Wholly Changed

Acts 9:1-20

Meanwhile Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem. Now as he was going along and approaching Damascus, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” He asked, “Who are you, Lord?” The reply came, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. But get up and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do.” The men who were traveling with him stood speechless because they heard the voice but saw no one. Saul got up from the ground, and though his eyes were open, he could see nothing; so they led him by the hand and brought him into Damascus. For three days he was without sight and neither ate nor drank.

Now there was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord said to him in a vision, “Ananias.” He answered, “Here I am, Lord.” The Lord said to him, “Get up and go to the street called Straight, and at the house of Judas look for a man of Tarsus named Saul. At this moment he is praying, and he has seen in a vision a man named Ananias come in and lay his hands on him so that he might regain his sight.” But Ananias answered, “Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints in Jerusalem, and here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who invoke your name.” But the Lord said to him, “Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel; I myself will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name.” So Ananias went and entered the house. He laid his hands on Saul and said, “Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus, who appeared to you on your way here, has sent me so that you may regain your sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit.” And immediately something like scales fell from his eyes, and his sight was restored. Then he got up and was baptized, and after taking some food, he regained his strength.

For several days he was with the disciples in Damascus, and immediately he began to proclaim Jesus in the synagogues, saying, “He is the Son of God.”

Sermon

This is a big passage, with lots of little easter eggs to find. We don’t fully understand the origins of the Book of Acts, but there is a sizable faction of scholars who believe it was the latter part of the Gospel of Luke. That is, it shares the same authors and continues its narrative. In today’s passage, we certainly hear some of those echoes and find some of the easter eggs of Luke.

Saul, who is later known as the Apostle Paul, doesn’t merely have a vision; he encounters the risen Christ. This is a mystic event, a rip in the fabric of the cosmos that draws the risen Christ and Saul into intimate connection. Christ’s appearance is more than alarming to Saul – it overwhelms him beyond the very capacity of his physical senses. This is an easter egg containing echoes of the Transfiguration, that event from the Gospels where Christ became blindingly radiant and enshrouded in light, to the point of overwhelming his disciples’ senses.

And then in today’s passage, after Saul is arrested by the radiance of the risen Christ, he remains blind and does not eat anything. We can’t help but find within this easter egg, echoes of the crucified Christ. For three days, there is a sense of dormancy and waiting – like in the death of Jesus, a fallowness that will give rise to resurrected life.

Then, from that season of dormancy, we find another easter egg: Ananias, who perceives the Lord beckoning, and who replies, “Here I am Lord.” Those aren’t any ordinary words and this isn’t any ordinary beckoning. This call-and-response of God and Ananias follows the pattern of God’s many prophets and servants. It is the same one of Abraham, Moses, Samuel, Isaiah, and in the New Testament, only one other person: Mary, the mother of Jesus. “Here I am Lord,” Ananias replies, giving voice to God’s providence throughout human history.

Finally, after Ananias heeds the very voice of Creation, he goes to Saul, where the risen Christ restores his sight. We find another easter egg: “Scales fell from [Saul’s] eyes and his sight was restored.” In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus’ ministry begins in the synagogue, where he professes that the Spirit of God has descended upon him. Jesus quotes from the prophet Isaiah, saying, “God has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who are oppressed.” (Is. 61:1-2) Jesus also offers a teaching, found only in the Gospel of Luke: “When you give a banquet,” he says, “invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.” (Lk. 14:13). We find in this easter egg, no uncertain message: Saul’s healing is the work of the risen Christ.

Though the risen Christ has ascended and is no longer with his disciples, the risen Christ remains alive and present. Here, we are reminded that the ministry of Jesus Christ has not concluded, and the Spirit of the risen Christ lives and breathes within us to carry that ministry forward.

But beyond those easter eggs, part of what makes this text so odd is the questions it surfaces:

• Did Christ strike Saul with blindness?

• Was his blindness a punishment?

• Did God inflict suffering on Saul to instigate repentance?

That’s what we’ll keep chewing on. We’ll keep chewing on the connection between our bodies and our souls, and how we make sense of our physical limitations.

“For three days, there is a sense of dormancy and waiting – like in the death of Jesus, a fallowness that will give rise to resurrected life.”

I don’t know about you, but when someone is really mean to others—like really, really mean—there’s something oddly satisfying when that person stubs their toe. You know what I mean? Sometimes, a bystander might say, “that’s karma.”

