First Steps

Acts 9:1-9

September 18, 2016 • Mount Pleasant UMC

I grew up with a certain image of the Apostle Paul; it was largely formed by the “picture Bible,” those cartoons that came every week in our Sunday School papers, published by David C. Cook. If you’re my age, you might remember those, how over a period of time they told the Bible story through comics. I collected every single one of them and wish I still had them! What I remember of Paul was that he was usually pictured as balding, somewhat short in stature and always wearing a blue robe. But we have no idea what Paul really looked like. There are a wide variety of images you can find on the internet, various icons and paintings from various points in history. He’s almost always bearded, and usually has some sort of halo effect around his head. Then there’s this statue, which is in Rome, in the courtyard of the church St. Paul’s Outside the Walls, a statue of a fierce-looking Paul holding a sword. It’s not meant to be a literal sword, of course, but the Word of God, described in the book of Hebrews as a “two-edged sword” (cf. Hebrews 4:12). But again, we don’t have any idea what Paul looked like; in none of the writings by him or about him are there any descriptions of his physical appearance. The most we know is from an offhanded comment in 2 Corinthians: “His letters are weighty and forceful, but in person he is unimpressive and his speaking amounts to nothing” (10:10). Quite the endorsement! No pastor wants to get that on their annual evaluation!

The ancient world was huge on making images and statues of important people. You go to Rome today and there are still statues and images of various Caesars all over the place, many still standing. We know what they looked like because they were considered to be important, vital, worthy of a statue in their image. And yet, this man from the city of Tarsus in modern-day Turkey, has had a profound impact on the world—and on you and me—and there is no first-century image of him still existing. Still, he is second only to Jesus in his shaping of Christianity, and he is the author of the earliest texts of the New Testament. The Gospels were written down later; Paul’s letters were written first. He was the first one to give us an idea of what the life, death and resurrection of Jesus meant to the world and to us, and his is the first indication we have of what communion ought to look like. Thirteen of the New Testament’s twenty-seven books were written by Paul, and no one was more aware of his inadequacy and failings than this very human teacher (Hamilton, The Call, pgs. 9-11). I suspect he would be amazed that two thousand years after his lifetime, we are still talking about him because he was always more concerned that people talk about Jesus. And yet we are, and for the next six weeks, we’re going to be looking at Paul’s life, his message, and many of his writings as we seek to understand what he still has to say to us today about the Jesus he loved. What guidance can Paul give us as we seek to live out our Christian mission here in Terre Haute? What can we learn about Paul that will make a difference in the way we live here and now? And, most importantly, how can we become as possessed by a sense of “call” as Paul was? Those are the questions we’ll be looking at in these next six weeks, both here in worship and in your LifeGroups and other small groups as we seek to be shaped more into the image of Jesus through the work of Paul.

What we know about Paul’s early life is pieced together from hints and clues he drops in various letters. He was born in Tarsus and was a member of the Jewish tribe of Benjamin, and his given Hebrew name was Saul, after the first king of Israel. (Paul was not so much a conversion name, like we usually think, but more likely his “Roman” name. For the sake of clarity, I’m going to pretty much refer to him as Paul, even during his early years.) Tarsus was a “free city” in Paul’s time, granted self-government by the Roman Empire. It was a cosmopolitan city, a center for trade and culture (Paul: The Apostle of the Gentiles—Journeys in Greece, pg. 13), yet only about 10 percent of the population of Tarsus were Roman citizens. Paul was one of them; he was “born a citizen” (Acts 22:26), which means at least his father was also a citizen. He understood himself to be exemplary in carrying out the Jewish law, having been circumcised on the eighth day according to the Law and taught to obey it faithfully by a wise rabbi named Gamaliel. Earlier in the book of Acts, when Peter and the other apostles are arrested for preaching about Jesus, it’s a word from Gamaliel that quiets the anger of the ruling council. Gamaliel says, “Leave these men alone!…If their purpose or activity is of human origin, it will fail. But if it is from God, you will not be able to stop these men; you will only find yourselves fighting against God” (Acts 5:38-39). This was Paul’s teacher, and the main reason you went to study under a rabbi was to become a rabbi yourself. Paul was apparently quite a gifted student, saying, “I was advancing in Judaism beyond many of my own age among my people” (Galatians 1:14). He was destined for great things.

