Poured Out but Never Empty.
Notes
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Last week, I covered Acts 20:7–12—the night in Troas where Paul preached until midnight, and a young man named Eutychus fell asleep, fell out of a window, and died. The mission was in motion. But just when everything seemed to be moving forward, something happened that would’ve stopped most churches in their tracks.
I talked about how Paul didn’t panic. He didn’t retreat. He walked toward the situation. He spoke life. And then—he kept going. Because for Paul, the miracle wasn’t the focus—the mission was.
We wrestled with a hard truth: not every fall ends in resurrection. Not every prayer gets answered the way we hope. But even when the miracle doesn’t come, the mission still moves forward. God is still faithful. He is still worthy.
Faith isn’t built on outcomes—it’s built on the character of God. And sometimes, the greatest statement of faith is simply staying. Staying in the upper room. Staying in worship. Staying when the miracle doesn’t come.
That’s where we left off. And now, Paul keeps moving. He’s headed for Jerusalem—but before he goes, he stops just long enough to speak to the elders from Ephesus. And what he says gives us a powerful window into what it means to live a life poured out.
So this morning, we’re wrapping up chapter 20 with a message I’m calling: Poured Out but Never Empty.
We’ve got a lot to cover, so I’m going to pray—and then we’ll dive into God’s Word together.
Pray
13 But going ahead to the ship, we set sail for Assos, intending to take Paul aboard there, for so he had arranged, intending himself to go by land. 14 And when he met us at Assos, we took him on board and went to Mitylene. 15 And sailing from there we came the following day opposite Chios; the next day we touched at Samos; and the day after that we went to Miletus. 16 For Paul had decided to sail past Ephesus, so that he might not have to spend time in Asia, for he was hastening to be at Jerusalem, if possible, on the day of Pentecost.
Paul has just preached all night, raised a young man from the dead, shared a meal, and kept teaching until daybreak. And now—it’s time to leave. He arranges transportation. He sets the itinerary. The ship is ready. The team is moving.
But Paul? He chooses to go on foot.
That’s an interesting detail. He set up the ride. He told them where to go. But then he says, “I’ll meet you there.” Paul doesn’t get in the boat. He walks. Alone.
Why?
He’s in a hurry. Verse 16 tells us he’s trying to make it to Jerusalem in time for Pentecost. He’s moving with urgency. And yet—he slows down long enough to walk. Why?
Because Paul prioritized two things:
Time with God.
Time for ministry.
Let’s talk about that first one: time with God.
Paul goes alone. That wasn’t a logistical choice—it was a spiritual one. He carved out space not for rest, but for solitude.
There’s a difference between solitude and isolation.
Solitude is chosen. It’s intentional. It’s the practice of drawing away—not to escape people, but to draw near to God.
Isolation, on the other hand, is withdrawal rooted in fear, shame, confusion, or weariness. It’s disengagement. It’s what we slip into when we’re trying to run from conviction, avoid community, or hide from what’s really going on inside us.
And I wonder how many of us have confused the two.
We say we’re “just taking space,” but really—we’re just disappearing. We say we need a break, but what we really need is a breakthrough. Paul didn’t walk away to get distance from people—he walked alone to get closer to God.
In this stretch of road between Troas and Assos, Paul could process. He could pray. He could sit with the weight of what just happened. He had just raised someone from the dead, and ahead of him was the looming shadow of imprisonment and hardship. He needed space not to run from pressure, but to bring it to God.
And hear me—don’t confuse Paul’s ministry solitude with not coming to church.
Let’s be clear—Paul wasn’t skipping the gathering. He wasn’t avoiding community. This wasn’t him saying, “I don’t need to be around people right now.” This was about creating space to be with God so he could better serve the people when he was with them.
Some of us hear “solitude” and try to use it as a license for isolation.
“I’m just in a season by myself.”
“I don’t really need church right now.”
“I’m just figuring some things out.”
But that’s not solitude. That’s spiritual drifting dressed in self-protection.
Paul wasn’t drifting—he was being drawn. Drawn into the presence of God. Drawn into clarity. Drawn into renewal. And when he rejoined the mission—he came back full, focused, and ready to pour out.
Solitude is sacred. But community is essential.
