A vision that makes a demand of us
This morning, we celebrate the Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul. It’s what we call our patronal feast, the feast day of the saint our church is named for.
Paul’s story is a story of God’s call, and of a life lived in service to that call. It’s also a story about moving forward when you don’t know what’s ahead, which feels particularly relevant as we begin this new year together.
In his early life, Paul was a man who knew exactly who he was. He was a Pharisee, trained by the wisest spiritual leader of his time. He was zealous. He had credentials and conviction. He didn’t only believe that he was right. He persecuted those who disagreed with him. He believed sincerely and deeply that he could serve God by hunting down the followers of Jesus. And he was good at his job.
A quick aside about names. Many figures in the Bible change their names after encounters with God. Abram becomes Abraham. Sarai becomes Sarah. Jacob becomes Israel. Simon becomes Peter. That isn’t what happened with Paul. It’s much more likely that Paul had a Hebrew name (Saul) and a Roman name (Paul) that were used interchangeably.
Paul set out for Damascus, seeking to arrest Jesus’s followers. But then something unexpected happened. A light from heaven. A voice.
“Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” And when Paul asked who was speaking, the answer came: “I am Jesus, who you are persecuting.”
When Paul heard Jesus calling his name, everything he thought he knew fell away. He got up blind. He had to be led by the hand into the city. Jesus called him. And he followed. He didn’t know where his path would lead, but still he obeyed God’s call.
The Gospel reading this morning tells us what that kind of obedience can cost. Jesus is sending out his disciples, and he doesn’t mince words. “I am sending you out like sheep among wolves.” “They will hand you over to councils and flog you.” “You will be dragged before governors and kings.” “Brother will betray brother to death.” “You will be hated by all because of my name.”
It’s tempting to spiritualize these words. To say that Jesus is preparing them for awkward conversations and crises of faith. But the text won’t let us do that. Jesus means what he says. Following him will cost something. For some, it will cost everything.
Paul’s life bore that out.
After his conversion, he was lowered over a city wall in a basket to escape assassination. He was beaten, shipwrecked, stoned, and left for dead. He wrote about being imprisoned, hungry, cold, and in constant danger.
In the reading we heard from Acts this morning, we find Paul on trial, standing before King Agrippa. And even in that frightening place, Paul says plainly: I saw something I can’t unsee. I heard a call I can’t ignore. “I was not disobedient to the heavenly vision,” he says.
Paul kept moving forward. Through suffering and uncertainty. Through years of struggle in which he never knew where his path might lead him. Tradition tells us it led him to Rome, where he was killed by a sword during the reign of Emperor Nero.
Paul had been warned. He went anyway.
Today is our annual meeting. In a little while, we’ll gather to talk about budgets and buildings, financial reports and vestry nominations. The ordinary business of being a parish. And I want to say to you all: I’m grateful for this community.
We’re healthy. We’re not in crisis. People show up—to worship, to serve, to give, and to pray.
Thank you for your generosity. Thank you for your energy. Thank you for the countless quiet acts of faith and commitment that make St. Paul’s what it is.
Your faithfulness matters. The work that happens inside these walls matters.
But we can’t just stay inside these walls.
There’s a line in Eucharistic Prayer C: “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal.”
We don’t come here just to feel better. We come here to be fed for the journey. We come here to be strengthened for what’s ahead. We come here with the expectation that we’ll be sent back out.
And the world out there needs what we have to offer. Not our certainty. I’m not sure we have much of that. But our presence. Our faith. Our refusal to look away.
I don’t know exactly what this year will hold. None of us do. We’re likely to be shaped by conflict outside our doors. There will be moments when we don’t know what to do, when the path forward isn’t clear, when we’re not sure whether to speak or to stay silent, to act or to wait.
I don’t have a roadmap to give you. I don’t have one for myself.
But I’m convinced that not knowing exactly what to do doesn’t excuse us from acting. St. Paul moved forward in uncertainty. (Well, Paul actually might have thought he had all the answers. He had a talent for confidence, whether well-founded or not.) Most of us aren’t so certain. But we move forward anyway. Not because we’ve figured it all out. But because we’ve been called. Because we’ve seen something we can’t unsee: a man on a cross who loved the world enough to die for it, a risen Lord who keeps showing up in bread and wine, and in the faces of our neighbors.
And that vision makes a demand of us, just as the vision Paul saw made a demand of him.
“I’m sending you out like sheep among wolves.”
It’s not a comfortable image. Jesus knows what he’s asking.
But he also says this: “Don’t worry about how you are to speak or what you are to say, for what you are to say will be given to you at that time; for it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.”
In other words, Go. And when you go, you won’t be alone.
We’ll end our service this morning with one of my favorite hymns, “God of Grace, and God of Glory.” May its prayer be our prayer.
“Grant us wisdom. Grant us courage. Save us from weak resignation to the evils we deplore; let the gift of thy salvation be our glory evermore. Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, serving thee whom we adore. Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, for the living of these days.”