Saul's Commission

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Saul. Not Saul the king. Saul the Pharisee, whom God interdicted on the Damascus road; then, after a decade-and-a-half interlude, renamed Paul.

Saul was a notorious convert whose former life terrified the Christian community. This man, changed in nature, changed in name, didn’t join a believing community. He tried to join the church in Jerusalem, but given his reputation, he fled for his life and went away to Arabia for fourteen years. There, he was discipled in the faith by Christ himself.

After learning theology while in the desert, he honed his convictions for three years with the believing community in Damascus. Only then, and only for a couple of weeks, did Paul travel to Jerusalem to meet the Apostles and spend time with Peter.

From this point, Paul’s life is legendary. The work of his life and thought forms much of our theology.

But let’s back up to the road leading to Damascus.

Saul and his entourage encounter a flashing light and commanding voice as they are traveling toward the city. Saul is left blind, the men with him speechless. The stunned group lead their blind leader into town, down a street named Straight, to their accommodations at the home of a man named, Judas.

I surmise Saul felt his life had ended. Cascading from notorious to nothing? In an instant? Sitting in utter darkness for three days, contemplating what led to this outcome? No future. Just knowing Someone out there is powerful enough to do this… and I’m on His bad side!

To those of us versed in the stories of the faith, Saul’s conversion is familiar. But lately my thoughts have turned to Ananias, the Believer living in Damascus who was tasked during a divine vision to go visit Saul.

To his credit, Ananias engaged God during the vision. “Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much harm he did to your saints in Jerusalem; and here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who call upon your name.”

When I say, “to his credit,” I mean Ananias engaged with God. Think about it! The Lord is asking Ananias to do something outrageous. It isn’t disobedient, or a lack of faith, for Ananias to ask for confirmation. Ananias would have been a fool not to confirm his instructions—and God would have been unreasonable not to accommodate him.

Then “Ananias departed and entered the house” where Saul was staying. He laid his hands on Saul, prayed, and Saul is healed, filled with the Spirit, baptized, and recommissioned.

In His elaboration to Ananias, the Lord reveals not only that Saul is a “chosen instrument of Mine” but also that “I will show him (Saul) how much he must suffer for My name’s sake.”

It’s somewhat speculative on my part, but when I ponder on the purpose for Saul going to Arabia for fourteen years, I figure it was to be discipled in the faith by Jesus himself. Said another way, it was fourteen years of systematic theology, guidance regarding godliness, long walks with the Master, and lots of solitude to let Jesus’ mentoring marinate Saul’s soul.

But still. Fourteen years is a long time. Today, when a person is called to become a theologian, they go to seminary for three or four years. Three more if they want a doctorate in theology.

Saul’s tenure in Arabia was double-to-quadruple the customary education in theology. Why?

Again, I’m speculating, but when God revealed to Ananias that He needed an occasion to explain to Saul “how much he must suffer,” I suspect God knew it would take fourteen years for Saul to wrap his soul around suffering to a sufficient degree to make sense of it.

Plumbing the depths of suffering takes time. There are no shortcuts when it comes to managing hardship. For every day of growth, there are twenty-one days of testing in order to solidify truth into conviction.

When the topic of suffering is brought up, it isn’t long before someone mentions Job, the Old Testament character who suffered immeasurably. As I consider Job, I have these observations:

First, it is the oldest book in the Bible. Given the inevitability of suffering in life, God decided to write His thoughts on the subject first—so we would have them from the outset.

Second, Job is a long book: forty-two chapters. As Jim Essian observes, the first two chapters and the last chapter are written in prose. The other thirty-nine chapters are poetry—meaning: The book opens and closes with rationale and reason, but the guts of Job’s suffering story are poetic, written such in order to create emotion and visceral connection in his readers.

Third, James refers to Job in his book (5:11), noting specifically his endurance. I take this to mean that Job’s story of suffering couldn’t be written in less than forty-two chapters. In other words, when James references Job’s endurance, he’s indicating that it took a long time for Job to discern and properly assimilate his suffering and the eventual blessing that would emerge from his trial. All these years later, we are the beneficiaries of Job’s ordeal with God.

Returning to Saul, and given what we know about God’s determination to enlighten him regarding how much he would suffer, I suspect the duration of Saul’s time in Arabia was more about developing a doctrine of suffering than it was instruction in systematic theology. Like Job, there’s no shortcut through hardship.