The same Paul who walked alone for a day is the Paul who gave his life to building churches, gathering believers, and calling people to the table of grace.
Don’t twist one moment of solitude into a theology of absence.
Solitude is time with God.
It’s important.
It’s biblical.
And hear me—it’s not about withdrawing from the body of Christ. It’s about withdrawing from distraction.
Solitude is when you choose to step away—not because you’re running from people, but because you’re running to God.
It’s intentional. It’s sacred. It’s where clarity comes.
It’s not fear. It’s not frustration.
It’s a reset.
Scripture shows us this all over the place.
Jesus often withdrew to quiet places to pray (Luke 5:16; Mark 1:35).
He didn’t disappear because He was overwhelmed.
He stepped away because He needed to stay connected to the Father.
Moses spent forty days alone with God on Mount Sinai (Exodus 34:28).
That wasn’t isolation—it was preparation.
David, in the wilderness, poured out his heart to God in songs that still minister to us today (Psalm 63).
Solitude was where he met God honestly.
The point of solitude is spiritual restoration.
It’s where your soul catches up with your calling.
It’s where you stop striving and start hearing again.
It’s where you remember:
your strength doesn’t come from doing—it comes from abiding.
And if that still feels abstract—let me give you a verse that says it better than I ever could:
10a “Be still, and know that I am God…..
Now, most of us know that verse.
We put it on mugs. We put it on Instagram.
But if you really dig into the Hebrew—you get something deeper.
That word “be still” is rapha—and it doesn’t just mean “stop.”
It means surrender.
Let go. Lay it down.
Stop trying to hold everything together.
And that next word—“know” is yada‘—which means to learn, to know deeply and intimately.
So this verse is really saying:
“Surrender—so you can learn that I am God.”
Solitude is where that happens.
It’s where you let go of control and lean into who He is.
But let’s be clear—isolation is a whole different thing.
Isolation isn’t about seeking God—it’s about avoiding people.
It’s running from conviction, from community, from accountability.
Proverbs warns us about this:
1 Whoever isolates himself seeks his own desire;
he breaks out against all sound judgment.
That’s not solitude. That’s self-protection.
We see it all over Scripture.
Cain, after killing his brother, ran into isolation and wandered with a restless soul (Genesis 4).
Elijah, after a major victory, crashed hard—ran into the wilderness, and begged God to take his life (1 Kings 19).
And yes—God met him there—but let’s not pretend that was a model to follow.
That was a man in burnout and despair.
The difference between solitude and isolation isn’t what it looks like—it’s what it’s for.
Solitude is chosen. Isolation is reactionary.
One draws you closer to God.
The other pulls you away from both God and others.
So if you’re in a “quiet season”—ask yourself this: Am I seeking God, or am I just trying to disappear?
Because solitude will restore you.
Isolation will destroy you.
The second thing Paul prioritized was time for ministry.
Verse 16 makes it clear—Paul was in a hurry.
He was trying to get to Jerusalem in time for Pentecost.
He had a schedule.
He had a destination.
But he still chose to walk.
Now—Scripture doesn’t tell us what happened on that walk.
It doesn’t record any miracles or conversions.
But based on everything we know about Paul…
You can bet he didn’t waste the walk.
Paul didn’t waste moments—he looked for them.
He wasn’t the kind of man to pass through a town without making an impact.
If he was walking, it was because he knew there might be someone on that road who needed the gospel.
He was in a hurry—but he didn’t let his timeline get in the way.
Now I’ve covered this a lot through Acts but Let me ask you something:
What’s more important—your timeline, or their eternity?
Because for some of us, that’s the tension.
We’re in a rush.
We’ve got plans.
We’ve got goals.
We’ve got places to be and people to meet and things to get done.
But listen—
you can be so committed to your schedule that you miss someone’s soul.
Paul was urgent—but he was never too busy to minister.
He didn’t let a good goal—like getting to Pentecost—stop him from meeting the real-time need in front of him.
We’ve got to be sensitive to the Spirit, even when we’re in a hurry.
Because some of the most powerful ministry moments won’t be scheduled.
They won’t come with a warning.
They won’t show up in your planner.
They’ll show up in the hallway, or in the car, or on the walk between here and there.
And the question in that moment is simple: Will you choose your schedule—or their salvation?
