The Conversions of Saint Paul

Does the trajectory of your religious life look like Paul’s? Mine doesn’t, and not just because I never worked the coat closet at a stoning.

I have never had a single, singular conversion experience. I’ve had more experience with lasagna in parish halls than blinding lights, and most of the voices I’ve heard have come from neighbors, rich and poor, rather than directly from heaven. I was baptized as an infant; grew up at a church school with daily chapel; found my footing as an adolescent at summer camp; became a young adult in a campus ministry; and so on.

This lack of spectacular spectacle raised some eyebrows when I discerned a call to the priesthood in the Episcopal Church. Many of those who evaluate calls to ordained ministry expect some Pauline drama in a life—some sort of selfish or destructive something, followed by a total turning around. Some Christians expect this dramatic sense of conversion.

For me, conversion has proven to be a life-long process. I relate more to the writings of mystics who wake up and try again each day to love God—some days it goes smoothly, and others not so much. Each hour, each moment offers an opportunity to convert, to turn our awareness to the bright light of God that illuminates everything, if only we’ll look.

Paul, interestingly, talks about his conversion in different ways at different times. His relating of the story in Galatians—not people’s go-to memory of Paul’s conversion—doesn’t hinge on a single moment but instead suggests a long unpacking. After Paul sees Jesus’ truth unveiled, he spends long years in study and reflection, which then culminates in further discernment and reflection, which then leads to years of working as part of a mutual ministry team.

I wonder if we all need to spend more time listening to the many ways faith opens new pathways in all our hearts. I presently work with college students, and I hear stories, time and again, of people who were told that their experience, their thinking, and their life couldn’t possibly fit within Jesus’ call. We can be shockingly narrow-minded about how faith can express itself, and that failure of imagination has consequences for those around us.

Paul had the terrific insight that any weird gentile might become a follower of Jesus without first looking like him—without first following Jewish custom and law—and he spent his life in service of this mission. He thought Jewishness was great, but so was everything else. I suspect he would be annoyed that on a feast with his name, we focus more on Paul’s conversion rather than on the conversions that concerned him the most.

I wonder what kinds of weirdness we ought to welcome—in others, in ourselves. I wonder where, today, we need our own deeper, richer conversion to the spectacular light that shines on everyone. I wonder who else might need to be welcomed by us.