Dark.

It was dark.

Dark as a night without stars.  A room without a lamp.  A prison cell without a window.

And yet, it was in the midst of this complete and total darkness that I began to see the light.

My life had been one great striving to fulfill the law. 

A rigid adherence to the truth the God of my people had revealed to His chosen race. 

My eyes, I believed, were open to all He was and ever would be.

But the Lord, in His graciousness, showed me how blind I truly was.

And into my well-ordered life, a blessed chaos came.

Jesus Christ.

      A Blessed Chaos

Blood striped the sandy soil near his feet like welts on the back of an obstinate slave.  Nearby a young man lay dying, having committed his soul to the God of Abraham in the same gentle tones he had used to beg forgiveness for those who raised their hands against him.  Troubled, the young Pharisee shifted his weight, consciously stepping back as another of his number moved towards him to reclaim the robe he had left in his charge.

“One less to trouble Heaven.  Eh, Saul?”

Dark eyes, heavily-lidded, were focused on the speaker.  “Yes.  One less.”

So it was.

So it was never meant to be. 

Brother against brother.  Jew against Jew.  And all because of this presumptuous carpenter from Galilee and his band of fanatical devotees who could not  - would not  - admit defeat.  Saul shook his head as the limp body of the man named Stephen was silently borne away by friends and family.  How could they possibly believe what they purported?  How could they lay claim to a Savior who promised to destroy the Temple?  To do away with the law that was his life? 

How could they believe in a Messiah who died accursed on a tree?

Yes.  As of this day there was one less fanatic to worry about.  But he, Saul of Tarsus, vowed never to stop until there were none left to take his place.

“We do the work of the Lord,” Saul asserted, handing over the dark garment, “blessed be the Name of the Lord.”   His companion Pharisee nodded and clasped his arm firmly, unexpectedly leaving a scarlet impression on his sleeve painted fresh in martyr’s blood.

Saul drew back, startled.  Until that moment, his hands had been clean.

                                                                ~

 The music had not changed.  Not so he could discern and yet….something was different.

Saul lifted his head, disturbed.  Outside the window of his humble home songbirds winged through the darkening sky in tune with the majesty that was the God of Israel.  Without thought they embraced Yahweh’s eternal plan – single notes woven inextricably into the symphony of the universe.  By God’s grace they knew their purpose. 

Even they, creatures without conscience, knew their place.

The dark-haired young man sighed and rocked back on his heels, his prayers falling somewhat short of Heaven.  Today, it seemed God was not listening.  A sad smile touched Saul’s full lips as he shifted into a seated position.

For most of his young life – all he could remember –  Saul had devoted every waking moment to the study of the law.  He had breathed it.  Eaten it.  Gone to bed and risen by it.  The law had become the melody by which he existed, the song that lightened his heart; lifting his feet and setting them on a path that included study with the masterful Gamaliel, early recognition of his keen intelligence and powers of persuasion, and a position as one of the youngest members of the Pharisitical order.

But of late, in the last month or two, despite repeated attempts to ignore it, he had come to the realization that something had changed.  The melody had become strained.  Discordant.  It weighed him down now, causing his head to hang, his feet to drag, and his heart…. 

Well, his heart was simply no longer able to sing.

Saul knew the law was perfect.  All.  And so, with dreadful certainty, he knew whatever was wrong lay in him.  He was out of joint.  Lost….

Deep in meditation, Saul waited upon his Lord, his mind drifting back to the morning’s rash act.  If it had not been for the depth of Stephen’s transgression, their loss of control would have been embarrassing.  Still he could not help but remember the look of utter peace upon the blasphemous youth’s face.  What did Stephen know?  What contentment, real or imagined, fueled the steady fire that lit his light grey eyes?  Drawing a quick breath, Saul’s own eyes snapped open.  With sudden insight he realized God had not fallen silent. 

His own disquiet had stopped his ears.

Illumined by a brilliant beam of steady moonlight Saul knelt and bent his head against the cold unyielding floor.  In desperation he called upon the Father of the Universe to open the eyes of his heart so that he might see clearly.  He asked that his ears might be unstopped, so that he might hear and his lips  part once again to sing his Lord’s praises.

“Show me, oh God my father, the truth.  For only the truth will set me free.”

