He was assigned a special task,
he thought,
to persecute those who taught
the newfound Word.
A road's twisting ways
asked of him
what was his right—
where was his power?
(The voice that echoed
back from that first day
when witnesses asked
him to hold their bloody coats
and Stephen prayed.)
No answer in his heart.
No answer in the road
or in the heavy law
that was his only load.
Behold the light!
He had not asked for this.
This blinding light
laid bare his own heart's night.
"Why persecutest thou me?"
the voice above him
asked.
Me.
Not them.
Not Stephen.
Not nameless heretics.
The Messiah! The Christ!
"Little"
(his great pride grown small)
but "asked" of God
to serve—
this newborn man named Paul.
