Acts 9:1-9
Robert M Watkins
So paradigmatic is Paul’s conversion that having a “Damascus Road” experience is synonymous with total transformation in any context. Just use that phrase and everyone knows immediately what the subject is.
But today, I want us to make our reflections more specific–what does Paul’s experience mean for us as would-be disciples? Does his experience define faith in such a way that his experience becomes exclusive in being the standard by which our own entrance into the ministry of Christ is tested?
In my Charlotte congregation, I encountered a man who could date to the exact minute when his faith in Christ began–9:57 PM, September 16, 1953. He was in the Army and was 22 years old. He was rough, raised on a farm in Mecklenburg County, dropped out of school at fifteen to work the farm and because he got expelled for routine fighting with anyone and everyone, then ran afoul of his daddy, who gave him a choice of the Army or…the Army. He did his basic training at Fort Leonard Wood in south-central Missouri. He nearly got himself drummed from there because he still fought with anyone who looked at him cross-eyed. He also discovered a taste for bourbon that simply fueled the fires instead of quenching them. By his own admission, he was not a good person, saved from jail only because he could be legitimately violent at work. Then he crossed a staff sergeant. This man was from Montana and was twice as big and twice as mean as our hero. Raised on a cattle ranch, he, too, fled to the Army because of a parental mandate and his specialty was taking other hard cases and breaking them like horses into soldiers. Our hero thought he would reverse the process, got into a brutal fistfight with the sergeant, found himself in the stockade, drunk and disorderly, and facing dishonorable discharge and the certainty that home would not welcome him. That night at 9:57 PM, he says Jesus met him. Jesus fought him. Jesus won. That is his story and no one can tell him it did not happen. The transformation was total. He was sober, cooperative, and became a good soldier. He came home, made peace with daddy, even though that meant never being near the farm, but he became a fireman and a devoted churchman. All because of what happened at 9:57 PM on September 16, 1953.
Is that experience what we are ALL to have?
The truth is that faith begins as faith begins.
Yes, the man’s experience, colorful as it is, does mark how some folks come to faith. They meet a moment when the world, themselves, and life changes in a cataclysmic encounter with God.
But, no, it is not the only means by which Christ gathers in his flock. Other folks grow into it over years, decades, and lifetimes. An awakening is as gradual as the shift from winter into spring. It evolves, develops, and captures every moment of a person’s journey through life, for whom the encounter with Christ is not singular, but life itself–in this stream, the transformation is like that of a stone that falls into a river–over years, its roughness becomes smooth, its edges become round, and its dullness becomes polished.
St. Augustine stands as an exemplar of this latter form of life with Christ. He refused to be baptized until he declared himself too old for sinning, as he revealed in his “Confessions.” He knew of Christ, but put off fully entering Christ until he felt he had matured, lived, and grown into being the man of Christ he might be. Christ waited for him. Then, look what happened–a self-affirmed scoundrel and no-account became consumed with the proclamation and delineation of faith, becoming one of its greatest teachers and voices.
One experience does not trump the other. Both are legitimate. Our own tradition embraces them. Look at baptism–we baptize infants, setting them to sail on a life’s discovery of what that event means and is; but we will also baptize an adult never before baptized who has had a sudden awakening like Paul. We bless them both as children of God.
The Damascus Road, then, is not an exclusive mandate for how we enter Christ’s presence, revealing one, absolute required experience before one can claim legitimacy within the community of faith, be it either a particular, specific moment; or a gradual evolution of life and thought.
But it does set before us an inescapable truth about what being in Christ’s presence means for us.
We will be changed.
Encountering Christ means seeing the world through new eyes, meeting the world with a different heart, and working through life with a reoriented mind. Encountering Christ means discovering the depth of love that God has for us. “See what love the Father has for us, that we should be called children of God…,” wrote John to the churches. In Christ, God claims us from the world, from who and what we are, and from all the separates us from God, claiming as God’s own sons and daughters.
As that encounter takes root within us, it changes us. For the soldier, it caught him out in his violent inability to find his place within the world. He changed. For St. Augustine, it was a lifetime spent knowing God was there, but keeping God at arm’s length until he was ready for God to be with him. His change was gradual and God waited for it to run its course.
As we gather today in the presence of Christ, we need to consider both entrances into faith, seeing the truth of the Damascus Road before us. Ask this question–”Am I ready and willing to change?” We cannot remain as we are, even if we are lifelong followers of Christ–even being faithful becomes changed through Christ. Paul was nothing if not faithful before the Damascus Road, devoted to God, but his vision was irrevocably changed–thank God–because he had been blinded by his own devotion. Change is hard. Change is never something to be taken lightly. Change can hurt. Therefore, as we face Christ and the inevitability of change, we need to go with eyes wide open–we cannot assume anything, and we need to be ready to completely change who and what we are. Paul literally lost his sight (momentarily) until he could see clearly. Are we ready for that?
Finally, a word of counsel–our experience is our experience, we cannot force it on another, but only share it as our experience. Someone else will experience their own encounter in their own way. We are not called to judge one another’s experience, but rather embrace one another as fellow travelers, helping one another along the way. In such an approach, we deepen all experiences, for we discover the wonder of God’s broadness and power to reach us as we are.
Thank God for God’s saving grace that is not limited by a narrow practice or expectation, but meets us as we are, where we are, and how we are.
Amen.
