And it came to pass, as I was journeying and drawing near to Damascus, that, about mid-day, there suddenly shone out of heaven a great light round about me.
Paul stands before a hostile crowd of his own people. Instead of arguing his case, he tells them what happened on the road to Damascus at noon. He names the hour, the place and the light. Every detail presses one claim: what changed him was not an idea but an act of God.
Acts tells this story three times. This telling is for his own people. One writer points to the order Paul uses: first his flawless credentials, then an interruption from heaven that no human hand arranged.
As we read the account in Acts 22, we cannot help seeing the God-given skill with which Paul spoke. He began by stating what he had been in his early days. Back then his manner of life was completely in line with their thoughts. He was perfect in his pedigree, his education, his zeal, and his hatred of the Christians. Then came an intervention from heaven which was clearly an act of God. Now every true conversion is the result of an act of God. Yet it usually comes about through some human instrument, and only faith recognises the act of God. In Paul's case there was no human instrument. Instead there was something supernatural, which appealed to both eye and ear — a great light and a voice of power. It threw him face down on the ground.
Acts 9 reports the light. Here Paul adds the time of day, and that detail carries weight.
So the indication here is that it was "about noon", stated more precisely than in Acts 9:3. This makes the vision far more striking. It was not a trance, but an open fact. The light that shone around him out of heaven surpassed the sun at midday. It happened in front of the men who were travelling with him. Deception was impossible.
Noon is the sun at full strength. Something outshone it.
It was at midday, when the sun shines most strongly, that another light brighter than the sun stopped him on the road to Damascus. Then the voice of the Lord was heard. The uncreated light threw the created light into the shade.
The three accounts describe the same light in three different ways. One writer finds the difference not in the light but in the man remembering it.
In Acts 9, "a light from heaven"; in Acts 22, "a great light from heaven." In Acts 26, it is not a light before noon, but a light brighter than the noon-day sun. There had been no change in the light — the change was in his understanding, for he had grown spiritually since the light shone upon him and into his heart. He wrote to the saints in Corinth, "For God, who said, 'Let light shine out of darkness,' has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ" (2 Cor. 4:6).
Saul was not a man at the bottom of life. He was at the top of it, and the light took the top away.
The astonished, persecuting Saul fell to the ground. He had now come to the end of himself. That was true not only of the sins of the flesh, but of the righteousness of the flesh, with all his advantages, natural and acquired, from his birth to that day and hour. This is the true preparation of heart for truly grasping a glorified Christ — our heavenly object. The light of the glory shines into our souls when we are down, when we are nothing, when we are no longer looking for holy feelings or an inward change for the better to make us worthy of divine favour. It shines when, with our faces on the ground, we obey the heavenly vision.
This was more than one man's rescue. One writer sees a new stage in God's ways starting on that road.
For the time had now fully come for a new step in God's ways. A chosen witness was to see the heavenly glory of Christ. Christ called him in sovereign mercy from on high — the persecutor, taken out of his career of religious rebellion. It is grace, no doubt, in every case where a soul is brought from darkness into the marvellous light of God. But here all the truth shines with the greatest brilliancy. Stephen closed his testimony with the sight of Jesus in the glory of God. Saul begins his testimony for Jesus with Him seen in the same glory.
- Noon. Paul names the hour, so no one can call this a dream. It was an open fact, in front of witnesses. Deception was impossible.
- Light. At the sun's strongest, a stronger light arrives. The uncreated light throws the created into the shade.
- Fall. Saul goes down not only as a sinner but as a religious success. The righteousness of the flesh ends there, face on the ground.
- Glory. The same light later shines inward: the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. The light never changed, but Paul's grasp of it deepened over the years.
- Torch. Stephen ended his witness seeing Jesus in glory. Saul begins his witness at that same sight, and tells the story to show that God had changed him.
And I fell to the ground, and heard a voice saying to me, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?
Paul stands on the castle stairs in Jerusalem and tells the mob below what happened on the road to Damascus. A light threw him down and a voice spoke his name — but who speaks from heaven, and how can a man on earth persecute Him?
Paul is not arguing here. He is telling them what God did to him. One writer notes how he shapes the account for this crowd.
As we read the account in Acts 22, we cannot help seeing the God-given skill with which Paul spoke. He began by stating what he had been in his early days, when his manner of life fully matched their own thinking. He was perfect as to his pedigree, his education, his zeal, and his hatred of the Christians. Then came an intervention from heaven which was clearly an act of God. Now every true conversion is the result of an act of God. It usually comes about through some human instrument, and only faith recognises the divine act. In Paul's case there was no human instrument. Instead something supernatural appealed to both eye and ear — a great light and a voice of power — and threw him face down on the ground.