Now, all of this may seem like boring historical detail, but in the next few weeks, we’re going to see how many of these pieces of Paul’s life come back to be used by God in reaching people for Jesus. These pieces are critical parts of Paul’s story, for they will remind us over and over again that there is nothing in your life God can’t use—even and maybe especially the painful parts, if we stop holding onto it and let him have it to use. Sometimes we hold onto our brokenness tightly, internalize it, even wear it almost as a badge of honor. Dr. David Seamands told of a woman he was counseling who, in the midst of their conversation, suddenly let out a blood-curdling scream. Dr. Seamands’ first wondered what people outside the office thought was going on in there. And then he asked the woman why she was screaming. She told him, “Because you’re asking me to let go of my pain, and it’s all I’ve got left. I don’t know who I am without it.” But when we let go of it, when we give it to God, that’s when he can use it. I have found that there are so many places and events and things in my 49 years God has been able to use to minster to and touch other people’s lives, once I give it to him. The grief over those I have lost, including a college roommate who killed himself, the struggle I had with my heart and going through restorative surgery, the times when I’ve been hurt or betrayed by those I thought were friends—there isn’t anything God can’t use. Just as God uses Paul’s past for his glory, he will use your past and the pieces of your life as well.

But back to Paul. A big part of his past, of course, was his Jewish faith, and because of his passion for that faith and his absolute commitment to the one God of the Scriptures, he came to believe that these people who worshipped Jesus were worshipping a false god. So Paul became a rabid persecutor of the early church. We’re first introduced to Paul in Acts 7, when a young man named Stephen is being stoned to death because of his faith in Jesus. Now, death by stoning was not like they show it in the movies where lots of people throw relatively small rocks. The victim was actually dragged to the bottom of a small hill or overhang, and a huge stone was dropped on him by his accusers. If that didn’t kill him, a second accuser would drop another large stone. And if that still didn’t kill him, then others around could begin dropping stones. And Paul was there as some sort of official. Luke tells us, “The witnesses [i.e., those who were dropping the stones] laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul” (Acts 7:58; Hamilton 24). He was there, perhaps, to make sure Stephen really was dead, that the will of the leadership was carried out. And then we don’t hear anything more about him for a whole chapter, where we find him (in the passage we read this morning) on the road, headed to Damascus from Jerusalem to arrest Christians there. As the crow (or any other bird) flies, Damascus is about 140 miles from Jerusalem. By air, it takes about 30 minutes, and by car, about three hours. But Paul didn’t have those luxuries, and though we usually picture him on a horse, there is no mention of a horse in Acts. Paul was probably walking, in the company of others. A man in good health probably would take about a week at a quick pace to make that journey, so Paul is committed to this mission, this persecution, for the long haul.

However, as is often the case, life is what happens when you’re making other plans. And Paul’s plans get derailed at some point during his journey when he is knocked to the ground by a bright light and a voice from heaven. Only Paul heard the voice; the men with him didn’t have any idea what was happening. This call was directed straight at Paul. “Saul, Saul,” the voice said, “why do you persecute me?” And when he asked who was speaking, the voice said, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. Not get up and go into the city, and you will be told what you must do” (9:4-6). Two things I hear in that brief message to Paul. First of all, when we hurt or persecute Jesus’ people, we hurt and persecute Jesus himself. This is part of what he told us in Matthew’s Gospel: “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (25:40). That’s another dimension of what Paul will later call “the body of Christ” (1 Corinthians 12). When we harm a brother or sister, we harm Jesus. And the second thing to notice here is that Jesus has a mission just for Paul, a call to a particular task, but he doesn’t overwhelm him with it right away. Jesus asks Paul to go to the city and wait. In fact, he doesn’t even directly tell Paul himself. Jesus sends a man named Ananias to direct Paul. Jesus tells Ananias, “This man is my chosen instrument to proclaim my name to the Gentiles and their kings and to the people of Israel” (9:15). Paul is set apart, from the very beginning, as the Apostle to the Gentiles—to the world beyond Judaism. Up until this moment, Christianity had largely been a small sect within the Jewish faith. Paul would be the first one to take it beyond his own people into the wider world. Remember what I said about Paul growing up in a cosmopolitan city, in a place of culture, as a Roman citizen? All of those things would be vitally important as he began to answer the call Jesus placed on his life there along the Damascus Road.

