Recently, while reading the book of Acts, I was struck by the parallels between the two most famous Sauls in the Bible—King Saul in the Old Testament and Saul of Tarsus in the New.
What hit me so strongly was that both men were trying to do what they honestly thought was right. King Saul pursued, persecuted, and strove to take David’s life; and Saul of Tarsus imprisoned, persecuted, and slaughtered early Christians.
Both men were filled with a zealousness and animus that could probably be called insanity—indeed, the Bible describes King Saul as being possessed by an evil spirit (see I Samuel 16:14, 15). And Saul of Tarsus was so zealous to protect the Pharisaism that he was raised in, and so blinded to the goodness and truth that Christianity represented, that he thought it was his obligation—even his God-ordained mission—to expunge what he obviously considered a dangerous heresy to the Judaism he so revered.
Both Sauls apparently felt no regret or sorrow while committing what today would be referred to as horrific atrocities (see I Samuel 22:18, 19; Acts 9:1, 2). Each man, however, was given the opportunity to repent and reform.
On several occasions, for example, King Saul was spared by David, even though the king was in David’s hands. Even so, King Saul didn’t truly see the need of his own repentance. Rather than turn to God before the battle of Gilboa, King Saul sought out the aid of the witch of Endor—a woman of “familiar spirits”—to seek guidance. This turning away from God ultimately led to his destruction (see I Samuel 28:7, 8; I Samuel 31).
Each man was presented with choices. Each was given the opportunity to choose godliness—to follow the Christ. Only one did.
Saul of Tarsus, on the other hand, was on the road to Damascus to capture Christians when he was presented with a vision—a vision that literally and metaphorically struck him blind. For three days he lay in a house in that city, having been deprived of all sight. For a man who was used to being in charge, and who was apparently very self-willed, this must have been a shocking experience. He could find no comfort in his material senses nor in his entrenched dogma. He could only pray, and strive to understand the vision of the Christ that had caused him to fall to the ground and become blind and helpless.
And it was during this time that he had the opportunity to repent and reform, to hear and be receptive to God’s true direction for him—a direction that impelled Ananias to pray for him to receive his sight and for the Holy Spirit to descend on him.
The result of Saul of Tarsus’ prayer was dramatically different from King Saul’s outcome. The latter maintained his defiant mental stance, whereas Saul of Tarsus in humility and obedience became Paul and went on to spread Christianity throughout the known world of that period.
Each man was presented with choices. Each was given the opportunity to choose godliness—to follow the Christ. Only one did.
When writing about Saul’s conversion to Paul, Mary Baker Eddy stated: “Saul of Tarsus beheld the way—the Christ, or Truth—only when his uncertain sense of right yielded to a spiritual sense, which is always right. Then the man was changed. Thought assumed a nobler outlook, and his life became more spiritual. He learned the wrong that he had done in persecuting Christians, whose religion he had not understood, and in humility he took the new name of Paul. He beheld for the first time the true idea of Love, and learned a lesson in divine Science” (Science and Health, p. 326).
I find that I periodically have to ask myself if I’m truly willing to do whatever God wants me to do.
So, what does all of this mean to us in the 21st century? What choices are we being presented with today? And what decisions are we making? Are we choosing to act like King Saul or like Paul?
Are we resolutely—in the face of God’s love and mercy—sticking to our rigid points of view? Do we find ourselves continuing in the same well-worn patterns, despite a lack of progress or success in healing?
Shortly after I began investigating Christian Science 22 years ago, a teacher of Christian Science said to me that one concept of humility was “being willing to be whatever God is making us be.” That struck me then, and it still resonates with me now.
I find that I periodically have to ask myself if I’m truly willing to do whatever God wants me to do. Am I willing to change and be whatever He wants me to be?
Am I willing to let go of “false landmarks” and am I “joy[ful] to see them disappear” as Eddy wrote in Science and Health (p. 324)? And what might those false landmarks be? Perhaps the acquisition of material goods, certain career successes, fame and notoriety, comfort zones, or—on the other side of the coin—repetitions of illnesses, beliefs of medical conditions or diagnoses, failures, unhealthy relationships, frustrations, superstitions, to name just a few. All of these can easily hold us back. But the result of letting these markers go can only be a win-win situation—a situation which Eddy went on to describe as: “[T]his disposition helps to precipitate the ultimate harmony. The purification of sense and self is a proof of progress.”
That “proof of progress” for Paul—which stemmed from his choice of godliness—was naturally manifested in becoming a Christian healer. Choosing godliness and being a healer go hand-in-hand. How could it be otherwise?
Now I certainly understand that most of us have pretty busy lives—we’ve got a lot on the table: careers, family, church work, social activities. But here’s the question: If we’re not willing to be healers, then who is? I’m not necessarily speaking about becoming a professional Christian Science practitioner—though there’s certainly nothing wrong with that!—but simply being willing to pray for others. And this entails being willing to look and listen for opportunities to help those in need, and being willing to offer Christianly scientific prayer to them. Being willing to really love our neighbors by following Jesus’ command to heal the sick. Being willing to be and do what God is requiring of us.
It may seem like a daunting leap. It’s really not. It’s just taking that first step with our hand in the Father’s hand. And then the next and the next. Doing so inevitably leads to that “ultimate harmony” that Eddy was speaking about—a harmony that takes place in every aspect of our lives.
So where does all of this leave us? Without a doubt, we’re each often presented with choices similar to those that the two Sauls faced—choices of whether we’ll become more Godlike or less, do we heal or not? The choices that Paul made propelled him forward in every way, and blessed not only his own life, but the entire world in the process. And 2,000 years later, we’re still being blessed by those choices he made.
That same promise—that “proof of progress”—awaits us all.
Think about it. Then think about the two Sauls. Which would you rather be?