Paul does not describe a force that crushed him. He says he fell. One writer points to what put him there.
However, he had forgotten heaven's authority, and the light suddenly shining from heaven was more than he expected. It was the light, not some exertion of great power, that threw him to the ground. Then a voice he could not ignore searched deep into his conscience.
The sound reaching him carried two things at once — a man's speech, and God's authority.
Overwhelmed by the light, he fell to the earth. What a moment in his history! He hears that all-commanding voice — completely human, yet intensely divine. It was the voice of a man, but he felt it was the voice of God. A human being was speaking to him from glory in his own mother tongue. Still, it was the voice of the eternal God to that man's soul and conscience.
The doubled name is not new. God had called others this way before, and they answered at once.
When He called, "Abraham, Abraham," at once the answer came, "Here am I." To Moses He spoke, "Moses, Moses!" and the answer came at once, "Here am I." … We hear the same One speaking as before, in the same manner, but now come down in lowly grace: "Martha, Martha!" and "Simon, Simon!" Once again, after His ascension, "Saul, Saul!" And Saul inquired, "Who are You, Lord?" What astonishing words brought this answer to the persecutor: "I AM JESUS!"
Saul was hunting down believers, not Jesus Himself. One writer shows how much hangs on a single word in the question.
He arrested Saul of Tarsus, the devil's determined agent to destroy the church from the earth. His words were, "Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting ME?" His church is more than a valued and beautiful possession; it is a living thing, it is His body. Looked at from this angle, there is not a relationship between two parties, but an indivisible unity. Christ and His members are one. Jesus of Nazareth, glorified and crowned in heaven, did not say, "Why are you persecuting Mine?" but ME. … To persecute one saint of God on earth is to persecute Christ; to despise or neglect one saint of God on earth is to despise and neglect Christ.
Heaven had every right to pronounce judgment on him. Instead it asked him one word: why.
How completely grace goes with the authority that clearly belongs to this glorious Speaker! And how unanswerable the question is! It could have been a sentence, but it seeks only one thing: that the soul should judge itself.
- Light — What put Saul on the ground was not force but light from heaven.
- Voice — A man's voice, in his own language, carrying the authority of God to his conscience.
- Name — "Saul, Saul" puts him with Abraham, Moses, Martha and Simon. God calls people by name.
- Me — The Lord counted the attack on His people as an attack on Himself. He said "Me," not "Mine": Head and members are one.
- Why — He could have passed sentence. He asked a question instead, so that Saul would judge himself — grace joined to authority.
And *I* answered, Who art thou, Lord? And he said to me, *I* am Jesus the Nazaraean, whom *thou* persecutest.
Paul stands before a Jerusalem crowd that has just tried to kill him, and he retells the moment his life turned around. Everything hangs on one answer: the voice from heaven gives its own name, and it is the name Paul had been trying to wipe off the earth.
Paul's question is not a demand for proof. He already grants the Speaker a title before he knows His name.
He does not say, "Who are you?" No, he asks, "Who are you, Lord?" In a moment he has the sense, I am in the presence of One who knows all about me. I am in the presence of One who Himself is God. He knew very well who it was; though perhaps he dared not mention His name... His will is broken, after he has come to recognise the Lord.
Until that moment Saul had felt no guilt at all about what he was doing.
No man was ever more sure that he was serving God when he threw the disciples out of the synagogue, or even killed them. He had a good conscience, according to the law, in the zeal that persecuted the church (Phil. 3:6). As yet he knew neither the Father nor the Son... But now the light that shone around him was only the first sign of something greater. It announced a glory human eyes cannot see: "the light of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ."
Among men, "Jesus of Nazareth" was a name of low standing. That is not how heaven treats it.
If this title is one of dishonour and disrepute among men, angels are not ashamed to use it. The angel at the tomb said to Mary Magdalene, "Do not be alarmed. You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen; he is not here. See the place where they laid him" (Mark 16:6). The apostles used this same title in their preaching. They testified that Jesus of Nazareth is the crucified but risen and glorified Messiah and Lord (Acts 2:22; Acts 3:6; Acts 4:10; Acts 10:38). And more striking still, the exalted One Himself used that name of shame. He spoke from the glory to Saul of Tarsus, the bigoted Jew and proud Pharisee, and named Himself by it.
Glory did not make Him someone else.