Paul’s first call, though, is to follow Christ. And still today, the church’s first call is to follow Christ and help people take their first steps in following Christ. Remember our mission statement: to make disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world. That is why we exist; if we are doing anything other than that, we should close the doors or rebrand ourselves as a social club. The bottom line in Paul’s call and in ours is that people need to know the love of Jesus, and they will not know it unless they experience it through you and me. Granted, God could knock someone down with a blinding light, as he did with Paul, but most of the time—most of the time—he chooses instead to send you and me and your neighbor and everyone who claims to be a follower of Jesus out into the world to show and share the love of Christ. In your bulletin this morning, you should have found a card with the goals for this church over the next four years, to 2020. I hope you’ll take that home with you and allow it to be a matter of constant prayer. But I want you to notice that the very first goal on that page is this: reach at least 100 new people for Jesus, helping them to take their first step on the journey of faith. And that’s a minimum; there is no penalty if we go over 100! That is our calling: reaching people for Jesus, not just tending to our own needs. I had a senior pastor many years ago say that when we come to know Jesus, it’s no longer about me or you because disciples are always sent out to find others who need to know Jesus. Pastor Craig Groeschel envisions a church that will do anything, short of sin, to reach people for Jesus. Mount Pleasant, do we have that sort of passion? Do we believe that people need Jesus? If so, what are we willing to do about it?

So, after Paul answers his call to follow Christ, he immediately begins to preach about Jesus being the Son of God. This is not what the people in Damascus were expecting out of him! The Jewish leaders thought he came there to help them get rid of the Christians, and the Christians thought he came there to have them arrested—and now, suddenly he is on the side of those he once called “enemy.” He’s turned to “the other side,” so the Jewish leaders make plans to do to Paul what they did to Jesus, to kill him, but Paul escapes and heads to Arabia (cf. Hamilton 32-35). He tells us in Galatians (1:17-18) that he spent three years there, learning, growing, working out his theology, and then he goes back to Damascus and then on to Jerusalem. He’s been a Christian now for three years, and undoubtedly word of that has gotten to the believers in Jerusalem. So when Paul arrives in the holy city (according to Acts), he finds much the same reaction he initially got in Damascus. Even after all this time, the Christians, those he calls brother and sister now, are afraid of him. It’s not terror, but it’s a healthy fear that warns them to stay away, to not trust him, to be alarmed. If he’s going to be accepted and welcomed, he’s going to have to convince Peter, which is why Paul says during that first trip, he met with Peter only. But Paul didn’t get a meeting with Peter on his own. He needed someone to stand up for him, to believe in him. That someone was a man named Barnabas.

Actually, his name was Joseph, but the believers in Jerusalem had given him a nickname that had stuck. They called him “Barnabas.” “Bar” in Hebrew means “son of;” Barnabas was the “son of encouragement” (Acts 4:36). And Barnabas watched what had happened in Paul. Perhaps he had seen Paul on the day Stephen died, but he knew now this was not the same man who had left Jerusalem years ago on a mission to arrest believers. So Barnabas became the encourager Paul needed. He stood up for him and, Luke says, “brought [Paul] to the apostles” (9:27). Barnabas recounted the story of Paul’s first steps toward Jesus. Barnabas gave testimony to the ways God was already using this young man for the sake of Christ. And because Barnabas stood up for Paul, Peter and the rest of the church leaders welcomed him into their midst. Now, Peter and Paul didn’t always get along in the years to come, but they were both committed to the same cause: making disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world. Imagine what would have happened if Barnabas had not taken the risk of standing up for Paul. Imagine what might have happened if Barnabas had joined in the nay-sayers and told Paul he could never be one of their number. Imagine taking your Bible and tearing out everything from the last half of Acts through Philemon. Without Barnabas standing up for Paul, we wouldn’t have a good chunk of our New Testaments. We wouldn’t have Scripture passages like, “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). Or, “Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:6). We would have no Scripture to read at weddings, because 1 Corinthians 13 would be gone. Without Barnabas being the son of encouragement he was, Paul’s ministry could easily have been lost from the very beginning.

