“Now a man named Ananias, together with his wife Sapphira, also sold a piece of property. With his wife’s full knowledge, he kept back part of the money for himself, but brought the rest and put it at the apostles’ feet. Then Peter said, ‘Ananias, how is it that Satan has so filled your heart that you have lied to the Holy Spirit and have kept for yourself some of the money you received for the land? Didn’t it belong to you before it was sold? And after it was sold, wasn’t the money at your disposal? What made you think of doing such a thing? You have not lied just to human beings but to God.’ When Ananias heard this, he fell down and died. And great fear seized all who heard what had happened. Then some young men came forward, wrapped up his body, and carried him out and buried him.
About three hours later his wife came in, not knowing what had happened. Peter asked her, ‘Tell me, is this the price you and Ananias got for the land?’ ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘that is the price.’ Peter said to her, ‘How could you conspire to test the Spirit of the Lord? Listen! The feet of the men who buried your husband are at the door, and they will carry you out also.’ At that moment she fell down at his feet and died. Then the young men came in and, finding her dead, carried her out and buried her beside her husband. Great fear seized the whole church and all who heard about these events.” - Acts 5:1-11
Reflection
This passage is one of the most sobering accounts in the New Testament church. At first glance, the judgment seems harsh—perhaps even disproportionate to what we perceive as a misstep in giving. But something much deeper is going on beneath the surface, and its implications reach into every corner of our relational lives.
Ananias and Sapphira did not die because they withheld money—they died because they were deceptive about their generosity in order to appear righteous. Their sin wasn’t in what they gave, but in pretending they gave everything when they hadn’t. Their deception wasn’t just personal; it affected their relationships—with each other, with their spiritual community, and ultimately with God.
Luke tells us they agreed together to carry out this deceit. They were unified in duplicity, rather than in honesty. At the heart of this story lies a key question: what happens when relationships are built on appearances rather than truth?
The early church was a place where “all who believed were together and had all things in common” (Acts 2:44). There was radical generosity, shared purpose, and deep authenticity. It was a fragile, sacred environment—one where relational trust was the soil in which the gospel took root. Ananias and Sapphira introduced rot into that soil. Their lie wasn’t simply about property; it was an act that could fracture the trust and transparency the Spirit was cultivating.
This moment also draws our attention to spiritual complicity in relationships. Sapphira was not simply unaware—she was a full participant in the plan. What does it mean when someone we love encourages us in compromise? Or when we, through silence or collusion, support something we know isn’t right?
The fear that spread through the church in the wake of their deaths wasn’t just fear of punishment. It was a reverent, trembling awareness of God’s holiness and the serious call to integrity within community. God’s justice in this moment preserved the unity and purity of the church’s foundation. It was a mercy to the larger body, even though it came at great individual cost.
Personal Application:
Integrity is the invisible architecture of every relationship we build. Whether in marriages, friendships, ministry partnerships, or church community, what we say and do—and just as importantly, what we hide—shapes the trust between us. When deception creeps in, even in small doses, it begins to corrode intimacy. It reshapes how we view each other. It distorts love into performance.
Consider Ananias and Sapphira’s marriage. Their mutual decision to lie suggests a relationship that prioritized image over truth. Rather than challenging each other toward righteousness, they conspired to preserve their reputation. It’s a cautionary picture of how partnerships can either call us up or pull us down.
If you’ve ever been tempted to hide the truth in order to be accepted, this passage resonates. Many of us have lived with the fear that our full selves—our flaws, our shortcomings, our half-obediences—aren’t welcome. We’d rather manage appearances than risk being known and challenged. But Acts 5 reminds us: God isn’t interested in our performance. He desires honesty, humility, and wholeheartedness.
On a relational level, this challenges us to examine the health of our close partnerships. Are we encouraging one another toward truth, even when it costs us? Are we committed to transparency, even if it risks our image? Do our communities make space for confession and repentance, or do they subtly reward appearances?
This also applies to leadership. If you're in a position of influence—whether over your family, a ministry, or a creative endeavor—how you model truthfulness will shape the culture around you. Ananias and Sapphira weren’t just private individuals; their actions affected the integrity of the whole faith community. Every relationship carries weight, and integrity is the foundation that holds that weight without cracking.
It’s worth asking:
- Are there areas in my life where I’m giving the impression of greater obedience than is true?
- Am I inviting accountability from those closest to me?
- Have I contributed to relational or communal deception, even by omission?
- Is my marriage or closest friendship a space of truth-telling or complicity?
The good news is this: we serve a God of grace who invites us back into alignment, not through shame but through repentance. The story of Ananias and Sapphira is a warning, but it’s also a beacon. It urges us to build relationships anchored in truth and infused with the Spirit’s presence. It calls us away from superficial unity and toward the deep, costly trust that true fellowship requires.
Prayer:
Lord, You are a God of truth. You see every hidden corner of our lives, and yet You love us fully. Teach us to walk in integrity—not out of fear, but out of reverence and love for You. Where we have shaded the truth to protect our image, forgive us. Where we have colluded with others in compromise, convict us. And where we long for deeper honesty but feel afraid, strengthen us. Make our relationships places of accountability, compassion, and truth-telling. Help us to encourage one another toward righteousness. Let our communities reflect the purity and power of the early church—not through perfection, but through Spirit-filled authenticity. We yield our reputations, our comforts, our control, and we ask instead for hearts that are open and true before You and others. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Written by Sarah Leasure
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