Whew.
Yeah, I felt that one too.
I didn’t hold back on that one.
Just hit you with a full conviction combo—no intro, no setup.
Felt more like a spiritual sucker punch, didn’t it?
Like, “Good morning, here’s a throat punch from the Holy Spirit.”
But sometimes—we need that.
Because eternity matters more than convenience.
The gospel doesn’t wait for the perfect moment it creates it.
Let’s keep going…
This is not good—I’m on verse 17 and we’ve got to get all the way to 38.
Go ahead and DoorDash your lunch here to the church.
Tip them well—and invite them to join you inside.
Verse 17 says Paul sent for the elders of the church at Ephesus. And you know what? They showed up.
No hesitation.
No excuses.
No “I’ll pray about it” text responses.
They came.
Because that’s what the church is supposed to do.
We show up.
When there’s a need—we show up.
When someone’s hurting—we show up.
When leadership calls—we don’t spectate.
We step in.
Listen—these people were thirty miles away.
And they didn’t have cars.
No playlists. No drive-thru coffee on the way.
Just dirt, sandals, and time.
This was a two-day walk—and they still showed up.
No complaints. No excuses. Just obedience.
And yet—we’ve got people today who will skip church because they “didn’t feel like driving today.”
We’ll blame the weather, the drive, the gas prices, or how we’re “just not feeling it today.”
Some of us treat showing up to the house of God like it’s a chore instead of a calling.
Let me just say it plain:
We are more inconvenienced by comfort than they were by sacrifice.
We’ve made convenience our idol.
We’ve made excuses our liturgy.
And then we wonder why our faith feels weak.
Maybe it’s not the church that’s dry—maybe it’s your devotion.
These elders walked thirty miles just to hear what Paul had to say.
And we struggle when the Pastor goes too long and we have to go to lunch a little later.
We want a move of God without making a move toward God.
And I’m not saying that to be harsh—I’m saying it to wake us up.
Because sometimes the difference between what you receive and what you miss is whether or not you showed up.
You okay?
I know—I just stepped on like… fourteen toes.
Some of y’all trying not to make eye contact right now.
It’s fine.
Just blink twice if you’re convicted.
Alright—I gotta pick up the pace.
Turn to your neighbor and say, “I hope he takes his time.”
Some of you said it with an attitude… I’ll pray for you.
The elders arrive and Paul starts his speech.
verse 18
18 And when they came to him, he said to them:
“You yourselves know how I lived among you the whole time from the first day that I set foot in Asia, 19 serving the Lord with all humility and with tears and with trials that happened to me through the plots of the Jews; 20 how I did not shrink from declaring to you anything that was profitable, and teaching you in public and from house to house, 21 testifying both to Jews and to Greeks of repentance toward God and of faith in our Lord Jesus Christ.
First, Paul reminds them how he lived.
He didn’t live above them—he lived among them.
He wasn’t some distant, untouchable figure.
He served them—with humility, with tears, and through trials.
And he didn’t shrink back.
He taught what was needed—publicly and privately.
He gave them everything that would help them—nothing held back.
Then, in verse 22, Paul says something that would terrify most of us getting ready to travel.
22 And now, behold, I am going to Jerusalem, constrained by the Spirit, not knowing what will happen to me there, 23 except that the Holy Spirit testifies to me in every city that imprisonment and afflictions await me.
Paul drops a bomb.
He doesn’t know what’s going to happen—except that the Holy Spirit keeps telling him the same thing over and over in every city he goes to:
“Imprisonment and affliction are waiting for you.”
And what’s wild?
Paul still goes.
Why?
24 But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God.
Paul didn’t find his value in his life—he found his value in what Jesus did for him.
Not in comfort. Not in safety. Not in how long he lived.
But in finishing what Jesus gave him to do.
His goal wasn’t survival—it was surrender.
His purpose wasn’t protection—it was proclamation.
He said, “If I can just finish the race… if I can just testify to the grace of God… that’s enough.”
That’s not just radical faith—that’s real faith.
The kind that lives poured out, not self-protected.
And Paul didn’t just say it once—he doubled down in his letter to the church in Philippi:
8 Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ
Now—“rubbish” sounds polite.
Almost too polite.
But here’s the thing… that’s not what Paul said.
