See Newly

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 travelling 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.’

I had forgotten how… kind of evil Saul, or Paul, really was. I had forgotten he had okay’d stoning people to death; I had forgotten he went on a tirade throwing any Jesus follower in jail he possibly could. I had forgotten what a bad person he really was before this miraculous awakening. And so I’m less moved by this kind of over-the-top conversion moment than I am by Ananias and his welcoming of Saul into the fold, and to the table.

I think it’s a testament to how cruel and terrifying Saul truly was, that Ananias gets a rare direct interaction with Jesus in a vision—Jesus tells him to go find Saul, and Ananias, instead of sprinting to Saul after a command from the resurrected, ascended Jesus, pretty much says, “uhhh… you sure about this?” And my God, who can blame him after everything Saul has been doing to Jesus followers. Even so, even before Saul’s transformation, Ananias enters Saul’s space, places his hands on him, and calls him “Brother.” Readings like this are beautiful, but kind of though sometimes, in that in today’s world, without a direct order from Jesus, I wouldn’t think to counsel a person to seek out someone who would have them hurt or even dead; but this is still a beautiful, courageous, and compassionate moment, and there is still so much to be inspired by.

It was hard in thinking about these ideas of welcoming and forgiveness without thinking of this backpack drive ending today, especially considering that we live in one of the least forgiving countries. We live in a country that punishes rather than rehabilitates; a country that throws people to their wolves after they’ve supposedly paid their debt to society; a country that would prefer to literally put people to death, rather than dig a little deeper into why this violence continues; even sometimes putting innocent people to death, rather than finding the truth and admitting to wrongs.

I just read this really strange and beautiful book by Sheila Heti, called Pure Colour. It’s impossible to describe the book, but there are a lot of really interesting and beautiful ruminations on God and creation and relationships. At one point, the author is writing about getting older, moving into middle age and becoming unaware, or blinded to all the things that as young people, we once felt were important. She writes,

But when God blinds your eyes to [these things]…he opens your eyes to everything else. But what else is there? Seasons, birds, the wind in the trees. So don’t go chasing your old forms of sight. Instead, learn to see newly. Right now it may feel like a loss of sight, or like you don’t understand the things you do see, but there is still a lot to see here.[i]

Changing the way we view things is often scary and jarring. We want to fall into old patterns of what we thought was right and wrong, good and bad, black and white. But that leaves us blind to the things that really matter—creation, changes, the beauty of this world, and the beauty of other people. In a world that prioritizes punishment, and sometimes even death, over forgiveness, and rehabilitation, we have to really work to see things in a new way—or you know, not even in a new way. We have to learn to see things the way Jesus would have us see things. And we know Jesus preaches forgiveness and equality; we know Jesus preaches peace, and preaches life.

And so even though Saul was briefly blinded, he came back from this blindness seeing newly. He came back from this blindness seeing the way Jesus would have him see. And yes, there is that harsh language that “he must suffer for the sake of my name,” but we also know that suffering for the sake of Jesus’ name would mean that Saul would spend quite a bit of time in jail for some of the same reasons he was throwing people in jail. And we know that in Saul’s case, these reasons would be that he was preaching equality; he was preaching and end to hierarchies; this was all in the name of Jesus. And so yes, he suffered—but, like we talked about last week—he wasn’t just suffering for the sake of suffering, and he wasn’t preaching his love of Jesus at a surface level; he was actually doing the work Jesus requires of us— working against power structures, and working for the sake of others, and ultimately triumphed in his life and in his evangelizing.

In my initial reading of Saul’s sight coming back, that “something like scales,” fell from his eyes, I was a little confused, and a little grossed out; but this is likely a reference to some of the language in of the minor prophet Tobit’s writings, in which he describes a film being peeled from someone’s eyes—so it’s as if Saul is shedding his old skin; he’s shedding his old vision and he’s seeing in a whole new way. I wonder what those three days were like for Saul, wallowing in his blindness, thinking deeply about the pain he’d caused so many people, and all his cruel power and authority that he had abused out of hatred and fear. And I wonder, when this film fell from his eyes, how he saw the world—I wonder how bright and new and hopeful everything seemed.

