’m moving very quickly through vast chunks of material, but essentially, the Old Testament ends with the ongoing expectation of someone who will fulfill this notion of king. And in Daniel and in chapter 7, we read these words: “He was given authority, glory and sovereign power; all peoples, nations and men of every language worshiped him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and his kingdom is one that will never be destroyed.”[2]

So as the Old Testament comes to an end and you go into the intertestamental period—a few hundred years of silence, if you like—the people that are standing looking over that divide still have in their minds the notion of a great prophet of God who will speak the Word to them. They still have in their mind the great notion of a priest who will offer up the ultimate sacrifice on their behalf. And they have in their mind some vague, unfolding concept of kingship—this universal kingdom of God that will be established and will never come to an end.

You can imagine, then, that where that message had been passed on from generation to generation, they were all ears when, after John the Baptist was put in prison and Jesus begins to preach, what are the first words out of his mouth as they’re recorded for us by Mark? Well, he says, “After John was put in prison, Jesus went into Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God.” And what was this good news that he was proclaiming? Well, Mark tells us: “‘The time has come,’ he said. ‘The kingdom of God is near. Repent and believe the good news!’”[3] So all of the expectation for the kingly rule of God is apparently going to find its focus, its fulfillment, somehow or another in this Galilean carpenter. And you can imagine that men and women were saying, “How can Jesus… After all, isn’t he Joseph’s son? Isn’t he the carpenter from Galilee, from Nazareth? How can he stand up and say the kingdom of God is near? Who does he think he is, the king?”

Well, of course, that’s the whole explanation, isn’t it? The disciples had a hard time fathoming it. But by the time Jesus has risen from the dead and has opportunity to explain himself, Luke begins his second volume, Acts, by explaining that in the forty days between the resurrection and the ascension of Jesus, he got his folks together, and he explained to them “about the kingdom of God.”[4] Now, presumably, what he was doing was he was explaining how his life and his death and his resurrection and his ascension and his expected return all fit within the framework of the concept of a kingdom. And once that truth had dawned on the apostles, and once Paul—remember, the converted Saul—had had this revealed to him by the Holy Spirit, had seen a sight of the risen Christ himself,[5] then he went about and in his preaching was conveying this truth. And indeed, he makes it perfectly clear when he writes to the Philippians and he says to them, “[You know, one day] at the name of Jesus every knee [will] bow … and every tongue [will] confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”[6]

The news that we are commissioned to proclaim is actually far bigger and far more significant than our own personal testimony to what Jesus means to us.

Now, what we’re saying in following Paul to the end of his journey is that Paul gives to us an illustration of how to proclaim the gospel loudly and clearly, so that those who believe the gospel might be better equipped to convey it and so that those who actually haven’t a clue about the good news might come to believe it. And I take time on this this morning in order to make this essential point: that the news that we are commissioned to proclaim to our culture, to go out amongst our friends and others and proclaim, is something that is actually far bigger and far more significant than our own personal testimony to what Jesus means to us.

Now, don’t misunderstand me: it is important that we can each speak of our own personal awareness of Jesus as a Savior and a Lord and a Friend. But as I’ve tried to suggest to you on numerous occasions, if we lead with that, it is very easy for our friends and neighbors to say, “Well, thank you for telling me about what happened to you. I’m interested in that, at least as you tell me about it. I personally have got no interest in it whatsoever, because I’m into something entirely different.” And then they’ll probably say, “But we all have our own way, don’t we?” That’s the kind of thing they’ll say. “I mean, there’s no reason for you to invade my territory or for me to try and convince you. All that really matters is that we each have our own concept of spirituality and our own avenue to God. After all,” they may say, “we’re all heading in the one direction. We’re all going to the same place.”

Well, of course Paul’s approach to things didn’t start there. He said, “I want to tell you today about the kingdom of God. I want to tell you about a kingdom that will never end. I want to tell you about a King who reigned and ruled from a cross. I want to tell you about the fact that this King is putting together a company of people who will live with him forever. And he has asked me to come and tell you this good news so that you might be part of that company. I have also to tell you that if you do not accept the good news, he will on the day of judgment separate the sheep from the goats, as he put it in his own story,[7] and some will spend all of eternity absent from the living God, in what the Bible refers to as hell, while others enjoy the benefit of eternity in the presence of Jesus in heaven.”