And there in the darkness, without the comfort of a pallet or a wife and troubled in his breast, Saul lay until sleep overtook him.

                                                                                                                         ~

After early morning study with his master and some time spent learning to perfect his tent-making craft, Saul hastily made his way to the Temple in order to continue his renewed relationship with the Lord God Jehovah.  As he moved through the crowded streets lined with vendors peddling  everything from daily necessities to unspotted animals ripe for sacrifice, he heard several pointed comments, and once or twice saw hands lifted his direction in  praise and  blessing. 

The story of the stoning of  the Nazarene’s follower had obviously proceeded him.

Swallowing hard, he continued to press forward until one aged woman broke free from the disorderly ranks to thank him personally for his obedience to God. 

“The Lord of all will bless you and yours for many generations to come,” she whispered, shyly touching his hand. 

Quickly nodding his thanks Saul pulled away, touched, but disturbed as well by his sudden celebrity.  All he had done was guard the others’ robes while they had meted out God’s just punishment.  Still, he gave thanks for this human confirmation of the decision he had made upon waking cold and stiff on the uneven floor of his humble dwelling.

What they had done had been just.

Stephen – even as Saul –  was a child of the Diaspora, a descendant of the children of Israel long since displaced from their homeland and forced to live and thrive in foreign lands until the day they could come home to Jerusalem.  And like Saul, he too had known the one God and worked tirelessly for him.  But then for some incomprehensible reason this young man –  so full of grace and power – had come to believe the filth about the carpenter from Nazareth.  It had pained Saul to watch Stephen fall away from the brethren, to hear blasphemies issue from his lips.  And when at last Stephen stood upon the steps of the Temple and spoke stingingly, accusing the guardians of God’s law of being stiff-necked, calling them ‘uncircumcised’ and murderers; when he threatened the Temple, the Council, their very God, Saul  too had been overcome with rage and cried out for vengeance, ready to hurl the first stone.

But something had stopped him. 

Instead of joining in he had stood by, mute; his hands shaking and his dark eyes wide.  This was not the law as he understood it.  This was chaos.   If their God was as almighty as they believed, then why this frantic anger?  If Jehovah was in control, what threat was one poor lost soul who prayed to a god with pierced skin and a bloody crown?  And yet, threat there was.  If not to God, then to Israel.  The Romans would not stand by as these fanatics interfered with their gods and the trade their worship engendered. Herod would not hear of another ‘king’ in Israel.  And so, blessing or curse, Stephen’s young voice had been stilled in a moment of sheer frustration and rage.

Upon waking this morning God had confirmed Saul’s thought: their zeal had been righteous, but their methods questionable.  Jehovah had spoken but one word in his ear as he lay there, exhausted, still seeking His face.  “Open your eyes,” a quiet voice had breathed into the morning stillness, “to the incomparable power of those who believe.  Open your eyes.”

Now, his eyes were open.  He knew his own heart and waited only upon Yahweh’s favor.

Moving into the center court of the Temple Saul caught sight of a small group of men and women who seemed to shrink into the shadows as his eyes fell upon them.  He paused as one man among them met his stare – a tall rough-hewn man with callused hands and skin tanned bronze by constant exposure to sun and sea.  The man’s back was straight, the tilt of his head not arrogant, but unbowed.  Saul’s eyes narrowed, expecting to find in the fisherman’s look the recognition of a mortal enemy. 

The older man instead gazed upon him with pity, and then called for those about him to lower their heads in prayer.

Saul stopped, aghast.  How dare he?  Here, within his own Temple?  Within the sight of the one true God?  

How dare these Christians pretend to know better how to worship him?  

Saul took one step toward the renegades only to find himself suddenly caught up in a vast influx of sweaty, road-weary pilgrims.  He was spun round and round.  By the time he had disentangled himself, the followers of the Galilean had vanished, melting into the shadows of the vast colonnaded temple as if they had never been.

Disgruntled Saul hesitated a moment, seeking to clear his head before entering the presence of God.  Then, he entered the inner circle.  As the ancient ceremony began and the words of the Prophets drifted to him on the hot dusty air, a curious thing happened.  He felt a hand grip his heart and  without warning  time stood still.

In his head a hushed voice spoke.  “Saul, as Isaiah before, I would send you.  Will you go for me?”

“My only desire, Lord, is to serve you,” he answered, his head spinning.  “Tell me what you wish?”

