22 April 2007                                
Carolyn L Roberts
Acts 9.1-20

When I was growing up, our church school had a flannel board with cutout pictures of bearded men dressed in striped bathrobes. The cutouts assumed roles of various biblical characters: Abraham, Moses, Jonah, Jesus, the apostle Paul. There were always two stories told about Paul. One was his conversion on the road to Damascus, that ancient city which is now part of Syria; the other was Paul’s escape from prison, thanks to disciples who let him down over a wall in a basket. Sometimes the teacher included the story of the stoning of Stephen as the first Christian martyr—it gave something of the context for Saul’s conversion.

Like the best of children’s instruction, the flannel board gave us visual cues, but also left a good deal to our imagination. I had a pretty good imagination, but even at its creative best, I don’t remember ever conjuring up the fear that would have been communicated to early Christians by, “Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord.”(Acts 9.1) The anxiety and sense of potential harm was vague enough in my own mind that the words simply didn’t take on much more reality than Hansel and Gretel or some other fairy tale.

In this day of cell phone videos and blogs, that kind of naivete is no longer possible. From Columbine to Oklahoma City to Virginia Tech to Washington D.C. and its suburbs, we don’t know if someone playing video games, watching movies, attending school, or working in an office is also breathing threats and murder. We do know that  according to Luke, threats and murder, severe persecution began against the church in Jerusalem, scattering believers throughout the Roman Empire—especially where Jews had re-settled in their diaspora. We also know that the early church first met in those far-flung synagogues—it’s what helped spread the gospel.
Our scripture for today’s reading suggests that the Temple in Jerusalem had some authority in those far-flung houses of worship, because Paul is given letters that allow him to bring these Christians to Jerusalem as captives. Acts, chapter 8, tells us that “Saul ravages the church by entering house after house; dragging off both men and women, he commits them to prison.” Ravaging the church…entering the house…dragging off both men and women…If ever we were able to shut out images from Colombia or Guatemala or El Salvador of the disappeared, of men and women dragged off by death squads, that day is gone.

But Saul becomes Paul, and all metaphorical language aside, he doesn’t become a different person. As Saul and as Paul, he is the same strong-willed, energetic, committed, zealous believer—in both incarnations. Instead, his experience of Jesus’ living presence transforms his whole understanding of God’s direction for his life. He goes from uprooting men and women from their homes and sending them to prison, to being one who endures prison. He goes from being an accomplice to murder to enjoining those fractious Christians in Corinth to set aside their differences and practice loving one another. In short, all of those characteristics that had been used to persecute the church become the tools through which Paul spread the gospel. Truly, nothing is wasted in God’s economy.[2]

Not that Paul’s conversion is accepted easily. The rest of our story tells of a second conversion—that of Ananias. Ananias doesn’t enjoy nearly the press that Paul does, but as a believer, Ananias has his own dreams or visions of God’s claim upon him. God speaks to Ananias too, but Ananias protests God’s directions. He’s afraid—for good reason; he cites Saul’s authority to bind people over to prison, and Saul’s well-earned reputation for zealous fulfillment of that authority. Of course this is a Bible story, so God wins the day.
Ananias goes to Saul, and greets him with what surely is one of the most touching and healing words possible: Brother Saul. And he lays his hands on Saul. From one to be feared to one who is a beloved member of the family. In seminary, one of my professors, a Catholic nun, maintained a similar practice: we were all friends—from the just-released prisoner to the sister in her order. Then what happens? Then the scales fall from Saul’s eyes; then Saul regains his sight—both literally and figuratively. Only when a relationship is established. Jesus tells us that perfect love casts out fear. I doubt that Ananias was entirely without fear. But he overcomes his fear to extend what is truly an extravagant welcome to Saul. And I believe it is this welcome that heals Saul. And not incidentally, I believe it is this welcome that completes Ananias’ own conversion, and truly establishes him as one of Jesus’ faithful disciples. In turning toward Jesus, both Saul and Ananias look at things in a new way.[1] That is conversion.

The most recent Time magazine tells us that violence on college campuses has been dropping off for years, that our campuses are safer than they used to be.[3] That is good news. But the culture of fear that is promoted and nurtured screams at us with every headline, every Amber alert that flashes on the electronic highway readerboards.

We are Ananias: we can remain imprisoned by our fears, holding them out as our first response to every risk demanded of us. Or we can acknowledge our fears and turn to stay centered on Jesus. This story from Acts invites each of us to look at those around us with new eyes, with eyes that see the realm of God taking form within us and among us. This story invited us to see people within this real who share a yearning to be welcomed and loved and accepted. “So share. Share scandalously; share the love and good news of Christ with everyone you meet. You will see the world in a whole new way.”[1,38] And we will take part in that ongoing conversion our own turning toward Christ.

###

[1]Interpretation Bible Studies: Acts, Charles C. Williamson, ©2000.
[2]Oft-used quip from Flora Slosson Wuellner, former adjunct faculty, Pacific School of Religion.
[3]Time, Vol. 169, No. 18/2007, April 30, page 57.