Now, you see, in the time in which we’re living, that message is a far more striking story, it is a far harder story to accept, and we should not be surprised if our friends and neighbors don’t respond the way some did in the synagogue when Paul explained it. Because look at what we’re told in verse 9. Once he had been doing this for three months—arguing persuasively, speaking boldly—“some of them became obstinate.” Some of them said, “This is too much for me. I thought we were going to get a nice sermon from a nice man, addressed to nice people, telling us how to be nicer and then to go out and have a nice life. And instead we’ve got this fellow in here with all of this stuff about the kingdom of God and the judgment of God and everything else!”

It’s actually how some of you may be feeling already. You’re saying, “How did I get in the middle of the row here? This is not what I expected. This is Memorial Day weekend. We thought… Somebody said it was a nice place, you got a relatively nice chap, he said nice things, you got a nice time, and then you went out and had a nice afternoon. And it’s not working! We don’t think this is nice at all. This is disturbing!” It is disturbing. But it’s good news. It’s disturbingly good news. Listen on, will you?

What they did was they “became obstinate” and they “refused to believe.” I’m greatly encouraged by this, because I’ve been preaching here for twenty-two years now, and a lot of people are obstinate and refuse to believe. And it’s a great encouragement to me to look here and see one of the greatest preachers that ever lived preaching his heart out for three months, and the response on the part of some is they got their fingers in their ears and they’re going “Na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na-na” and walking out the door. And not only did they walk out the door refusing to believe, they become hardened in it. In fact, the Greek verb is the verb that gives us our English word sclerosis. It’s the Greek verb sklērunō. And there was a hardening of their spiritual arteries. And they went out, and they began to malign the Way. That’s way he says. Now, the public maligning of the Way is simply the expression of their desire to rubbish the claims of Jesus and the followers of Jesus. “The Way” became, if you like, a technical term that referenced those who had followed Jesus who said, “I am the way … the truth and the life.”[8]

Now, Paul then concluded that his time at the synagogue was over. He’s not going to flog a dead horse. The talks now are apparently generating more heat than they’re generating light, and so he “left them.” I love that little sentence there in verse 9, in the middle of it, four words: “So Paul left them.” There’s great wisdom in knowing when to chuck it, isn’t there? Great wisdom in him saying, “I’m going to go down the street.” Some of us would be there just beating it to death, but the example of Paul is clear. “We’re going to go somewhere else.”

And so “he took [his] disciples with him,” and he “had discussions daily in the lecture hall of Tyrannus.” And “this went on for two years.” Now, that’s quite a seminar program, isn’t it? Daily discussions for two years. Some of the manuscripts point out that he was there between eleven in the morning and four in the afternoon. The significance of that is obvious. If you had a place like this, as Tyrannus obviously did—whether he was the teacher or the landlord or both—you would try and have your seminars in the early part of the day, before it got warm. And then, as soon as it got oppressively hot, you don’t want a lot of people sitting in there listening, ’cause many of them are yawning in the first instance without it even being hot. So you drop it off and then at four o’clock in the afternoon pick it up and do your evening classes when the noonday sun has gone down—because after all, only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun. So the strategy would be clear: shut it down at eleven, open it up at four. He would have been so excited when Paul came and said, “I’ll take the five hours in the middle of the day.”

Probably said to him, “Well, you can have the five hours in the middle of the day. I couldn’t charge you much for that, because no one will come and listen to you in the middle of the day. I mean, I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Paul, but if you’ve read any of the church growth manuals, you know that there’s no way in the world that you’re going to be able to put together an operation like this in such a bad place at such a bad time. You need to go where there’s a nice, air-conditioned unit. You need to go where there’s freeway access. You need to go where there’s plenty of parking. You can’t go in a sweaty, old hall in the middle of the day and hope to do anything.”

Now, Paul would have said, “Well, listen, I’m not really hoping to do anything. I’m hoping that God does everything. I actually believe that when the Word is truly preached, that God’s voice is really heard. And I actually believe that God makes his power perfect in weakness.[9] I’ve seen it happen before, and I believe it can happen again.” So presumably he worked his job up until eleven o’clock, quit at eleven, went into the hall, had his discussions five hours a day, and considered it a privilege to do this for two years.

Tyrannus must have been absolutely mystified. It’s an interesting name, Tyrannus, isn’t it? I wonder if his parents gave him it. Imagine calling your son “the tyrant.” It’s just what his name means. Or maybe his pupils gave him the name. That seems at least likely, doesn’t it? ’Cause we’ve all had tyrants as teachers. Of course, the teachers know they’ve had some tyrants as pupils. But anyway…

“For two years,” and as a result, “all the Jews and [the] Greeks who lived in the province of Asia heard the word of the Lord”—presumably because the people that were attending the classes spilled out into the community and told their friends. They went out and spoke the word of the Lord. Luke is very careful, isn’t he? He doesn’t tell us that everybody in the province of Asia heard about Paul. That would have been one thing. But what was more important was that everyone in the province of Asia “heard the word of the Lord.” And what you have, really, in that little section, verses 8–10, is just a description of the impact of the word of the Lord. You’ll see it again down in verse 20: “In this way the word of the Lord spread widely and grew in power.”