The Lord still calls Himself Jesus of Nazareth. We know that He was glorified, but this makes Him shine with a light more brilliant than that of the sun. He is ever the same kind and gentle Man who learned human sorrows among men. He thinks of others, and considers all Christians as part of Himself... Infinitely precious truth!
Saul had never laid a hand on Jesus. He had arrested ordinary men and women. The Lord's wording refuses that distinction.
There are poor Christians, dishonoured by people of standing and labelled with insulting titles. To these people, despised and pointed at because of their faith, the Lord makes His relationship with them clear beyond all doubt... He says, I am all those men whom you persecute.
This identification cuts two ways.
So the Lord Jesus, though He is in heaven, declares that He is still identified with His disciples on the earth... To be at war with the saints is to be at war with the Lord Himself. Blessed truth for the believer, but how solemn for the persecutor!
The Speaker had every right to end Saul's life. Instead He asked a question.
How fully grace is joined with the authority that plainly belongs to the glorious Speaker! And the question cannot be answered. It might have been a sentence of judgment, yet it seeks only that the soul should judge itself! Saul can plead his ignorance — which he later says was the only ground on which mercy could have been shown him, though that ignorance was itself the result of unbelief.
Once Saul knows the name, only one response remains, and he kept it for life.
A complete revolution has taken place. He had been driven by the deadliest hatred against both Christ and His people. Now he is transformed into a willing servant. "What shall I do, Lord?" shows how completely he had changed, and it marked the attitude of his whole life afterwards.
- Light — a light from heaven stopped Saul while his conscience was still clear before the law.
- Name — the voice takes the very title of contempt, "of Nazareth." Heaven is not ashamed of the despised Man.
- Same — glorified, He is still the gentle Man who knew human sorrow, and He counts Christians as part of Himself.
- Wound — He does not say "My people" but "Me." To touch a believer is to touch the Lord: comfort for the saint, warning for the persecutor.
- Surrender — the question could have been a death sentence. Instead it drew out a life-long "What shall I do, Lord?"
But they that were with me beheld the light, [and were filled with fear], but heard not the voice of him that was speaking to me.
Paul stands before a hostile crowd in Jerusalem and retells the day on the Damascus road. His companions saw the blazing light, but the voice that changed his life meant nothing to them — and Acts 9 says they did hear a voice.
The puzzle clears up once you look at the wording. The Greek word behind "voice" can also mean "sound."
"The men that journeyed with Saul were standing speechless, hearing the sound but beholding no one" (Acts 9:7). The word often means "voice," as it is rightly translated in Acts 9:4, where Saul clearly heard what the Lord said to him. Here his companions did not hear one word distinctly, as we are plainly told in Acts 22:9. Yet they did hear that something was being said. So "sound" seems to be a more accurate picture of the fact intended. A small difference in the form of the Greek phrase confirms this. One form of the word is used where the hearing was incomplete, and another where the words were sent home in power.
The ESV translates the phrase "did not understand the voice." Older translations read "heard not the voice." Several of the writers quoted here work from that older wording.
Far from weakening Paul's story, the other travellers strengthen it. And the two accounts in Acts do not clash.
The light which shone around him out of heaven surpassed the sun at midday, in the presence of men who were travelling with him. Deception was impossible. Here Paul says the rest did not hear the voice of Him who was speaking to him. Yet the writer of Acts told us earlier that his fellow-travellers stood speechless, hearing the voice but seeing no one. To a casual reader this looks like a contradiction. But a reader must be very careless, or set on evil, to miss that the two statements agree completely beneath the surface. In Acts 9 we learn that his companions heard a sound, and no more. Here we learn that he alone heard the voice of Him who spoke to him.
The other men had a role, and it was a limited one.
They did not see the Lord, nor did they hear His words, but they saw a great light, and heard a voice without being able to make out the words. This is just what was needed. They were undeniable witnesses that the vision was true and real, but the communication was for Paul alone. Only he saw the Lord. He had to be taught by Him, and to give testimony as an eyewitness that he had seen Him.
The barrier was not language. So what made the difference?
The voice spoke in Hebrew. This is remarkable, for we have been told earlier that though his companions heard the voice it conveyed nothing to them. It was in their own language, yet they did not understand. They were affected physically, but only Paul was affected spiritually. The essential element in conversion is not great sights, nor wonderful sounds, but the life-giving work of the Holy Spirit.
The two small words at the end of the verse carry the weight. Standing near the light, the sound, and the converted man is not the same as hearing God speak to you.
