The Feast of the Conversion of St Paul (Acts 9)

A sermon preached by Revd Robert Thompson

The thoughts and feelings that we human beings have are often a mystery to ourselves. That was brought home with startling reality to me this week as I boarded a Central Line train at Shepherd's Bush station. As I entered a carriage I became all too aware of a man of Middle Eastern origins, dressed in a robe, wearing a beard, and carrying a medium size sports bag on his lap. Immediately I felt a physical reaction. My body was indicating fear. At the same time my head was telling me not to be so stupid - even racist - there was nothing to be afraid of. My body was directing me to go to another carriage or wait for the next rain. My head was telling me to stay put. A compromise of sorts was reached as I sat as far away from the man in question as was possible, but in the same compartment.

I have no idea why I felt as I did this week. I often felt like that in the few weeks after the tube bombings. But that soon dissipated and this reaction seemed to come out of nowhere. Perhaps it was a response to the airport security scares that we have heard over the holiday period. But nonetheless I felt uneasy with myself. This was especially so given that I had earlier that day been on the wards of the hospital, where I am Lead Chaplain, with my Muslim colleague: a man of incredible tolerance, patience and love.

To view another human being as I did on Wednesday past with the utmost suspicion raises broader issues of trust in our contemporary society. Some social commentators locate the blame for the ills of our modern world to the breakdown of trust between human beings and between individuals and the institutions that lubricate our common and national life. You only have to skim the news over the past few weeks to garner some supporting evidence:

1. In the political arena there is the Chilcott enquiry into the war in Iraq: Do we trust our politicians to tell us the truth?
2. In the financial arena there is the question of bonuses to employees of publicly bailed out banks: Do we trust our bankers to be fair and equitable?
3. In the religious arena there is was the damming report of the cover-up of child abuse within the Catholic archdiocese of Dublin: Do we trust our clergy not to be raving hypocrites?

Originating from the north of Ireland I add to these more universal stories the parochial politics of the 6 counties of Ulster. From there we have the tales of

1. inter-generational marriage infidelity among prominent fundamentalist Christians
2. a potential cover-up of shady business dealings by the First Minister and his wife
3. And running alongside all this another likely breakdown in devolved government over the transfer of policing powers to the Stormont Assembly.

How do you trust your partner?

How do you Trust your First Minister or M.P?

How do you trust the man who used to be in a terrorist organisation that murdered your cousin with the powers to direct security policy of the province?

And then back to London: How do you trust the bearded, Middle Eastern man, in Muslim dress with a sports bag on his lap on the Central Line train?

These issues of violence and trust are right at the heart of the story of St Paul's conversion as it is recorded in the Acts of the Apostles. The problem for us in hearing this story again today is that we think we know it all too well. We carry the story around within us in a very simplistic Sunday school version that fails to allow us to see the relevant issues. The Sunday school version of the event is this - there was 'Saul', a rampant persecutor of the early church. This 'Saul' saw Jesus on the Road to Damascus and then became 'Paul'; not just one of Jesus' followers but a superhuman hero amongst the early apostles. In short: there is the very bad 'Saul' and the very good 'Paul'.

There are however three immediate difficulties with his caricature:

1. In the first place 'Paul' is simply the Greek translation of the Hebrew name 'Saul'. It is used in the text of Acts when Saul/Paul focuses his mission in Greek speaking areas. The name change does not happen at the time of the experience that we have heard about again today. Indeed at the end of today's text, even after the 'conversion', it is 'Saul' that is used.
2. In the second place the Saul/Paul who is depicted in Acts is not very heroic at all. He is painted as an extremely human man, extraordinary wilful and proud and a maker of many mistakes.
3. Thirdly although we call this Paul's 'conversion' it's not a simple conversion from Judaism to Christianity as we might too easily think. That is an interpretation that we can give to this event only retrospectively- for at the time Judaism and Christianity were not yet separate religions. In reality Saul/Paul changed brands of first century Palestinian Judaism. He switched from belonging to the school of the Pharisees to Christian Judaism, Jews who also followed Christ as the Way.