The ancient world felt a little bit like that, too, but took it to a whole ‘nother level. In the Roman world—including the Gospel of Luke—the physical body was deeply intertwined with the spiritual realm. What happened in the spiritual realm was made manifest in the physical realm. There was a pernicious consequence of this reasoning: for someone to be blind, or lame, or physically ailing, it must have originated in the spiritual realm. In the Gospel of John, the disciples encounter a blind man, and ask Jesus, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” If someone was a real meany, they had better be watching their head, shoulders, knees, and toes. Physical impairment was retribution.

But what’s interesting here, is that Saul’s blindness isn’t a consequence for his evil deeds; it is the womb from which he will emerge in wholeness as a changed man. It isn’t retribution, and it isn’t the end of the road. This is a way station for Saul, a train stop on his journey to the way of Christ.

There is a second common attitude toward physical impairment in the ancient world. Physical impairment is used as a metaphor for deficiencies in one’s spirit. In the Gospel of Matthew, a man’s blindness stems from demon possession (Mt. 12). In three of the Gospels, Jesus heals a lame man by forgiving his sins (Mt. 9, Mk. 2, Lk 5).

These ancient understands have led to a long history of trouble for those living with disabilities. Far too often, Christians use language that hurts our blind, Deaf, and physically-impaired members and friends.

“Saul’s blindness isn’t a consequence... for his evil deeds; it is the womb from which he will emerge in wholeness as a changed man.”

Today’s passage reveals a far more profound, far more constructive truth.

With Saul, he is blind after encountering the risen Christ. And Ananias restores his sight before Saul demonstrates any change of heart. His physical impairment was a mark of the resurrection, a mark of his inner journey toward Christ, and a mark of his gestating faith.

Here, we unexpectedly see a new ordering of creation, and a way of Christ that embraces the complexity of the human body. The blind Saul will worship a beaten, crucified Christ, who carries scars and an open wound in his resurrected body. The blind Saul will make disciples of a Christ who was himself blinded by Roman soldiers (Lk. 22, Mk. 14), whose body was irreparably injured, and who was physically unable to carry his own cross (Mt. 27, Mk. 15, Lk. 23). From the incomprehensibility of the cross came a resurrected Christ; God’s love was made manifest in a savior who intimately knew our bodily impairments. And Saul’s blindness draws him closer—not further—into the heart of God, and the very pattern of Jesus Christ.

It seems that whatever the case—whether the crucified and risen Christ intentionally struck Saul with blindness or not—it wasn’t used as a cudgel. It wasn’t a punishment, and it wasn’t retribution.

“His physical impairment was a mark of the resurrection, a mark of his inner journey toward Christ, and a mark of his gestating faith.”

To make sense of Saul’s blindness, and to make sense of his encounter with the risen Christ, we might turn to the words of Hellen Keller. Keller, who grew up Episcopalian, said this: “I thank God for my handicaps. For through them, I have found myself, my work and my God.” (A Treasury of Comfort).

That might be an uncomfortable quote. We might not always be comfortable, but nonetheless, our faith asks us to examine Saul’s blindness and ask questions about God and disability. And not just permanent disability—like those who are blind or Deaf—but types of disability that will (more likely than not) affect all of us during our lifetimes. There will be days, weeks, years, that we will not be able to come to church in person. There will be seasons where we can’t do the things others do, or that we used to do. 

In the theological academy, there is a growing body of research and writing by people with disabilities. And from these theologians, pastors, professors, and writers, there are two items I’ve gleaned that are important to understanding this passage.

• First, people with disabilities are markedly diverse in experiences and opinion. Even the phrase “people with disabilities,” can miss the mark or inaccurately represent someone’s lived experience. For some individuals, living with disability is a painful, complicated, uninvited part of their life. But for others, living with a disability is a welcomed part of their experiences; it is part of who they know themselves to be!
  
  No matter the case, we can’t use the word “disability” synonymously with brokenness, and we can’t use it pejoratively; it is simply far too personal, far too particular, to assume anything
  

• Secondly, in addition to the diversity of experiences and opinion, we can learn that health is different from wholeness.
  
  There are so many individuals who are healthy, but who lack any wholeness in their lives. There are so many people who are healthy, but who feel disembodied, spiritually anguished, or perpetually unwell. And conversely, there are many people who live with disabilities or chronic illness who are whole. One can be whole while living without sight, or hearing, or physical mobility; to be whole is to live in community with others, with peace that surpasses understanding, and a sense of connectedness to God and creation.
  