“Will you listen when I call?”

“I’m listening now, Lord.  Tell me.  What is it you want?”

The voice of the Lord was stubbornly silent and into the silence that fell, reality bled.  Once again Saul became aware of time and the constant tide of believers who streamed past him: proselytes, God-fearers and Jews. 

For just a moment, he feared his God had deserted him.

“My Lord, my rock and my salvation!” his heart cried out, near breaking.  “What more do you want of me?”

This time the voice that answered was somehow closer, more personal.  The voice of a man, and yet still his God.  

“I will take you where you would not go.  You will be made to suffer for me.  Your name will be reviled and your character questioned.  And yet, ages from now, your memory will be blessed.”  There was a pause, as though a breath was drawn, and then, “Will you still go?”

“I desire only to serve you, Lord,” Saul answered, ashamed and angered.  “Why do you question me so?”

The two voices were one.  “I am the Lord your God.  You swear your love and service, and yet you hurt me so.  Why do you not listen when I call, Saul?

“Why do you grieve me so?”

Abruptly released Saul gasped and staggered.  The pilgrims and worshippers about him looked away, thinking him drunk.  Heedless of their disapproving stares he fell to his knees and sobbed.  Yahweh’s touch had left his heart bruised. 

But the Almighty’s words had wounded him to his very soul.

God was displeased with him.  That was why he had not been able to hear.  But why?  What had he failed to do? 

He had followed the law to the nth degree.  Had made certain he remained clean and righteous.   He knew every rule, every regulation, and had gone out of his way to make certain others obeyed.

What else could he do? 

Saul’s tearful gaze moved slowly along the wall of the Temple until it caressed the veil that masked the Holy of Holies and then,  lingering for a moment on the lattice-work barrier that kept the women separate, came at last to rest on the spot where the followers of the Nazarene had knelt and prayed.

Unless it was this matter with Stephen….

Slowly rising to his feet, Saul felt his heart harden against the pain, as though a fortress had been erected to prevent it from further assault.  Any tears he had dried in his eyes as a passionate fire ignited deep within his soul.

His pursuit of knowledge had been tireless.  The race run without ceasing.  Thinking…always thinking.  But when action had been called for he had faltered.

Not again. 

Never again.

With the zeal that had possessed him to seek the meaning  and the heart of God’s law, he would now seek out these follower’s of Jesus until their leaders, their movement, the very memory of their god was obliterated from the face of the earth.

Certain in his heart that he had divined God’s will Saul turned and fled the temple to begin the Purge.

TWO

Centuries later the words used to describe the young Pharisee’s attack on the church of Jesus, the Christ, were ‘brutal’ and ‘sadistic’.  Like a wild animal savaging a body, Saul cruelly persecuted all of those who proclaimed the Risen Lord, and in his blindness – his heart as hard as flint – he cared not what families he destroyed, how many women he widowed or orphans he left to fend for themselves.  In their darkened antechambers, huddled miserably, afraid of the light, he knew they prayed to their accursed god to spare them his wrath.  And so, when they were ushered out before him, chained and bound, Saul looked into their eyes expecting to see shame and fear.

But he did not find it.

One after another, those who were led into the streets in the early morning hours, or late after their last prayers were whispered  -- one after another they sang soft praises and blessings to their god, asking Yahweh to forgive their persecutor.  Their sweet words stung like coals and left Saul angered, bewildered and confused.  Like Stephen, these Christ’s Ones thought little of themselves or the danger they were in, but of him –

The one who persecuted them. 

On this night, a young man near his age – a former acquaintance from the Temple School – spoke to him as the guards encircled the man’s wrists with irons and herded his delicate wife toward the torch lit street.  The flickering firelight illumined a handsome face and dark eyes which sparked with  keen intelligence.

“Saul, I have prayed for you,” he said, his voice as steady as the earth

Infuriated Saul retorted, “For me?  Better pray for yourself.  Or better, yet, for your young wife!”

The man closed his eyes and drew a deep breath before meeting his ferocious stare.  “By the blood of the Lamb, Jesus the Christ, my dark stains are washed clean.  Yours are still upon you, Brother Saul, and they cry out to Heaven from the ground upon which that innocent blood is spilled. Can you be so blind?  Do you not recognize your God?”

