Blinded by Grace

The Zeal of Saul

I was a man of conviction. Born in Tarsus, a city known for its schools and intellectual traditions, I had an upbringing steeped in both Hellenistic culture and Jewish tradition. My parents were devout Jews, Pharisees, strict in their observance of the Law of Moses. From an early age, I knew that I was set apart for something important. My education began with the Torah, and soon, I memorized large portions of Scripture. When I turned thirteen, my parents sent me to Jerusalem to study under the great teacher, Gamaliel. He was a man of great wisdom, and from him, I learned to interpret the Law with precision.

In those days, I went by the name Saul. A Hebrew name that carried the weight of my heritage, as it echoed the name of the first king of Israel, a man from the tribe of Benjamin, my tribe. I believed, just as he had, that God had chosen me for a divine purpose. But my zeal was for the Law and the traditions of my people. I was convinced that strict adherence to the Law was the way to secure God's favor and protect Israel from the corrupting influences of pagan Rome.

I was still young when I first heard whispers about the followers of the "Way" a group that claimed a man named Jesus had been resurrected from the dead and was the Messiah. "Blasphemy," I thought. It was intolerable to me that any Jew would claim a crucified criminal could be the anointed one of God. How could they desecrate the name of the Lord with such lies? I was determined to root out this heresy.

It was during this time that I first encountered Stephen. He was one of the leaders among the followers of Jesus, a man full of conviction and passion. He spoke boldly about this so-called Messiah, Jesus, claiming He was the fulfillment of the Law and the prophets. His words enraged the Jewish leaders. One day, a mob dragged Stephen outside the city gates and prepared to stone him. I stood there, my heart swelling with righteous indignation. Here was a man defiling the Law, and I would see justice done. They laid their cloaks at my feet as they began to throw stones at Stephen.

He did not cry out in fear as the stones struck him. Instead, he looked up to the sky and said, "Look! I see the heavens opened, and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!" The crowd roared with anger, but Stephen continued, his voice calm even as he was being crushed beneath the stones. "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!" And with his final breath, he prayed, "Lord, do not hold this sin against them."

I felt no sympathy, no remorse, as Stephen lay lifeless at my feet. In fact, I was emboldened. This was the beginning of my crusade against the followers of Jesus. I began to hunt them down, entering house after house, dragging men, women, and children to prison for their allegiance to this Jesus. The children, because once they find out what happened to their parents, their allegiance would only grow stronger. Many of these people fled Jerusalem to escape the persecution, but I pursued them relentlessly. The high priest gave me letters of authority to arrest anyone I found following the Way. I believed with all my heart that I was doing God's work.

One evening, I sat with some of the temple leaders, discussing the growing threat of this Jesus movement. We had received reports that many of His followers had taken refuge in Damascus, a city north of Jerusalem. The high priest leaned forward and said, "Saul, we need someone with your fervor, your zeal. Go to Damascus, arrest them, and bring them back to Jerusalem for trial."

"I will bring them back in chains," I replied, eager to prove my devotion to the Law. My heart was set on eradicating every trace of this blasphemous sect.

The journey to Damascus would take several days. I gathered a small group of men to accompany me. We left Jerusalem at dawn, riding through the Judean hills and then along the Jordan River. As we traveled, I couldn't shake the words of Stephen from my mind, though I tried to. What did he mean when he spoke of the heavens opening? And that strange prayer he uttered, asking for forgiveness for his executioners? I dismissed these thoughts as weakness. Stephen's death was necessary. He was a threat to the purity of Israel, and I had no time for sentimentality.

The days passed in the heat and dust of the road. As we approached Damascus, the city came into view, a gleaming oasis in the desert. I felt a sense of anticipation. My mission would soon be fulfilled. The followers of Jesus would face justice. They would be silenced. And the Law would prevail.

But as I neared the city, something unimaginable happened.

Suddenly, a light brighter than the noonday sun blazed around me. It was so intense, so overwhelming, that I was thrown from my horse, hitting the ground with a force that knocked the breath out of me. Everything around me disappeared in that blinding light. My men shouted, their voices distant and terrified, but I could not see them. All I knew was that something far greater than me had taken hold of the moment.

And then, out of that searing light, a voice spoke, clear and powerful. A voice unlike any I had ever heard.