These men "saw indeed the light." They saw much of the outward events that had stopped this furious zealot. But as Paul himself says, "they heard not the voice of Him that spake to me" (Acts 22:9). Here is the main point. The voice must speak "to me" — "the God of glory" must appear "to me," before I can take the place of a pilgrim and stranger in the world... It is not national faith, nor family faith, but personal faith that will make us real witnesses for God in the world.
This is not only about one road and one day. The same split appears whenever people hear the gospel today.
Even now the voice of the Son of God is sounding in the gospel. Those who "hear" it live, but not all "hear" it (John 5:25). They do hear the preached gospel, but they have no ability to catch the divine voice in it. They are like the soldiers who were with Saul at his conversion. Those men heard a sound (Acts 9:7), but, as Paul says, "they heard not the voice of him that spake to me."
- Sound. The companions caught noise, not words. Acts 9 and Acts 22 show the same moment from two sides, and the Greek wording marks the difference.
- Sight. They saw a light brighter than the midday sun. That makes them independent witnesses that the event was real.
- Silence. No words reached them. The message belonged to Paul, who alone saw the Lord and had to testify that he had seen Him.
- Separation. The voice spoke their own language and still meant nothing. It reached them in body only. The Spirit alone changed Paul.
- Summons. Faith is not inherited from a nation or a family. The voice must say "to me." That is how the gospel still divides a crowd today.
And I said, What shall I do, Lord? And the Lord said to me, Rise up, and go to Damascus, and there it shall be told thee of all things which it is appointed thee to do.
Paul is retelling the day his life changed on the road to Damascus. His first words as a believer form a question, not a plan. The Lord does not answer on the spot. He sends Saul into Damascus, where he will hear what is already appointed for him.
One writer contrasts Saul's question with another disciple's promise to follow Jesus:
It is not now the answer of another who did not yet know his own heart — "Lord, I will go with You." No, that was the will of man. It is rather, "What shall I do, Lord?" This soul was converted to Christ. Here was the will of man broken; the will of God alone allowed.
At this moment Saul knows almost nothing. He has no settled assurance yet, and no relief of conscience. Yet the desire to obey is already there. One commentator sees that as the first proof of new life:
The first effect on his believing and repentant soul was the spirit of obedience. Life was there through faith, and life always shows its true character at once by obedience, which the Lord saw. … The Lord counts on obedience, even before Saul could be expected to grasp the doctrine and rest in peace on the sprinkling of His blood. … Even before the newborn soul knows it is cleared of all guilt, the heart is made up to obey — not from fear of punishment, but drawn by sovereign goodness and submission to God's word.
Saul speaks to Jesus Himself. One writer sets this beside other times when believers spoke straight to the Lord:
At the beginning of his Christian life Paul (Saul) asked the Lord Jesus directly, "What shall I do, Lord?" Peter, too, had direct conversation with the Lord about the blessing of Cornelius. In 2 Corinthians 12 Paul "three times pleaded with the Lord" that the thorn in the flesh might be removed.
Christ could have given Saul his orders there on the road. Instead He sends him into Damascus, to the very people he had hated, to hear it from them:
How perfectly normal then that he should ask the Lord what he should do. But the Lord did not give him instructions independently of His own followers. He is told to go into Damascus and there he would be told what he was appointed to do. Blinded by the light for the time, he needed the help of others to find his way.
Saul does not design a career for God. The Lord tells him that things are already appointed for him, and that he will hear what they are. The change runs deeper than a change of plans:
A complete revolution has taken place. The one who had been driven by the deadliest hatred, both against Christ and His people, is now turned into a willing slave. "What shall I do, Lord?" expresses his changed condition, as well as the attitude of his whole life afterwards.
And no one outgrows this, whatever their place:
But even an apostle must be told, not himself discover, what he must do.
The question is not only for the hour of conversion. One writer takes it into everyday choices:
The lordship of Christ covers the whole life of the believer. He is introduced to this at the very start of his Christian life. … Subjection to Him would settle many problems: where we should go, how we should use our leisure, what we should wear, how we should treat our possessions as stewards of the bounty of the Lord.
- Question — Saul's first words as a believer ask what to do. He does not tell the Lord what he will do.
- Surrender — the value of the question lies in the broken will behind it. From here God's will alone is allowed.
- Evidence — obedience comes before assurance or peace. The readiness to obey is itself the mark of new life.
- Sent — the answer waits in Damascus, and comes through the people Saul had hated. Christ ties a new believer to His people.
- Appointed — his work is already chosen, and even an apostle must be told it rather than discover it. That first question became the attitude of his whole life.
And as I could not see, through the glory of that light, being led by the hand of those who were with me, I came to Damascus.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.