            My God?

            As they led the man away, Saul leaned back upon the cool stones that lined one of the dark catacombs the Nazarene’s Chosen had occupied and sighed.

            “My God.”

  ~

             Far away, buried in false night, a pair of callused hands were clasped in prayer, the will of one untutored fisherman bent towards his Lord and friend.  Peter asked for deliverance of his people from the fury of this man named Saul.  He asked for God to strike down their enemy so that they might prosper in spreading the word of His son.

            Little did Peter know that in granting his prayer, the God of infinite wisdom and power intended to change his world and his mission forever.  And not only his  world….

            Everyone’s.

    ~

             The people applauded when he passed by.

            Members of the Sanhedrin praised him for his zeal and inflexible fury.

            The High Priest had even taken time to thank him personally, assuring him of God’s favor.

            But Yahweh, the one who mattered most, remained stubbornly silent.  Since the day in the Temple when God had touched his heart, Saul realized he had kept himself too busy to listen.  But now as he knelt on his soft pallet, still troubled by the words of his schoolmate, he found the corridors of his mind curiously barren.  Silent.  Empty.  As though the God of his fathers had been chased like the followers of the Nazarene into the shadows by his relentless pursuit of justice in His Holy Name.

            As though no matter how hard he tried, he grieved Him still.

            Moving into a position of prayer, young Saul raised his voice in a familiar Psalm seeking the Lord’s face.

            “Why, O Lord do you stand far off?  Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?”

            As the whispered words caught in a weary throat and tears traveled the length of his bearded cheek, Saul felt more than saw a shape shift within the shadows that encircled the lamp-lit room.  Warily, he turned, catching a glimpse of a thin, sturdy frame; a narrow face masked by the darkness except for where the light revealed a pair of penetrating eyes that sought his out, cutting through the self-taught lies to the heart of his confusion.  Startled, he rose abruptly, spilling oil and casting the room into utter darkness.

            “Who?  Who is there?”

            Silence greeted him.  Boldly Saul moved across the room, hands held out before him.  In the place the man had occupied, Saul found nothing more than the coarse-woven robe he had shed earlier upon leaving the cool desert night behind. 

            Angered he whirled and shouted into the darkness.  “It will do you little good to haunt me!”  His breath came in harsh hurried gasps.  Scattered locks of dark brown hair lay plastered to his forehead, and he was trembling.  “Do you hear me?  Little good!”

            Real or imagined this god of fisherman and thieves was dangerous. 

Balling his fists Saul sought to quiet his pounding heart, taking first one deep breath and then another.  Tomorrow.  Tomorrow he would go to the Sanhedrin and ask for permission to pursue this Jesus’ followers out of the city, even to Damascus where they had fled into the arms of other Jews less likely to recognize the sedition they preached.

            Tomorrow he would follow in the footsteps of his God who, when His people had failed Him, had showed no mercy.  Had given no quarter.

And soon, as the Galiaean had died, so would his sect.

            Tomorrow it would begin.

            Even so Saul knew no sleep that night.

  THREE

            Damascus.  One of the oldest cities in the world.  A fair white jewel set in the midst of a vast verdant plain.  ‘Pearls in a goblet of green’, someone had once said, describing her.

            At this moment Saul felt as though he would never see it. 

    Six days out from Jerusalem.  Over one hundred and thirty miles from home.  After one hundred and forty hours of solitude forced upon him by the companionship of the members of the Sanhedrin –

a police force of sorts that as a Pharisee he was forbidden to speak or interact with.  Tired and foot-sore.  Troubled in his heart.  Saul had begun to believe the glistening city was nothing more than an empty promise, an almost mythical land which, like Moses, he would be prevented from entering for failing to meet God’s expectations.

            Depressed, angry, unable to escape his own dark thoughts, he refused to stop when his companions heard the first rumor of thunder that suggested a storm lay ahead.  Night was falling.  They had traveled all day with little rest, and he had no intention of passing yet another wet and weary night in the wilderness.  Thunderstorms were common in this region and he, for one, was ready for a roof over his head, a dry bed, and some intelligent conversation.  Wishing once again that the Sanhedrin had granted them mounts, Saul lifted his weary feet and headed for the crest of the ridge that signaled the end of the mountain range and the beginning of the narrow path that led through the foothills to the gates of the beautiful city itself, leaving the others to follow as they would.