Which brings me to the question: who is your Barnabas? Who is your chief encouragement in matters of faith? I was a brand-new seminary graduate in my first appointment in Muncie, appointed as “associate pastor B” to High Street church. My senior pastor was Dr. Tom Rough, whom most of you probably did not know because we were a different Conference then. But Tom took this young wet-behind-the-ears pastor and taught me much about ministry, life in a parsonage, and sharing Christ in a winsome way. Mostly, he and his wife, Janet, just loved on Cathy and I. For two years, I had the privilege of working with Tom almost every day, and he became a Barnabas to me. He’s the one who told me that if I wasn’t called, ministry would eat me alive. He reminded me that my ministry is found in the interruptions, not the well-laid plans. And he gave me room to make mistakes, would support me even when I didn’t know what I was doing, and never failed to offer an encouraging word. When he was appointed as a District Superintendent, he found a church for me to serve when I was ready to move. He came to that church and baptized Rachel. Then, after six years as a D.S., Tom and Janet retired and moved out west to be with their family. Just recently, they moved back to Indiana, and shortly after my appointment to Mount Pleasant was announced I got a call one evening and it was Tom. I had not talked to him in several years, aside from exchanging Christmas cards, but my heart was warmed as I heard his voice on the other end of the line, and I’ll never forget what he said. “I don’t know the church,” he said, “but I know that they’re getting a good pastor.” Tom has been and continues to be a Barnabas to me, even when we’re not in direct communication for years at a time. Who is your Barnabas?

Now, skipping ahead in Paul’s story just a bit, I want us also to remember that not only did Paul have a Barnabas, he also lived that same encouragement out to the next generation. Barnabas encouraged Paul and Paul encouraged a young man named Timothy. Timothy was from Lystra, in modern-day Turkey, and he was the son of a Greek man (who was not a believer) and a Jewish-Christian woman (Acts 16:1-3). Paul invited Timothy to travel with them, and as he did, their spirits were bonded together. Paul trained Timothy to be a pastor, and Timothy then became the pastor of the churches in Ephesus (1 Timothy 1:3). It’s widely believed that 2 Timothy was Paul’s last letter, written shortly before his death, and in that letter he called Timothy “my dear son.” Just as Barnabas had poured his life into Paul, Paul turned around and poured his life into Timothy. I believe that’s a Biblical model we would do well to follow, that we all need a Barnabas and we all need a Timothy. So who is your Barnabas? And who is your Timothy?

Last Sunday was a wonderful worship time, as we got to hear from the hearts of some of our middle school youth. If you weren’t able to be here, you missed a real blessing. God is moving and working in the lives of the children and youth we have here at Mount Pleasant, and for that I am so very grateful. I’m also so very grateful for Ginger and Jess who pour so much of their lives into the youngest among us. Mount Pleasant, the future is bright when we have young people who are finding and living their faith, and while I’m thankful for those who currently pour faith into their lives, they need more of you to do so. There’s a book set to be released this week focusing on a major study done by Fuller Theological Seminary about churches who are growing young. The reality is that churches have two choices: to grow old or to grow young. Many of us know that as our physical bodies grow old, we face a lot of challenges, health and otherwise, and that same metaphor can apply to churches that choose only to grow old. Growing old leads to death, and while for those of us who believe, we know our physical bodies will experience resurrection, the metaphor breaks down at that point for churches. I was in a group a while back, sharing statistics on the current future of the United Methodist Church, and it’s not a pretty picture. As a denomination, we are growing old. As I was sharing those statistics, one person spoke up and said, “The church of Jesus Christ will survive, no matter what the statistics say.” And I said, “Yes, that’s true. But what about this church? Do you believe it has a future? Do you want it to have a future?” I did not get an answer that day, but I can answer for sure about this particular church. The answer is “yes.” We are building and planning and praying toward a future with hope.

