Does Acts 9 bother you? It certainly bothers me. Acts 9 is the well-known story of Saul’s conversion on the Road to Damascus. The question it raises and bothers me so is, “have I really gone through a similar conversion”? Acts 9 opens with, “Saul, still breathing murderous threats against the disciples of the Lord …”. Acts 9:30 ends that part of Paul’s conversion story with “… and he began at once to proclaim Jesus in the synagogues, that he is the Son of God.” I believe I check most of the boxes. I am a Cradle Catholic, Baptized and Confirmed. And, I participate in the sacraments, dutifully say my Rosary and Prayers as much as I can each day. Does that mean my “conversion” has already happened? Is my life, and the way I live it each day, really “proclaiming Jesus”?
Proclaiming Jesus
My days usually begin in all earnestness. But, at some point during a day, I am invariably “breathing murderous threats” (not literally) against the “disciples of the Lord.” Saul’s conversion, in his story, required a spiritual death (Acts 9:9, “… for three days he was unable to see, and he neither ate nor drank”) and a resurrection (Acts 9:17, Ananias tells Saul, “… the Lord has sent me, Jesus who appeared to you on the way by which you came, that you may regain your sight and be filled with the holy Spirit.”). I do carry my guilt and sin often enough into the Confessional and come out unburdened, feeling light. But it happens again, and again, and again. Where is my moment of instantaneous conversion that I am at once proclaiming Jesus as the Son of God? If it were up to me, I would rather not see the inside of a Confessional ever again. Not because I do not wish for the abundance of grace that makes me feel light and unburdened. But that I do not wish to fall in the first place, and thus, not require going there. But even Paul had his thorn (2 Cor 12:7).
“I Rise Each Day to Fall”
A Franciscan priest once shared with me a motto that he lives by, “I rise each day to fall.” I can certainly attest to the falling. Notwithstanding my previous statement about not wanting to ever fall again, I cannot help but think that falling has its place in God’s divine purpose for me (for us).
In the opening scenes of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, the Wizard, Gandalf, tells Frodo, who has inherited (at this point in the tale) the ring, about its dreaded and powerful history. The ring, wrought by the Sauron, was meant to rule them all, subjugating them all to the Dark Lord. Frodo, realizing the peril of being in possession of the ring and presuming Gandalf wiser and powerful enough to handle the ring, freely offers it to Gandalf. Gandalf’s reaction to the offer is interesting. He recoils at the very thought and explains that he would use it from a desire to do good, but it would wield a power too great and terrible to imagine. He explains that if he had the Ring, he would be corrupted by its power, and it would be used for evil, not good. In the end he would be no different from Sauron.
Humility
Humus is the Latin word for earth (nutrient-rich soil) and is also the root word for human. Humility is derived from the same word, humilitas, one who is grounded or near to the earth. There is a mirroring of humility in this scene between Frodo and Gandalf. Each is grounded in their own self-knowledge about their inherent weaknesses. Thus, the scene mirrors this humility, arising out of that self-knowledge. And it is precisely their self-knowledge and humility, more than any skill at stealth, as Hobbits are wont to, or any powerful Wizardry, that allows them to accomplish the long and arduous journey to the very lair of the Dark Lord, to destroy the ring. Despite knowing what the ring had to offer, despite using it (briefly) and, thus, experiencing firsthand its power against their enemies, it is precisely in not wanting the ring that they accomplish their goal of destroying it.
Paul in 2 Cor 4:7 says, “But we hold this treasure in earthen vessels, that the surpassing power may be of God and not from us”. Likewise in 2 Cor 12:9-10, in his confession about praying to remove the thorn in his side, he reveals what the Lord told him, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness”. Thus, it is that Paul says, “I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me. Therefore, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and constraints, for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong..”
Eagerness
Saul became God’s chosen instrument (Acts 9:15), as Paul, despite his weaknesses, despite his past. As much as I feel like I would not like to fall anymore, as that Franciscan Priest reminded me, I need to rise each day with an eagerness to fall. This is no license to sin. I am not looking for opportunities to fall and must avoid the near occasions to sin. But so long as I am who I am and I remain human, I will need rise each day, and I will need to fall, acknowledging my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell within me.
Somehow in God’s wisdom I am his chosen instrument for some plan he has in his mind. My job, it seems, is to go along for the ride. It is not for me to know what this plan is and how he will use me. I need to stay alert and react to the opportunities he presents to me each day. To struggle against falling and in the process leverage the opportunity to proclaim my Lord. Yes, on occasion I will fall again, but what is important is that I brush myself off, ground myself back in the Humus, in an act of dying unto myself. Accept, gratefully that valuable hit to my ego, and then rise again the next day to try again. Amen.