            As the skies darkened unnaturally and ominous clouds moved in, eclipsing the setting sun, Saul outpaced his companions and arrived a minute or two before they did.  Relieved, he recognized Damascus’ ivory towers, painted rose-gold and tinged with lavender.

            It was the last sight he was to see for three days and nights. 

Without warning a brilliant light struck him, knocking him from his feet and onto his back.  Saul lay on the ground, the dust of the dry sandy soil – untouched by the smallest drop of rain – rising up about him, choking his throat and irritating his eyes so that they filled with tears.  As he sought to catch his breath, slamming his eyes shut against the pain, a majestic voice spoke to him both from without and within, filling his being with fear and wonder.

            “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me? ” the voice asked in tones at once severe and sad.; its’ sound sonorous as the thunder.

            Saul licked his lips, his mouth dry.  “Who….”  He swallowed and whispered against his fear.  “Who are you, sir?”

            There followed seven words that changed the young Pharisee’s life forever.  From the cradle until that moment, Saul’s life had been aimed straight as an arrow from the quiver toward one single goal:  The fulfillment of the law. 

Now, unbelievably he met it face to face.

            “I am Jesus whom you are persecuting.”  The voice paused as a presence of pure light radiated through Saul’s firmly shut eyelids, searing the puny human organisms within.  He gasped as he felt the hand of the Lord rest upon his heart, opening wide the barricade he had erected to keep God from speaking to his soul.

            “You cannot continue to kick against the goads.  But rise; go into the city, and you will be told what to do.”

            If he could have Saul would have wept, for his heart was breaking.  But his eyes were shut fast as though an impenetrable barrier had formed over them.  And in the first moment of true enlightenment he had ever known –

            He became blind.

 ~

             On the trail his companions, having ducked beneath rocks and bushes, were surprised when the lightning struck with no sound.  And later, upon arrival in Damascus, reported that the thunder  which followed seemed to carry with it words they could not understand.  Words, they said, that the young Pharisee in their charge had answered as though the God of their fathers spoke to him from out of the storm clouds as He had so long ago to Moses on Mt. Sinai.

            Perplexed they left him in the care of good Jews on the street called ‘Strait’, and went to inform those in power that the chosen messenger of the ruling council had been struck  sightless.  Helpless as a babe Saul lay on a narrow cot in the gathering darkness reciting odd passages of scripture, murmuring snatches of Psalms and crying without tears, for the inner surface of his eyes had clouded and thickened as though scorched, forming a barrier which would not yield to water or the ministrations of the cleverest physician.

            Saul for his part wanted only to be left alone.

            Alone with his thoughts.

            Alone with his God.

            For the greater part of the next day he knew a sort of restive sleep.  In his waking moments, he would at first be overwhelmed by a deep sense of wonder and excitement, even gratitude, and then without warning, fall into despair and hopelessness.  Finally, exhausted and spent, his heart and soul numb, Saul heard strange voices speaking close to his pallet as though he were deaf as well as blind.

            “It is a sign from God.”

            “But he has been blinded.  What can that mean?”

            “He has worked tirelessly ridding Jerusalem of the vermin called the Christ’s ones.”  The voice paused, obviously disgusted with the misuse of the name of the Messiah.  “How could God be displeased with him?  Why would he be punished?”

            Why indeed?

            The next time Saul awoke, he was alone.  He thought he could smell the dawn and supposed another day had begun.  The house he lay within was on the street called ‘Strait’ which ran from one end of Damascus to the other.  It  was the main concourse for pedestrians as well as merchants and militia, with its wide central avenue where traffic ran and two spacious sidewalks where brightly colored awnings and scantily clad slave girls announced a great wealth of products and wares.  From within the darkened room where he lay, awaiting his God, Saul could hear the casual passersby laughing and singing and he wondered –

Was he being punished? 

According to the law he had loved all of his life it was his just due, and yet Saul thought he had glimpsed another kind of God –  one full of mercy and compassion.  On the road he had felt a living presence reach out to grip his cold hardened heart, and into that moment of fear and awe had come the sweetest melody he had ever heard.  He had known and been a part of love.

        But where was that hand now? 

Where was this living God?   