The word he used in the Greek is skubalon.
And skubalon wasn’t a churchy word.
It was a 4-letter word starting with ‘S’—and let’s just say, the translators cleaned it up a bit.
It was crude. It was slang. It referred to filth, street waste.
It’s the kind of word you wouldn’t say in front of your grandma.
But Paul wasn’t trying to be polite—he was trying to be clear.
He’s saying:
“Everything I thought made me valuable? All my status, my reputation, my achievements—it’s garbage. It’s crap. It’s worse than useless compared to knowing Jesus.”
Why use such a strong word?
Because he wanted to draw a line.
Between what looks impressive to the world—and what actually matters in the Kingdom.
Between external credentials—and internal transformation.
And maybe we need to recover that kind of honesty again.
So let me ask you: What are you still protecting… polishing… prioritizing…
that Paul would have just called skubalon?
Because eventually, something’s got to give.
You can’t hold on to everything and still follow Jesus fully.
There comes a moment where you have to decide—what’s worth losing so Christ can be your gain?
real faith lives not in what you keep, but in what you’re willing to lay down.
The kind of faith that shows up when your identity is rooted in Christ, not in your circumstances.
Verse 25 we realize—Paul is saying goodbye.
He’s not coming back to Ephesus.
This is it.
He’ll write them later—what we now know as the book of Ephesians—but face to face, this moment in Miletus is the final one.
And Paul knows it.
He’s not just delivering a message—he’s handing over the weight of leadership.
He’s pouring out everything he can, one last time.
I want to give you some homework.
I haven’t—and I’m not—reading every single verse in this passage to you.
Go home and read it.
Acts 20:26–38.
It’s rich. It’s convicting.
It’s one of the most personal and powerful moments in the book of Acts.
But right now, I want to hit a few highlights as I attempt to wrap up—because what Paul says here matters.
Not just for elders.
Not just for leaders.
But for all of us who want to live faithful to the mission of Jesus.
Paul says:
“I am innocent of the blood of all, for I did not shrink from declaring to you the whole counsel of God.”
(v. 26–27)
Paul didn’t hold anything back.
Not the hard truths. Not the uncomfortable ones.
Not just the parts people wanted to hear.
He preached the whole Word.
And because of that—he could walk away with a clear conscience.
Then he looks at the elders and gives them this charge:
“Pay careful attention to yourselves and to all the flock,
in which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers,
to care for the church of God, which He obtained with His own blood.”
(v. 28)
That’s the weight of leadership.
You’re not guarding your reputation.
You’re not managing a crowd.
You’re caring for what Jesus died to redeem.
And then comes the warning:
“I know that after my departure fierce wolves will come in among you…
even from among your own selves.”
(v. 29–30)
Let’s be clear—not everyone who looks spiritual is sent by God.
There will be external attacks and internal deception.
So Paul says: Be alert.
Stay awake. Stay grounded.
Guard your heart and guard the flock.
Then this powerful line:
“And now I commend you to God and to the word of His grace…”
(v. 32)
Paul knows—he’s leaving, but God isn’t.
And the Word of God is enough to sustain them.
Not Paul’s presence. Not a personality.
The Word.
He reminds them:
“I didn’t do this for money. I worked with my hands.
I lived generously. I modeled sacrifice.”
(v. 33–35)
And then he quotes Jesus:
“It is more blessed to give than to receive.”
And finally—the goodbye.
They kneel.
They pray.
They weep.
They hug.
They grieve—because they know they’ll never see him again?
This is what it looks like to live a life poured out.
Paul gave them everything.
Truth, tears, time, and testimony.
He didn’t hold back—and he didn’t coast to the finish.
He handed them the Word.
He handed them the weight.
And he showed them what faithfulness looks like.
And maybe—just maybe—that’s what the church needs again.
Not polish. Not hype.
But people who show up, speak truth, live surrendered, and finish well.
People who don’t shrink back.
People who give more than they take.
People who know that their life isn’t the mission—the gospel is.
So the question is simple: Are you living poured out?
Or are you holding back?
Because the call hasn’t changed.
And the mission isn’t finished.
Let’s be faithful.
Let’s stay awake.
And let’s keep going.
When we surrender everything we can be Poured Out but Never Empty.
Pray