Look at What God Does

Now, verses 8–10 give to us Luke’s directive “Listen to what God says,” then verses 11–19 give to us his directive “And look at what God does.” “Look at what God does.” Because while Paul was engaged in the teaching of the Bible, God sent accompanying miracles through Paul.

Now, notice very carefully that it begins with God, in verse 11: “God did extraordinary miracles through Paul.” God is able to do all kinds of things through all kinds of people. This is not Paul doing extraordinary miracles. In fact, the very terminology suggests that in a world of miracles where God does miracles, these were actually unusual ones, even in the scope of miracles themselves.

Now, what happens when you come to something like this in the Bible? Well, if you’re in the average Bible study group, it goes completely crazy from this point. Some old chap launches into something that he saw on cable television, and before you know where you are, the whole Bible study has gone south. Somebody’s into the seven sons of Sceva and exorcisms; there’s a story from Pittsburgh, and somebody else was down in South America. And if you’re the leader, you’re just trying desperately just to get this back somewhere into the Bible itself. And eventually, a little lady puts up her hand and says, “Don’t you think we ought to just remind ourselves that the main things are the plain things and the plain things are the main things?” You say, “Oh, that’s good, yes! We’ll have to try and remember that. Of course we must.”

Now, let me give you a reference, a cross-reference, that is vital to this and all times you encounter this. It’s 2 Corinthians 12:12. That is 2 Corinthians 12:12. And Paul, referencing what God has chosen to do in the apostolic era, says, “The things that mark an apostle”—what things?—“signs, wonders and miracles—were done among you with great perseverance.” So what you need to write against this section in your Bible is a little phrase that says “the signs of the apostles.” These were marks of apostleship. These were substantiating marks building the link between the power of the risen Jesus and the power of those who were the foundation upon which the church was to be built.

The apostles were a unique, unrepeatable group of individuals who shared in the fact that they had each had a sight of the risen Christ and had him speak to them.

What do we also know that is main and plain? That the apostles were a unique, unrepeatable group of individuals who shared in the fact that they had each had a sight of the risen Christ and had him speak to them. What do we also know? That there are no apostles today. Therefore, we can deduce that the signs which were given to authenticate apostolic activity are no longer given to authenticate what we do. Because all that God has done he has put for us in the Bible and has given to us his Word as a “word made more sure.”[10]

Now, don’t misunderstand me. By saying that, I am not for a moment suggesting that God is no longer willing and able to do things that run contrary to the laws that we have established for ourselves and which make sense of our existence. God remains sovereign. He may choose to heal. He may choose to intervene. But in my limited journey of life, in my experience of reading, in listening to my friends and neighbors speak, it seems to me that many of the more bizarre claims to this kind of activity are simply that—bizarre claims—and that they do not bear the testimony of God the Holy Spirit in them. What God is doing is he is displaying his power over disease (“illnesses were cured”), displaying his power over demon possession (“evil spirits left them”), and displaying his power over those who are sorcerers and magicians who are engaged in these forms of exorcism.

I was greatly helped by these words from John Stott in relationship to this. I wonder if you’ll find them helpful too:

The wisest attitude to [these handkerchief] miracles is neither that of the sceptics who declare them spurious, nor that of the mimics, who try to copy them, like those American televangelists who offer to send to the sick handkerchiefs which they have blessed, but rather that of Bible students who remember both that Paul regarded his miracles as his apostolic credentials and that Jesus himself condescended to the timorous faith of a woman by healing her when she touched the edge of his cloak.[11]

Do you get that? The best response, he says, is not for us to become skeptical and say, “This could never have happened,” nor is it to become mimics and suggest that this is going to happen and will happen and does happen, but rather for us to become Bible students—to use our minds and to understand that here are apostolic credentials, and even Jesus himself accommodated himself to “the timorous faith of a woman,” finding power going out of himself when she laid hold of his cloak.[12]

Now, I think that’s the best way to do this. And that’s why we can move quickly to a close. Because what you have here by Luke is presumably not the totality of what was happening in a two-year period in Ephesus but an indication of the kind of thing that was happening in a two-year period. Daily he’s involved in the teaching of the Bible, and during that period of time, as the word of God increases in its power and as it spreads widely, all of these various activities are taking place.

