While most call this Paul’s conversion, there are good reasons to question that term. Typically, Christians use “conversion” when someone moves from unbelief to belief or from one religion to another.
Saul passionately believed in the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, as did the early Christians. Saul was initially convinced Jesus’ followers were heretical Jews who perverted God’s word and will in the world.
It is appropriate to speak of Saul converting from one form of Judaism to another. Paul refers to himself as a Pharisee in Philippians 3:5–6. Likewise, Luke depicts Saul as a zealous and devout Jew who violently disagreed with the early Christians because of their teaching that Jesus of Nazareth was the long-awaited Jewish Messiah, whom God raised from the dead. This did not follow the traditional Jewish narrative Saul had learned from scripture.
This lies at the heart of Saul’s "conversion". Instead of seeing Jesus as a deceased leader of unfaithful and heretical Jews, Saul begins to recognize Jesus as the resurrected and living Lord.
Luke initially depicts Saul as perpetually growing more violent. In 7:58, Saul stands by as others stone Stephen. In 8:1, Saul approves of the murderers’ actions. By 9:1, Saul is literally “breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord.” Saul pursues his victims. He instigates violent Christian persecutions in Damascus (9:2). Beginning in 9:3, however, Luke’s depiction of Saul changes.
Saul experiences a true theophany, (or a manifestation of God among humans), much like we see at other points in the Scriptures (like, for example, in Exodus 19:16–19; 1 Kings 19:11; Isaiah 66:15; or Acts 2:2). Saul sees a bright light, falls to the ground, and hears a voice calling his name (9:3–4).
Saul even recognizes he is encountering God directly by referring to the speaker of the voice as “Lord” (9:5). Saul is profoundly confused when he asks, “Who are you, Lord?” He recognizes both that God is speaking and that something does not add up. The voice asks, “Saul, Saul, Why do you persecute me?” (9:4). Previously, Saul was sure he was performing the Lord’s work, not thwarting it. After hearing this, that certainty vanishes. Compare this to Jesus breathing last week's message “Peace be with you.”
Last week's "Peace be with you" was given within the disciple's fear. God's voice disrupts differently here. The pivotal revelation occurs in 9:5. The voice of God identifies directly as Jesus, when Saul is persecuting Christians. Jesus’ statements to Saul are multifaceted. If Jesus is speaking personally with Saul, it means Jesus is not dead nor far off, as some might envision in light of his ascension (1:9–11).
Instead, Luke depicts Jesus as alive, speaking as God's voice, and intimately connected to his followers. Thereafter, Luke associates Saul with images of death (blindness, no food, and no drink (9:9). Yet, those images soon give way to images of life, such as sight, baptism, food, and strength (9:18–19a). This experience is related in Acts three times, another number associated with Jesus' death.
Luke weds Saul’s “conversion” with his “call.” To speak of one without the other skews the biblical witness and can lead to theological imbalance. Ananias, a disciple in Damascus, likewise experiences a divine summons (like Exodus 3:1–4:17; or Isaiah 6:1–13).
He initially responds like Isaiah, making himself available to the Lord (9:10), but then responds as humans typically do by making excuses (9:13–14; see Luke 1:18–20).
Interestingly, the Lord commissions Ananias to relay the Lord’s commission to Saul (9:15–16). Importantly, Saul does not receive his calling directly from God (or Jesus). Instead, God works with and through a fellow believer to reveal God’s will to Saul. This speaks imperatively to essential witnessing to one another, as Pastor Steve preached last Sunday. Ananias’ obedience is pivotal for Saul’s understanding and subsequent faithfulness. One wonders whether Saul would have fulfilled his divine commission if Ananias had not been faithful in his.
Saul receives a double commission. Saul will proclaim the good news of God’s work in and through Jesus to a wide swath of people (9:15). Yet, Saul is also called to suffer for the sake of Jesus’s name (9:16). Saul doesn't receive a peaceful commission. Saul’s suffering will serve God’s purposes as much as Saul’s proclamations.
In Acts 9:1–19, Luke introduces us to two distinct, yet interlocking, relationships. On the one hand, Luke wants us to recognize the importance of what will become a fundamental understanding of the Trinity. The voice of Jesus and the voice of God cannot be separated in Acts 9:5, and God’s commission does not take place apart from the Holy Spirit’s empowerment (9:17).
At the same time, Luke wants us to recognize the intimate connection between Jesus and the church. When Saul persecutes the church, Saul persecutes Jesus. Jesus is not far off. Even in his ascended state, he is present and advocating for his people. Some think, “Christians are the only Jesus people will ever see.” Luke would disagree with them here.
When adequately understood, authentic encounters with Jesus change human lives. Those changes involve both conversion and commission. A genuine encounter with Jesus alters both our actions and our faith.
God’s call to Ananias involved the potential for suffering. God’s call to Saul involved the certainty of suffering. Obedience to God’s call does not guarantee Christians (nor ministers) a life free from suffering.
Something is unsettling about how the Acts of the Apostles tells the story of Saul on the road to Damascus. We want clarity: was it a conversion or a calling? Luke insists on both, and in that “both” is where the Spirit does its most unsettling work.