And so, according to the Fuller study, three things need to happen between younger and older people in the church for a church to grow young. There are actually more than three things, but I only have time to quickly highlight these three. The first is empathy: listening to each other and seeking to understand the other’s journey. This is not just a young person understanding the older person; this conversation and empathy must go both ways. It means taking time to listen to each other. The second thing that has to happen is warmth: being surrounded with a supportive, accepting and authentic community. And the third thing is priority: a commitment to allocate our resources toward the future instead of toward the past, placing a priority on reaching the next generation for Christ (Powell, et al., Growing Young, pg. 201). In other words, here’s what the research says needs to happen: young people, youth, you need to get to know the elders in our church. You need to listen to their stories, their history, their hopes and dreams. And older folks, you need to get to know the youth and young people in our church. You need to listen to their longings, their hopes and dreams. The future is built as we invest in each other, as we learn that we need each other rather than dismissing the other. We need Barnabases. We need Timothys. Each and every one of us. So who is your Barnabas? And who is your Timothy?

It’s somewhat curious that Paul never actually shares his own conversion story. There is not a parallel to Acts 9 in any of Paul’s letters, even though Paul’s letters would have been written first (cf. Willimon, Interpretation: Acts, pg. 73). He apparently chooses not to dwell on that past moment, but is more focused on what Jesus is doing in his life at that moment. Luke, on the other hand, tells Paul’s conversion story three different times through the book of Acts—first here, in chapter 9, then through Paul’s lips in chapters 22 and 26 (cf. Wright, Acts for Everyone—Part One, pg. 139). Scholars wonder why Luke, with only so much space to tell the story of the early church, did that, but I wonder, perhaps, if it wasn’t to emphasize one single point: if Jesus can save Paul, who was an enemy of the church, he can save anyone. Paul didn’t write about his own conversion because he knew all too well how underserving of grace he was. He will tell the Corinthians, “By the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect” (1 Corinthians 15:10). Paul’s desire was not to draw attention to himself, but to the grace of God. Yet, without those first steps that he took on the road to Damascus, he would never have become the great preacher who changed the world.

This morning, I would be remiss if I didn’t ask you: have you taken those first steps toward Jesus? Don’t wait for a blinding light to knock you to the ground; Jesus doesn’t usually work that way. The author Flannery O’Connor suggested that was the only way to get Paul’s attention (Willimon 73), but my prayer is that God is beginning to get your attention in this place this morning. If you have never welcomed Jesus into your life, why not? This very day, you can take first steps toward Jesus, and he will come the rest of the way to you. He will do what he did for Paul, change your life from the inside out. He will welcome you, save you from sin, and begin a journey that is called by the Scriptures an “abundant life.” All that’s required is that you turn toward Jesus, invite him into your life, and allow him to begin a good work in you.

Many years ago, a young man who had grown up in the church woke up on Sunday morning, deeply aware that he needed something more. It was snowing heavily, so on his way to his own church, he ducked into a Primitive Methodist Church for shelter. The pastor hadn’t been able to get to church, so a lay speaker was preaching—and not well. The young man later wrote, “He had not much to say, thank God, for that compelled him to keep on repeating his text.” His text was Isaiah 45:22: “Look unto me, and be saved.” Eventually, the speaker ran out of words altogether and looked at the young boy, shouting, “Look! Look, young man! Look now!” In that moment, the young man looked at the cross and something happened in him. When he got home that day, his mother took one look at him and said, “Something wonderful has happened to you.” That young man was Charles Spurgeon, who went on to become known as “the prince of preachers.” Because of a snowy day and a faithful (if not good) preacher, Spurgeon found Jesus and went on to lead thousands to Jesus. Maybe you have come here this morning and you don’t know why. I would urge you, as that lay speaker did so long ago, to simply look to Jesus, as Paul did, as Charles Spurgeon did. He will welcome you with open arms, for if he can save an enemy like Paul, he can save you as well. Let’s pray.