And that’s the significance of the story—verse 14 and following—of the “seven sons of Sceva, a Jewish chief priest.” All the commentators point out that we have no record of a fellow called Sceva who was a chief priest. In all the records of the high priests, there’s no indication of a Sceva. Well, I suppose it’s possible that we missed him in putting the history together, but it’s equally possible, and perhaps a little more likely, that he called himself a chief priest. He needed a little something for his résumé. “Sceva, the seven sons of Sceva.” “And who’s Sceva?” “I’m a chief priest.” “Oh, I see, okay. Sceva the chief priest and his seven sons are doing exorcisms.”

And the way you did exorcisms was to make sure that you had a name stronger than the name of the evil spirit inhabiting the individual. So as long as you had a name that was stronger than this evil name that invaded the person, then you could use the stronger name to call out the weaker name. And they were always on the lookout for a good name. And so, when the word was going around that Paul was preaching in this way and that these dramatic things were happening, Sceva said to his boys, “I think we ought to use Jesus’ name. Seems to be doing some remarkable things.”

Oh, I wish I’d been present for this one! This is terrific. You can just see them. I don’t know if it’s the first occasion they tried it, but it’s certainly one occasion. And they began doing this: “In the name of Jesus, whom Paul preaches, I command you to come out.” And the evil spirit answered them directly, “I know Jesus, and I’ve heard about Paul, but who are you?” It’s kind of embarrassing, isn’t it, you know? You’ve got all the people together for the exorcism: “Don’t worry, we’ve got you covered. We’re using the name today. In the name of Jesus, whom Paul preaches, I command you to come out.” And the evil spirit speaks directly back. And “then the man who had the evil spirit jumped on them and overpowered them all.”

And so he should have! Bunch of nonsense! “I came here for an exorcism, and look what’s going on. Some kind of exorcist you are, Sceva and your seven boys! You think I’m coming back to your medical practice? I’ll never be back. Come here. I’m going to give you all a good hiding.” And he jumped on them, and he “gave them such a beating” that they became the seven streakers of Sceva, and “they ran out the house naked and bleeding,” running down the street, all these naked guys going through Ephesus.

People go, “What the world happened to Sceva and his boys?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do they have clothes on?”

“I don’t think so!”

“What is that about? Oh, we’ll have to find out about this!”

And when they found out about it—verse 17—when it “became known to the Jews and [the] Greeks … in Ephesus, they were all seized with fear.” Why? Because they realized that nobody could fool with the power of God, that nobody could play fast and loose with the name of the Lord Jesus. And the sense of awesomeness and reverence and fear resulted in the fact that “the name of the Lord Jesus was held in high honor.”

You see how this goes? This is not at all man centered. This is not “Paul’s a great preacher. Paul’s doing some terrific things. If you can get ahold of one of Paul’s aprons, you’ll never have acne again in your life. If you could just get ahold of…” No, it’s not that. It’s “God is doing amazing things.” The name of Jesus is honored; the name of Jesus is “held in high honor.”

And out of the shambles of verse 16 comes the transformation of verses 18 and 19. What an amazing change! “Many of those who believed…” It’s not the unbelievers that came and confessed their evil deeds. It’s the believers who “came and … confessed their evil deeds.” Believers need to confess evil deeds, don’t we? Are you a believer today? You have any evil deeds in your life? Are you evil-free? I don’t think so. You can’t be. You’re not in heaven yet.

They had evil deeds, and they came and they confessed their evil deeds. They brought them out into the open. And a number of them “who had practiced sorcery” actually “brought their scrolls together” and had a big bonfire. And “the value of the scrolls”—this was costly—“came to fifty thousand drachmas,” and a drachma was one man’s wages for a day. So fifty thousand times an eight-hour day, if you like, or maybe a twelve-hour day, at an hourly rate. Now, bill that out as an attorney. It’s quite a number, isn’t it? Bill it out as a plumber. It’s a significant number. Bill it out as a carpenter. It’s outrageous. I mean, this is a ton of money. This is a costly event. This is a significant bonfire. “What’s going on with the bonfires?” “Oh, these people are burning their magic scrolls.” That’s costing them, isn’t it? Costing them their livelihood, costing them their enjoyment, costing them their influence.