~

           “Brother Saul?”  A hesitant voice broke his reverie, drawing him back from his remembrance of the light to the present reality of blackness.  Suddenly the burden of Saul’s disability weighed even more heavily upon him, driving his heart into his chest and riveting his sleight form  to the rough straw mat.  He turned his head away, seeking the cool comfort of the stone wall against his hot cheek and forehead.   

            His hearing already more keen, Saul heard a breath drawn, and listened as a light footfall entered the room.  A curtain was drawn aside and whoever it was paused beside him.  The breath was released in a sigh.  

Saul’s spent body tensed, uncertain of their errand.  “Well,” he asked through lips cracked and dry, “have you come to pity or to pronounce sentence?  Are you God’s man?”

            There was a moment of silence and then a man’s voice replied quietly, “Are you?”

            Saul shifted on the pallet and turned his blinded eyes towards the sound.  “I used to think that was what I wanted …to be God’s man.  I was wrong.  I am His slave.”

            A  cool hand touched his fevered skin startling him.  “Yes, a slave.  Beaten and broken.  Left in the darkness…. Penance for what you have done?”  There was a curious edge to the man’s voice, as though he was unsure of just who and what he was dealing with.  “Or reward, do you think?”

             A curious phrase.  Saul swallowed hard.  “And who are you?  

            Again there was silence as the hand was withdrawn.  When the stranger spoke, it was not to answer. 

“If you had asked me yesterday morning,  I would have said this is less than you deserve for the agony you have inflicted upon our people.  Many have died.  Many more are demoralized and lost, bereft of husband, mother…child.”   The voice broke, its owner obviously moved to anger.  The next words were a sword thrust.  “I have no pity for you.”

            Saul held his breath, awaiting a blow.  This must be a follower of the Nazarene, justly angry and cold with vengeance.  It seemed God had judged him and found him lacking.  It was no more than he deserved. 

Saul waited in silence until the man spoke again.

            “No, brother Saul,” he said, his words soft as a prayer, “I do not pity you.

“I envy you.”

            Saul blinked as tears formed, stinging his blistered eyes.  His voice shook.  “Envy me?  Why?”

            “Has God not asked something of you?”

            Saul thought back to the meeting on the road.  There had been a command.  Arise, go into the city and you will be told what you must do.   He had forgotten until now. 

            “Yes.  Yes, He has,” he replied.     

            The hand reached out again and touched his forehead, but this time it remained.  A cool comforting reassurance of the presence of another living being.  The stranger’s voice faltered as he spoke, but then continued  with greater strength and resolution. 

“As we the people of Israel have been chosen of God, so you – Saul of Tarsus – have been chosen by His Son.  I have been sent to be God’s instrument.  It is His will that you be freed from this darkness.  For the Lord said to me, ‘Arise and go to the street called Strait, and inquire at the house of Judas for one called Saul of Tarsus, for behold he is praying and in a vision he has seen a man coming in and putting his hand on him so that he might receive his sight’.”

            Saul sighed, the tension leaving his wounded form.  “You are Annanias?”

            “I am.”

            It was true then.  Saul had believed it but the wishful thinking of a fevered dream.  In the midst of prayer, in his deepest moment of despair, a man had come to him and placed his hand upon his eyes and spoken words that lifted the veil of darkness, signifying the death of the old man and the resurrection of the new.

            “Did you not believe I would come?”

            Saul paused.  “I didn’t dare to hope….”  Not only to have his sight back, but to work for the Lord as he had always longed to.   To be His voice, to carry the word of His son.  Paul sobbed and began to shake.  Shame overwhelmed him as he remembered what he had done in the Lord’s name and from his wounded eyes tears began to fall.  “I am not worthy.  I do not deserve another chance.  All those I have wounded….”

            Annanias sat on the pallet beside him and placed his other hand on his heaving chest.  “All that has gone before is washed away the moment you confess your belief in the life and death of His son, in His death on the cross to take away your sin and grant you life eternal with the Father. 

            “Do you believe, Saul?”

            Saul was without words.  He nodded his head, his heart broken.

