The story of Saul’s conversion is extraordinary.

Saul was Jewish—a Pharisee, in fact—a Roman citizen, well-educated, and well-traveled. And… he was a vigilante. Saul took it upon himself to protect his religion from the heretics who were spreading stories about Jesus’ resurrection.

Some even proclaimed Jesus to be the Messiah or the Son of God. The followers of the Way were the enemy he sought to destroy.

And he was good at it. There was blood on his hands.

In today’s reading, Saul is heading to Damascus to capture more followers. As he neared the city, a light suddenly blazed around him—he was blinded and fell to the ground. Then he heard a voice speaking:

“Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?”

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.”

Let’s hit “pause” on the story for a moment. Imagine that you’ve committed your life to rooting out the “bad guys.” And in one flash of revelation, you learn:

a.      Jesus is resurrected.

b. The people you’ve been chasing—those “bad guys”—belong to Jesus in a way you don’t yet understand.
 
 

c. Jesus is obviously aware of everything you’ve done.

Jesus isn’t finished speaking:
 
 

“Stand up, go into Damascus, and there you will be told what you must do.”

Saul goes into Damascus. He is still blind. And he stops eating and drinking. He has no timeline. He does not know what will happen next—or when or how. I have a lot of empathy for him during these days. His way of life, his belief system, his physical abilities… all of it has been laid bare. Three days is a long time to sit in darkness.

While Saul was waiting, God called Ananias to heal Saul’s eyesight. Ananias knew the name “Saul,” and he was not excited about meeting him. But God said, “Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel.”

God chose the vigilante to be his Spirit-filled instrument of love.

Ananias healed Saul’s eyesight. Saul got to his feet and was baptized. And then he began to proclaim Jesus in the synagogues, declaring that he is the Son of God.

What an amazing turnaround.

On the road to Damascus, Saul had an encounter with divine truth. Encounters with Truth change us.

Those moments are not only recorded in Scripture. They happen in our lives, too.

Before I attended seminary, I lived in a 3,500 sq. ft. home with a three-car garage filled with an SUV, an electric car, and a hot yellow sports car. And I lived alone.

During seminary, I lived in a 420 sq. ft. one-room apartment. There were cinderblock walls painted beige, a camp-sized stove, three kitchen cupboards, no dishwasher, one bathroom, four dresser drawers, and one closet. And I shared that space with a roommate.

At the end of our second year, I locked the door to the apartment… and then stopped. I unlocked the door and just stared. Everything we had needed to live well during the past two years was contained in that space.

It was an encounter with truth for me. That moment has shaped every decision I have made since.

We all have those moments—when something stops us in our tracks. We become profoundly aware that what we are chasing is smoke and mirrors. It is not of God.

In her book Traveling Mercies, Anne Lamott wrote, “I do not understand the mystery of grace—only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.”

It was Grace that met Saul after his encounter with God. Grace lifted him to his feet and walked with him into new life.

Grace met me when I realized that I had been chasing material things. Grace walked with me as I reshaped my life.

Four years ago, St. Christopher’s had to leave behind a church building that had been home to this congregation for more than 60 years. Somewhere along this journey, we had an encounter with truth: the church is not a place we go on Sunday. We are the church. That profound truth has reshaped our imagination for our next home.

Grace met us right here—through the people of St. Matthew’s and St. Christopher’s. Grace lifted us to our feet and walked with us through grief and into this joyful time of growth and reinvigoration.

God has called St. Christopher’s to be a Spirit-filled instrument of love—to cast God’s vision of heaven on earth in our community, to love our neighbors.

To borrow a phrase from Karen Carpenter: “We’ve only just begun.”