These difficulties arise. I think, because we focus too much on the style and process of Paul's experience - the blinding light; the voice from heaven; the seemingly instantaneous and individual nature of the encounter; the directness of it - rather than on the actual content of the conversion itself.

Violence is a key issue in the text that we often overlook. Saul was earlier in the book of Acts introduced as a young man who held the coats of those who stoned the apostle Stephen, the first Christian martyr. In today's portion of scripture Saul is again introduced as a man of violence; a threatening bully; an imprisoner; a potential murderer, if not one in reality already. In the earliest depictions of Saul/Paul in the Acts of the Apostles he is almost described exclusively in terms of his violent actions.

It is this violence that Jesus addresses as he speaks out of the heavenly light: "Saul, Saul. Why do you persecute me?" Saul does not know who is speaking to him so he asks: "Who are you Lord?" And Jesus identifies himself and again raises the issue of violence: "I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting." Here Jesus also identifies himself with his followers who are suffering at Saul's hands. It's an identification that recalls the 'parable of the Sheep and Goats' (Mtt. 25: 31-46) that Matthew records: "just as you did it to one of the least of these who are member of my family, you did it to me." (Mtt. 25:40) In making this connection the Jesus whom Saul encounters highlights his violence as the pivotal subject of his conversion.

A second key issue that we overlook in this text is that Paul's' conversion from violence is neither an instantaneous nor an individual matter. Rather it is process in which the followers of Jesus in Damascus played a critical part. And their role focuses our attention to the issue of trust.

The story we have heard today is really the story of two conversions and not just one. There is Saul's conversion from violence, but there is also the conversion of Ananias from fear to trust. The Lord appears to Ananias and tells him to go and find Saul and lay hands on him so he can regain his sight. Ananias is quite understandably sceptical. He knows Saul's reputation for violence and brutality all too well. But he is assured that all will be well and that Saul is chosen to extend the gospel into the Gentile world. The outward sign of Ananias' conversion of heart and mind is when he enters the house on Straight Street, lays his hands on Saul's head and calls him "Brother".

It is precisely this conversion of Ananias from fear of Saul to trust that leads to the next progressive step in Paul's own personal transformation. Saul is welcomed into the Church at Damascus. He is baptized. He eats with them. He regains his strength amongst them. The text tells us that he was there for a period of "several days" after which he began to proclaim in the synagogues that Jesus was the Son of God. The man of violence is transformed not simply by the blinding light of the voice of Jesus on the road, but he is transformed also by a community of Christians in Damascus who believe that such a conversion is indeed possible; who are transformed themselves from fear to trust; and who receive him with loving, restorative, hospitality.

I am left wondering if Saul's' conversion would have in the end amounted to much if it had not been received by Ananias and the other followers of Jesus in Damascus with such extraordinary grace? Does the true conversion of the persecutor hinge on the ability of the persecuted to extend forgiveness? My strong feeling is that if Saul had not experienced the love of the community at Damascus the event on the road before it would all too quickly have slipped away. Real conversion, real transformation is not simply matter of individuals standing alone before God but it is a divine process of human reciprocity and community building, that requires the transformation of entire social networks and relations. This much family therapists know all too well, as do those who advocate the practices of restorative justice.

Within the complex mystery of ourselves there lies both a Saul and an Ananias. None of us may be quite women and men of violence to the extent of Paul's depiction in the book of Acts. But we all have our own little, more subtle ways, of persecuting others. More of us may be like Ananias, sceptical and cynical of the real intentions of others - especially those whose former life history, like Paul's, is other to the transformed and converted life. The lively memory of the persecuted Jesus who appeared on the road to Damascus is the lively memory of the one who on the cross forgives those who crucify him. This same Jesus calls the Sauls and the Ananiases within each of us to equal transformation: Give up Violence; Forgive; Trust. Answering that call will transform us and our communities.

It may even help us to board Central Line trains.