Don’t let’s miss something here—and with this we’ll wrap it up. All of us bring to our newfound Christian faith much—much—that is incongruous with our profession of faith. Right? Somebody says, “If you will believe in Jesus, you will be saved.” Said, “Fine, I understand that, and I want to believe in Jesus.” Yeah, but you’ve got a filthy mind. You got a filthy mouth. You’re riddled with jealous thoughts, or whatever it might be. And all of that is brought to our newfound Christian faith, and not all of it is eradicated in one little sweep, you know.

That’s why Paul has to write to the Corinthians and say to them, “Do you think that you can actually have Jesus as your King and engage in immorality with the lady up the street? Do you think you can have Jesus as your King and show up at the Communion services like this? Somebody hasn’t made this clear to you. Let me make this clear to you: it’s not impossible for you to try this, but it is incongruent for you to try this.”

And that’s the point here. Many of those who believed said, “You know, if Jesus really is the King, I can’t continue with this. If Jesus is actually Lord, if he died for all my evil deeds, if he died for all my dirty thoughts, if he died for all of my rebellion against him, then how can I on the one hand declare Jesus is King and the power of his cross in changing me and then at the very same time engage in all of this?” And the penny dropped, and they did what they had to do. They believed, they confessed openly, they were changed.

C. T. Studd, the well-known missionary, had a dad called Edward. His dad, called Edward, was really wealthy, really into sports, big on horse racing. Nineteenth century, late-nineteenth century, Dwight L. Moody comes. Somebody says to Edward, “Would you like to hear Dwight L. Moody preach?” Well, he was famous. “Yes, I would,” he said. Moody preaches; Edward Studd trusts in Christ. And the word gets out in the community: “Edward Studd has become religious.” And a visitor to his estate asks one of the coachmen, “I hear Mr. Studd has become religious.” Said the coachman, “I don’t know much about that, but all I can say is that though there’s the same skin, there’s a new man inside.”[13] “Although there’s the same skin, there’s a new man inside.” That’s the power of the kingdom of God. That’s the power that is needed—a power outside of ourselves—to bring about the change. That’s why Jesus said to Nicodemus, “Unless you’re born again, you can’t see the kingdom of God, you can’t enter the kingdom of God.”[14]

And where is the power of the King displayed? It is displayed in the power of the cross. Because it is in the cross that God pardons those who believe, even though we’ve sinned and deserve his judgment. Were that not the case, we would be excluded from him forever. And in the cross the Lord Jesus displays and satisfies God’s perfect justice. Sin has to be judged and punished. And without that, God wouldn’t be true to himself. And it is this very message that Paul was proclaiming. It was a message that the response was obstinacy and unbelief and the maligning of the Way. It’s “foolishness to those who are perishing, but to [those] who are being saved it[’s] the power of God.”[15]

Essentially, what Paul was saying is what I say to you, what God’s Word says to me: come bow before the King. And if as a believer you’re trying to play it up the middle of the road, then bring your scrolls and burn them. Well, I don’t know what they might be, what would be represented as scrolls in your life—something that holds you in its grip, something that’s a burden to you. They tell me that internet pornography has a grip in so many men’s lives. If that is true, then presumably there are a number here on a routine basis in every service for whom that has a stranglehold on you. Well then, burn the scrolls. Burn the scrolls, and bow beneath Christ’s kingship.

Just a moment of silence.

Look upon us in your mercy, O God, we pray. Grant that we might find in Jesus all of the cleansing and forgiveness and enablement that is necessary for us to declare his kingship and to live marching, as it were, underneath his banner. Thank you that what we cannot do for ourselves you have done so magnificently for us, and help us to rely, then, upon the power of your cross. For Jesus’ sake. Amen.

[1] Acts 17:2–3 (NIV 1984).

[2] Daniel 7:14 (NIV 1984).

[3] Mark 1:14–15 (NIV 1984).

[4] Acts 1:3 (NIV 1984).

[5] See Acts 9:3–5.

[6] Philippians 2:10–11 (NIV 1984).

[7] See Matthew 25:31–32.

[8] John 14:6 (NIV 1984).

[9] See 2 Corinthians 12:9.

[10] 2 Peter 1:19 (RSV).

[11] John R. W. Stott, The Message of Acts: The Spirit, the Church, and the World, The Bible Speaks Today (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 1990), 306.

[12] See Matthew 9:20–22; Mark 5:25–29; Luke 8:43–44.

[13] Norman P. Grubb, C. T. Studd: Athlete and Pioneer (1933; repr., Harrisburg, PA: Evangelical Press, 1943), 17–19. Some dialogue paraphrased.

[14] John 3:3 (paraphrased).

[15] 1 Corinthians 1:18 (NIV 1984).