There are many women dear to me who react strongly to Paul because of how certain texts associated with him have been understood and used over time.
ReplyDeleteA few recurring concerns come up:
1. Seemingly restrictive teachings like 1 Corinthians 14:34–35 and 1 Timothy 2:11–12 are often read as limiting women’s roles in teaching or leadership. For readers shaped by modern expectations of equality, those lines can feel dismissive or exclusionary.
2. Real-world impact in the church: For generations, those verses were used to justify barring women from preaching, ordination, or authority. So the frustration is partly about the long shadow of how his words were applied.
3. Tension within his own writings: Paul’s letters aren’t one-dimensional. In some places, he sounds restrictive; in others, he clearly affirms women. He commends Phoebe as a deacon (Romans 16). He works alongside Priscilla as a teacher. He names Junia “outstanding among the apostles.” He writes in Galatians 3:28 that in Christ, there is no male and female. That mix can feel confusing or inconsistent; others seek out the context of each passage.
4. Questions about authorship: Many scholars think letters like 1 Timothy weren’t written directly by Paul. Since some of the strictest statements about women come from those letters, people sometimes feel Paul is being blamed for views he may not have held.
5. Cultural context vs. timeless rule: A key divide: was Paul addressing specific issues in first-century churches (like disorder, education levels, or local customs), or laying down universal rules? If you read him as context-specific, he can look surprisingly supportive of women. If you read him as giving timeless commands, he can look restrictive. What it often comes down to isn’t usually a blanket rejection of Paul, it’s a struggle with how scripture, tradition, and lived experience fit together.
Many women who wrestle with Paul are actually taking him seriously, trying to understand how his words relate to justice, dignity, and leadership today. Our Wednesday discussion focused on these areas, given our profound respect for Pastor Emillie and she brought up her own ambivalence to some of Paul's writing as well .
Thank you, dearest brother, for addressing these concerns! I appreciate that you and I were always able to discuss the frustrations I, as a woman, have had with many of Paul's teachings. I would like to add this quote: Ephesians 5:22-24 (MEV): "Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is head of the wife, as also Christ is head of the church... let the wives be to their own husbands in everything."
ReplyDeleteEven in high school, I was unable to accept this admonishment. (As you know.). I am grateful to have you to discuss these things with ever since our childhood.
Good verse to specifically add, Diane. Certainly the question isn’t “Why would someone struggle with this?” but “What is actually going on in this passage, and how should it be read faithfully today?” It is helpful to notice that this line doesn’t stand alone. Just one verse earlier, in Ephesians 5:21, Paul writes: “Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ.” That sets a tone of mutual submission, rather than simply one-directional control.
DeleteWhen the passage is read in isolation, it sounds like hierarchy; when read in context, it’s part of a larger vision of reciprocal, self-giving love.Second, the word “submit” itself is tricky in translation. The Greek (hypotassō), doesn’t inherently mean passive obedience or inferiority. It was often used in the sense of voluntarily ordering oneself in a relationship, and in early Christian communities, this was radically counter-cultural. In a Roman household, the male head already had unquestioned authority. What’s striking is that Paul spends more time instructing husbands, not to rule, but to love sacrificially, “as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her” (Ephesians 5:25). That’s not domination; that’s cruciform love.
Still, even with that context, our mutual, lifelong discomfort with this passage points to something real. Do people live this out as mutual sacrificial love? Instead, it has often been used to justify imbalance or to imply some hierarchical relationship. That’s where interpretation matters. A faithful reading has to ask not only “What did this mean then?” but also “What does it produce now?”
We never accepted this, even as teenagers. We saw this as a kind of moral clarity, an instinct that the gospel, at its core, should not diminish the full dignity and agency of women.
In the end, this passage is less about enforcing a structure and more about asking a deep question: Does our understanding of love reflect Christ’s self-giving, or does it reinforce power?
This is the real test. Should we be willing to wrestle with Paul's words and intent, rather than accept them at face value? That is part of taking this text seriously, not rejecting it out of hand.
I remember hearing the whole passage in the first Bible study that was doing a deep dive on the topic. Even though I wasn't hearing that line in isolation, it still stung because I remember my feelings about what I heard so vividly.
ReplyDeleteMy husband is certainly loving in our household. Nonetheless, I still would not want to order our household in a way that sets him as "the head" (that would be interesting to find out what the original Greek wording intended for that). "The head" implies, to me, that the decisions should be made by him solely, even if he is considering me with self-giving love. I wish to make decisions WITH him, even if I trust the decisions he would make. I wish to state my cases if there is a conflict of thoughts about a decision he might make, which this text does not tell me is a within Paul's concept.
Certainly, I have heard this passage used in isolation to triumphantly give reasons why women are naturally unable to hold authority, seen as a God-given mandate. That is the translation that many people, not intending to think analytically about this matter or even to consider the framing from two thousand years ago, use to bolster an argument. I appreciate Jim Palmer's thoughts on Paul: "We took those letters, those context-bound responses, and elevated them into the final word on reality. We stopped asking where they came from, what shaped them, what limitations they carried. We didn’t 'consider the source.' We canonized it. And once that happens, critical thought gets framed as rebellion, and reinterpretation gets framed as betrayal."