Within the entire realm of the communion of saints, there is just one saint whose conversion we stop to celebrate, that of Paul the Apostle. We have to be honest and say that, to our ears, the word conversion does not sound appropriate. It sounds like something that is forced, like a total upheaval that would be a disrespect to one’s identity.
Actually, not even Paul’s experience of ‘conversion’ was a conversion in its own right. It was more of an encounter. While Paul never met Jesus in the flesh – he was not luckier than us in this respect – he met him on the way to Damascus in a vision of great light.
Paul’s meeting with Jesus was more like what we would call a crisis, an experience that fundamentally disturbs that sense of equilibrium we all tend to treasure. It is less important to discuss who lies at the heart of these crises than to admit that they are essentially a recurring feature in our life. At the heart of every conversion-crisis are three movements, as in a symphony.
Paul’s traumatic fall to the ground (art would sometimes suggest a dramatic fall from a horse) is that initial impact every crisis brings when making contact with our life, those sudden shifts underneath our feet that destabilise us completely.
The second movement is a darkness that falls upon Paul’s eyes. This movement is that hollow feeling in the stomach when something goes eerily absent in our life, leaving a void behind that nothing from the outside would be able to fill.
The third and final movement in Paul’s conversion is a voice that speaks into the silence he has fallen into. It is a voice that tells him “rise and go... they will tell you what to do”. While we would expect a comforting voice that asks us about the bruises suffered in the conversion-crisis, it is rather a voice that encourages movement. It is also a voice that does not give a false sense of security, but one that invites us to trust and allow ourselves to be guided and shown the way.
In the vulnerable state that conversions leave us in, we are called to wait and stay with everything that is happening in our heart. Paul had to wait three days, sometimes it can take us weeks, months or even more. In that time, transformations start to happen, important encounters are made, and the wounded heart slowly starts to heal again.
The truth is we do not choose our journeys of conversion. Most of the time we are thrown into them against our will, to our initial dismay, anger and disappointment. What makes or breaks a journey of conversion is the willingness to follow that voice that says “rise and walk”.
What makes or breaks a journey of conversion is the willingness to follow that voice that says “rise and walk”
The difference will always boil down to whether we choose to drown in our own bitterness or to take up the challenge of rising again to our feet, maybe held by the hand, and tiptoeing in the darkness, but essentially moving. In the economics of conversion, the failures, falls and regressions are less important, if only we have nobly ventured into life.