            “Then let it be done.”   The older man paused.  His hand trembled where it lay upon Saul’s flesh.  “Still…before I begin, I feel I must warn you.  These also are the words of the Lord most High.   ‘Go,’ he said,  ‘for this man is a chosen vessel of Mine to bear My name before Gentiles,  kings and the children of Israel.  For I will show him how many things he must suffer for my sake.’  These hands, which the Lord has sent to you, do not bring comfort, but the promise of pain and hardship.  I believe unlike anything you have known before.”  When Saul failed to answer Annanias asked quietly, “He has said,  ‘Go!’  Will you go?”

            Saul shifted on his pallet and with the other man’s help moved onto his knees, grateful to feel the cold stone against his bones and flesh.  He bent his head in an expression of servanthood and prayer, and voiced the words he had studied all of his life but only now begun to understand.

            “Here am I, Lord.  Send me.

###

        Hours later as Saul sat in a small courtyard off the back of Judas’ house, his skin painted a dusky copper by the fading sun, tears ran freely down his cheeks and into his beard as he beheld with new eyes the glory of the world his Lord had created.  Even the weak light made them tear, but that mattered little.  What did matter was that he could see – really see. 

At Annanias’ touch something like scales had fallen away from his eyes, and immediately his sight had been restored.  In that same moment – as his human eyes awoke to the beauty of the day – his mind’s eye opened to God and he was overcome by visions.  He saw himself as an old man in chains standing before the rulers of this world, knowing full well they planned his death.  He watched as  he sought to calm a group of men who shouted and scrambled, terrified, as a mighty wave buffeted the ship they were on, seeking to overturn it and cast them into the sea.  He witnessed his own blood running crimson across broad gray stones, forming a small stream that ran from the pillar he was lashed to, to the feet of his Roman guard.  He heard himself screamed and felt the lash 

Felt himself die…..

And yet at one and the same time he experienced the love of God in a way such as he had never known possible.  Saul felt the waters of forgiveness wash over his wounded soul, healing him, freeing him from all he had been and done, from every wrong action of the past, from sin and shame, and he knew at once the wonderful, miraculous grace of the Lord.  He saw the thousands – the hundreds of thousands of faces of those whom he would meet and teach, and watched as the knowledge of God’s mercy and the incomparable power He would grant them transformed their lives.  Saul witnessed the inheritance of the saints as this transformation spread to his world and then beyond.  

And he knew. 

He knew the course of his life.

Unable to put these things into words, he had arisen quickly and gone to be baptized, making official and public what he had come to know –  that the law was but the springboard of love, and the love of God was to be found in His son, Jesus Christ.  And that this love was deeper and wider and longer and higher than anything man could conceive.

Now, with his stomach full and his strength returning, Saul sat making plans.  He would go back into the city to show those to whom he had been sent to that he was a changed man.  Annanias did not think this wise –  and the others who had come to visit and to welcome him agreed.  But he was determined. 

The Lord had a great mission for him and he, for one, did not expect it to end at the close of the first week with him dead on the synagogue’s steps.

“Brother Saul?”

Saul turned and beheld his host.  Judas was dressed in a long loose robe and vest.  He held in his hand a water jar and cup.  “Are you comfortable?  Is there anything you need?” he asked.

Saul shook his head.  “Thank you, brother. I have all that I need.”

The other man paused a moment.  Then Judas asked boldly, “Are you certain you must leave us?  Should you not rest?  The Lord will surely allow time for you to grow strong.  If not demand it.”

Saul shook his head.  “It is in weakness that I am strong.  It is in despair that I have learned to hope.”  He smiled gently.  “Only by losing that which I thought was life to me, have I found life.”

He stood and walked to the small balustrade that protected the roofed porch.  “There is much I must learn.  Many things I need to understand.  I have met God’s son, but we are strangers.  The law of God forms within the corridors of my mind, but it is the heart –  the living heart of it I must learn and claim.”  Saul’s eyes rested on the hills far away, the ones that had not long before rolled with thunder and the voice of God.

 “As our Lord before me, I need to be alone with God.”

~

Order.  Chaos.  Light and dark.  Hope and despair. 

I have known all of these and for my part have found that without knowledge of the one, the other is impossible.

All of my life I had struggled to maintain order.  I had used God’s law to protect myself, as a shield against the chaos that was His voice calling me to life.  I had blinded my eyes and lost my way.  But God in His infinite wisdom and mercy shattered my shield and broke my sword, and as I lay on the battlefield dying, He reached down and drew me up and gave me victory.

Blessed be the name of the Lord.

- END -