Today’s scripture points us to a re-interpreted understanding of physical ability and the body. It points us to an understanding consistent with those living with disabilities and illness: wholeness isn’t predicated on ability, and it isn’t predicated on health.

In meeting the risen Christ, in what might seem paradoxical, Saul loses his sight and receives wholeness. While experiencing disability, he also experiences wholeness in the midst of it. It’s not really because of his blindness, but it is in the midst of it. Anger, violence, hatred: all of these things seem to dissipate while he simultaneously navigates blindness. During this season, Saul starts to encounter wholeness in Christ that is marked by love, service to others, care for the downtrodden, and discipling others into that same wholeness. It is irrelevant whether this blindness is a curse or a gift; what matters is that God’s wholeness enters into us, no matter what health or impairment we are experiencing. Wholeness is not predicated on health or ability.

“In meeting the risen Christ, in what might seem paradoxical, Saul loses his sight and receives wholeness.”

As I’ve spent time visiting members of the congregation at home and in hospital rooms, I’ve seen glimpses of this truth.

Whether someone is scared and fearful, whether someone is sick or healthy, or whether someone is able-bodied or impaired, you all often speak of similar things. I have heard you speak about family: siblings, spouses, children, grandchildren — you name it. Though families aren’t anywhere close to perfect, many of us have members in our family who love us well. There is someone in our families who always seems to know what to say, or someone who wraps us in their arms.

Almost always, you all will share stories. They are stories that offer levity and good humor, little vignettes that offer comfort along the journey. In even sorrowful stories, I’ve heard you all share them in ways that have clearly been narrated, re-narrated, and re-narrated again, where the tragedy of life has been authored into deeper meaning and understanding. You all have seized the events of your life, and woven them into meaningful stories.

And of course, so often, you all talk about this church. For decades upon decades, this congregation has done its very best to support and care for each other. Casseroles and soup show up when it’s needed; prayer shawls appear on hard days; and companionship arrives when the world feels terrifying and vast. Our care is never perfect, but with the grace of God, it sometimes meets the mark.

All of these things—family members, well-loved stories, well-grieved stories, and the companionship of this church—these things are evidence that God brings wholeness into our lives, even when our bodies seem to have betrayed us. They are little glimpses of the risen Christ, and that radiant light of God that breaks into our lives. Even when we can’t make it to church, or even when we learn our bodies won’t ever be back to “normal,” the risen Christ is breaking into our lives, extending wholeness and hope. The risen Christ is always rooting around through the power of the Spirit, working to supplant our anger, grief, bigotry, anguish, and whatever else truly ails us.

So does everything happen for a reason? Did Saul experience blindness as part of some grander purpose?

I don’t know. But what I believe, and what I think God is speaking to us today, is that the body of Christ carries marks of disability, too—of mortal wounds and broken hands—and yet somehow, it is also a body that is resurrected. It might be a little paradoxical, and it certainly doesn’t offer easy answers or simple meanings. But it’s true.

“Even when we can’t make it to church, or even when we learn our bodies won’t ever be back to “normal,” the risen Christ is breaking into our lives, extending wholeness and hope.”

Every time we gather at this table, we meet a body of Christ that is broken, and we meet the body of Christ that is resurrected, too. It is real, it is special, it is somewhat mystic — all woven into this sacrament.

It was a broken body, laid in a tomb, that became the womb of resurrection; it was the disabled body of Saul that became a womb for his own new life; a ministry that would span the world, bringing wholeness into every corner of creation.

For those who struggle in making peace with their own disabilities, there is reason to take heart. Even if you don’t share in Keller’s words of rejoicement, it’s okay. I doubt Saul rejoiced, either. But the risen Christ meets you with wholeness and radiant light — love and hope that can coexist with whatever your body and mind and spirit feels. In this sacrament, we meet a Savior whose own body was disabled, in whose resurrection we find abundant, joyful, and unending wholeness.

Sources

Helen Keller quote: A Treasury of Comfort, ed. Sidney Greenberg. Chatsworth, CA: Wilshire Book Co, 1954. 

Disability and the Bible: A Commentary, eds. Sarah J. Melcher and Amos Yong. Baylor University Press, 2017.