For the theology God taught Saul in Arabia to permeate his soul, suffering was necessary. In the Lord’s statement to Ananias, notice He says that Saul “must” suffer.

In order for Saul to transform into Paul, he had to suffer greatly. Saul couldn’t be Paul if he didn’t suffer.

In 2 Corinthians 11, Paul inventories some of his suffering: five times he was whipped, three times he was beaten mercilessly with rods; he was stoned, shipwrecked, lost at sea; imprisoned numerous times; he endured the rigors of the road; lawlessness, subterfuge, deceit, emotional duress; and in his mind, the internal weight of ministry—care for the churches, writing, spiritual application—was also suffering.

When the man took off his shirt, what must his back have looked like? How impeded was his movement due to scarring? Every time he stretched, raised his arms, reached, or bent over, the skin on his back burned, the adhesions tore, and his muscles spasmed. Each time he bared his soul to a traveling companion, wondered aloud to one imprisoned beside him, or sorted through his theology in search of reassurance while incarcerated in a dark hell-hole, the adhesions and lashings and shipwrecks of soul-trauma bled with words and thoughts and emotions afflicted with angst: pain of the soul.

When Paul summons words to write about his suffering, he conveys two realizations forged from trauma:

First: This “momentary, light affliction is producing an eternal weight of glory” that is incalculable (2 Cor. 4:17). Earthly affliction compounds exponentially in heavenly benefit, he says.

Second: His suffering was for the comfort of others. Affliction taught Saul that God was merciful and comforting.

When the time came for Saul to emerge from the deserts of Arabia under his new moniker, Paul, and take up the responsibility of conveying to others what God had formed in him, he uses his suffering as the platform to introduce, “…the Father of mercies and God of all comfort.” Had Paul not suffered, he would not have known God’s mercy and comfort—and not realized His mercy and comfort with sufficient depth to demonstrate mercy and comfort to others.

Thus, God’s instruction to Ananias: “Go. Lay hands on the assassin and bounty hunter of Christians: Saul of Tarsus. Pray for him. He’s expecting you—him and his henchmen. They’re staying at Judas’ house on Straight Street. Go. I need to show Saul how much he must suffer for my name’s sake.”

God offers Ananias no reassurance of safety. “Go. Get your coat and hat, Ananias. Get moving.”

However far it was from his house to Judas’ house, Ananias suffered duress and impending dread with each step. Such is the affliction of a devout man of stellar reputation, chosen by God and tasked by God (cf. Acts 22:12). God did not select an average man to deliver an extraordinary message. God did not select a man compromised by fear to step into the den of danger and minister to the notorious monster, Saul.

Thus, I am left to consider…

Had I been alive in the early days of the first century, would God have tapped me to make my way to Straight Street and lay hands on Saul?

With regard to my own suffering: What is my disposition toward it? Is it momentary and light? Am I focused on my affliction and the scarring of my soul or am I comprehending something eternal and weighty and glorious?

Is my outlook on hardship sufficiently tempered that I can comfort others with the mercy and comfort I’ve received from my heavenly Father?

For the record, I feel presumptuous inserting my suffering on behalf of Father in the same article that recounts Paul’s suffering. Of course, it’s pointless to compare pain or attempt to quantify mine against yours. Pain in sufficient measure humbles us all, just as it did Saul, later Paul—and before him, our Older Brother.

So with a touch of trepidation, my intention and hope in recounting for you my censorship, cancellation, and blacklisting on behalf of the Gospel is for your encouragement and comfort.

Here’s my story. Here’s what happened to me. Here’s what this did to me. Here are the residual effects. Paul reports depression, demoralization, despondency, and despair. I identify with each of these.

But in recounting my story, as I have done in previous articles, I’m not asking for pity or sympathy. My intent is to comfort you with this conviction: Father God is full of mercy and comfort. Even in the face of physical ruin and internal duress to the point of despair, His mercies and comfort are beyond measure.

Suffering is not pleasant, but it is the essential catalyst to move an intellectual faith into a forged conviction of the heart. Herein is an eternal weight of glory. *

* While I have identified a few of the biblical passages that form this article, in the background is Paul’s second letter to the church at Corinth.