Homily: The Conversion of Paul

The story of Saul’s call to discipleship is an enviable one. Many of us wish for that brilliant 'flash of lightning' event that gives us an unmistakably clear picture of the way the Lord is calling us to deeper love and intimacy. It doesn’t work that way for us. Our call typically comes from invitations that encourage our freedom rather than from an earth-shaking event like Saul's.

We meet Saul as an infamous persecutor of the People of the Way, as Christians were called. His road to Damascus experience makes him a believer and gives him a mission as the apostle to the Gentiles. Paul did not just go on his merry way to start his ministry. We seldom think about the trauma Paul experienced during the transition. He is a zealous man who believes in the supremacy of the Torah, as any devout Jew believes. He works tirelessly to bring about conditions to fulfill the Law, and he is intent on wiping out any impediments to that goal – and to Saul, the People of the Way are upsetting the hopes of the Jews. To be a faithful servant who hastens God’s plan for salvation, Saul seeks to correct the conditions to bring about the Day of the Lord. His mind is bewildered and boggled to realize that this man, Jesus, whose mission apparently failed, now replaces the Law as his symbol of worship.

Saul cannot comprehend Jesus through his cognition. His head gets in the way. His duty, strict adherence to his belief in the laws, his cultural conditioning does not allow his heart to be moved. Somehow it has to be moved aside. We have parallels in our church today when bishops teach the faithful ones to obediently fulfill church teaching by rigid adherence through its documents, it's teaching of idealized Platonic and classical ideals, rather than through one's own heart that is taught from one's lived experiences of faith. Faith in God comes about only when it becomes personal.

This is what happens to Saul. With Saul, it gets personal. Jesus cries out to him, "Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?" No human runs to his or her catechism, or General Instruction on the Roman Missal, or puts on a cassock or biretta, to answer this question. Our heart and emotions engage. We deal with our human response as we contemplate the pain our Risen Lord is feeling. How many times have we uttered a cry like this, "why are you picking on me?," "why don't you leave me alone," or "don't you realize you are hurting me?" This is real pain. Christ feels vulnerable. Christ feels real pain. Saul causes it. We also cause it. The Lord's words erupt after experiencing prolonged abuse, and he seeks relief. Saul can only ask, "Who are you that I am hurting?" Yes, this is personal. He no longer wants to hurt Christ Jesus anymore. His heart becomes aware; now his mind has to comprehend the consequences of his actions. The heart informs the head. The heart leads the head.

Saul goes off to Damascus and becomes Paul. We pay little regard for the wrestling that Paul goes through to piece his life together. His world is shattered - completely splattered - and he no longer has a compass to orient his life. His entire worldview has to be rebuilt. Without a doubt, Christ does not leave him, and without a doubt, Paul relies upon the graciousness of his one-time enemies. We cannot contemplate Paul's call without looking at Ananias who becomes a critical player and his metanoia is more along the lines of our own call.

Ananias offers Paul hospitality. He feeds him, nurses him, spends time with him, and lays hands upon him. He respectfully relates his own story to Paul and patiently gets him back on his feet. He cares for him in his trauma and soothes his soul-searched wounds. He does not proselytize, but gives him freedom and space and time to be healed. Ananias has fears and doubts for sure. Against the fragile community's wishes, he takes in his most-feared adversary who now professes 'Jesus is Lord.' Surely he doubts Paul's integrity, but he hangs on. He just remains with him rather than trying to do something for him. His patient pacing and persevering pays off.

Ananias was called to greater love and trust in Christ which makes him risk his life and the life of the fledgling, persecuted community. He wasn't called to a specific vocation, or to a new position, or to a new identity. He was called to a new way of being. Ananias' call was to be a person who extended mercy and hospitality, compassionate care, and a tender invitation for Paul to rebuild his life around the Lord in his Damascus home. It was not a call to a "what" but to a "how." It was a shift from head to heart. The early church needed the example of Ananias, and we need this example in our church today. "How are we going to be?" is more important than "what or who are we going to be?"

We come here to focus upon our friendship with Christ. As we consider our own call, perhaps it is helpful for us to remember the people who invited us along the way to see Jesus more clearly. We cherish them and uphold them and we want what they have. They are like Ananias to us and they befriend us when we find ourselves in a bad way. And in a loving way, they hold up for us a giant STOP sign to indicate that we may need to take a breath and get our life on track with the Lord once again. They help us look deeply into the eyes of Christ so we may once again be in right relations with him.

Only Christ can help us remove the impediments to seeing him more clearly. We can't do it. We can't will it to happen. Only his mercy will take away that which keeps us from getting closer. He helps us see that we try to control him, that we see him as we would like not as he really is, that we look at the narcissistic part of ourselves that keeps us looking at our navel instead of looking at him. In many ways, he is trying to knock us off our high horse with a blinding light so we can stop to pay attention to him, just as he did with Saul. He is crying out, "John, John, why are you neglecting me? I want you to come closer to me. Why don't you let go? Think of what you will gain rather than what you will lose. I can't reach you if you hold onto yourself. Please, John, let go. I want you to be with me." When we stop and learn to see him with our heart, we feel his pain, we feel his vulnerabilities. We feel with him as he feels. Everything changes. Everything looks different when we allow his heart to touch our own.

Christ wants to give himself to us because that is all he can do. He knows how much we need forgiveness and healing in a world that is systemically broken. He knows the extent that each of us is hurt and battered, and he wants us to actualize his dream for us. He wants our hearts to be so alive each day that it nearly explodes with his presence, just because he desires us so much.

Watch him over these next few days. Just be with him now - not working hard, not praying hard. He wants us to be with him now, to see him fully, so we can also see the great act of love he does for us. The cross looms on the horizon and while it is horrific to gaze upon, we can't escape it. We cannot separate him from his Cross. He wants us to know just how far he will go to give himself over for us. We need him to do this for us. You can't save yourself. In the meantime, give whatever you can to him. Give him your heart. Give him all your worries and fears. Give him anything you can. And if you still can't do that, let him take it from you. Let him do what he came to us to do. His heart will be consoled.