And I wonder if we could remove the film from our own eyes, if we could see those folks who have had a tough life, who have just served their sentence, in this new way. I wonder if we could work to see those people with more understanding, with more compassion. And while I know there is no one in this space right now who’s as cruel as Saul once was, it’s a fact that we’re programmed by this world to think that cruelly—to assume that people don’t deserve forgiveness, but rather punishment. Sadly, because of the culture of mass incarceration in which we live, we have to work really hard to remove those scales from our eyes. We have to work really hard to see the people who we are told to see as evil, even inhuman, as people worthy of forgiveness and love. I truly believe that each of these backpacks, and everything in these backpacks is indicative of you all being able to see that those folks who have made some mistakes in the past, or maybe even were just in the wrong place at the wrong time are worthy, and they should not only be allowed back into society, but welcomed with open arms.

It's fitting that this passage falls on a communion Sunday. Because look what happens when Saul gets his sight back—he’s baptized and then he sits down to a meal with his new siblings in Christ, and he regains his strength. And that’s the beauty of our denomination, right? Everyone is invited to the table.

Some of you know that a few weeks back, I was contacted to give a short interview for a local radio station about our roast beef suppers. I was able to do this thanks to Larry Frazer’s extensive history he gave me. The interview was the history of the suppers, of course JD Salinger’s frequent presence at them, and the fact that we haven’t been able to do them for two winters. And it wasn’t until I was giving this interview that I realized what a loss it’s been to be unable to hold these suppers. Because aside from the first Sunday of every month when we have communion, it was another way of inviting everyone to the table—people from all walks of life, sitting next to strangers or long lost friends or cousins or best friends… and I feel like something of a fraud up here espousing the virtues of something I’ve never had the opportunity enjoy. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more sad I’ve become about the loss of it, and the more excited I’ve become about the potential to continue it, and maybe even build on it.

There’s something I’ve really been lamenting since well before the pandemic, and it’s something I’ve talked about before—it’s the decline of participation in not just churches, but so many various volunteer and social organizations. There are so many well documented reasons for this—from too-long work hours, to children’s extracurricular commitments being pushed into weekends, to just general fatigue and feeling resigned. Of course the internet exacerbated all of this—people can feel like they’re doing their part by electronically signing a petition and clicking a button, or posting on social media—and so they then don’t feel the need to join community groups and really do the work.

And then, the pandemic happened. I’ll be honest with you—I really worry. I worry for the future of churches, for the future of real community life. One of the things that really drew me to this church, and to Hartland, was that small town community feel, and the fact that there is so much love and respect in this town for one another, that people are willing to drop what they’re doing to help out their fellow human. And I know that’s still here, I know that still exists. But I’m afraid it’s waning, and I worry. This larger world doesn’t support this collective togetherness like it used to—which means, like always, we have to work to make sure we don’t lose that sense of community and togetherness. And this is the work of Jesus, and largely the work of the man we just heard about today—the work of Saul, who will become Paul. Remember in the a few months back, we were readings his letter to the Corinthians, and that’s what it was all about—working together, unity, equality, everyone having a place and a calling. We can’t lose that, church.

And so we have to do a few things—we have to both go back to some of what we can maintain from before the pandemic, but we might also have to peel those scales from our eyes and start seeing newly. We can’t go completely chasing our old forms of sight. We might have to expand our ideas of what the church can be and what the church can do. We might have to think outside the box a little.

And listen, I know we’re in Vermont, and we’ve in a very live-and-let-live, don’t-rock-the-boat kind of place—but is there someone you maybe haven’t seen at church in a while? Someone you really miss? Give them a call, invite them back. Is there someone you think might enjoy this aspect of community, even if it feels kinda weird and evangelize-y inviting someone to church? Who cares, invite them! If Ananias can call Saul “Brother,” if the apostles can sit down with the man who was formerly their number one enemy, we can learn to see people and see the church in new ways. We can remove the film from our eyes that blurs what we’re really called to do—and I think in this church, we’re called to invite people to the table. We invite people to the communion table; we invite people to the roast beef supper tables; without judgement, we invite the most vulnerable back into society to thrive—each of these backpacks is an example of that. So let’s continue to do that. And let’s think of new tables to invite people to.

While churches were exclusively on Zoom, there was so much talk of finding new and creative ways to be the church in the world. And the specter of Covid still sadly remains, and it’s still nudging us in different, new, and unexpected directions—but this is really nothing new; things have been challenging us and changing at a breakneck pace for decades. So as we go into the new life of this Spring and of the resurrection, as we go downstairs after this to gather for our quarterly meaning, and of course, as we, in just a few minutes, take part in the sacrament of communion both together, and apart, let us discern the future of this church, and the future of community. Let’s pull the scales from our eyes and work to see newly. Amen.

[i] Sheila Heti, Pure Colour (New York, NY: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2022), 165.