Acts 9:3–4

Here we see the most striking instance of his zeal for the Jews' religion. The damage done among believers in the Lord Jesus in Judea was not enough for him. He persecuted them even to foreign cities. His authority and commission came from the high priest, the chief priests, and the whole council of the elders. His zeal was so unbounded that he allowed himself no midday rest. While the sun was at its strongest he pushed on his way, and had come very near his goal. We see him in the pride of his greatness, when suddenly he is struck to the ground by a light greater than the brilliant sun.

Commenting on it later, the Apostle described it as "a light from heaven, brighter than the sun." Since it was midday, that would be the sun at its most brilliant. The sun may shed its rays of light, heat and life-giving properties on the natural body. But it takes a greater light out of heaven to affect the soul.

He is breathing out threats and slaughter. He is going to drag those simple, faithful Christians to Jerusalem, really for their murder. In that moment a light brighter than the sun at noon shines about him and those with him. Picture the Eastern noonday sun, casting its rays over all the land in undimmed splendour. And yet a brighter light dimmed it. What was that mightier light? "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." Where did that light come from? It came from the face of the Man in glory, and the brightness of that face eclipsed the sun at noon... It was light from heaven that struck him down: not an earthquake, not a lightning flash, not a hand.

The hint in Paul's later account is that it was "about midday," more precise than Acts 9:3. This makes the vision far more striking. It was not a trance, but an open fact. The light which shone around him out of heaven outshone the sun at midday, in the presence of men who were travelling with him. Deception was impossible.

Occupied in this way, he approaches Damascus. There, at the height of an unbroken career of self-will, the Lord Jesus stops him. A light from heaven shines around him, and wraps him in its dazzling brightness. He falls to the earth, and hears a voice saying to him, "Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?" The glory that threw him to the ground, together with that voice, left no doubt: the authority of God was revealed in it. His will broken, his pride overthrown, his mind subdued, he asks, "Who are you, Lord?"

The Lord had His eye on him. They all fell to the earth; they all saw the sudden light; Saul alone saw the Lord. All heard a sound, but not the voice of Him who spoke to Saul... He was to be an eyewitness of the glory of the Lord, and a witness to the words which He had personally spoken to him. But it was the glorified Lord. He had not known the Lord in His humiliation; he was to begin with the glory.

"I heard a voice speaking to me, and saying in the Hebrew language, Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting Me?" Imagine hearing your own mother tongue from glory. That is what Saul heard that day… And be sure of this, when God speaks to a sinner, He always makes him understand… When God speaks to a man, He singles that man out. The man is like a wounded deer. A deer hunter goes out, and a whole herd may pass by, but he takes aim at only one. The wounded deer then leaves the herd and goes off alone to die. When the Holy Spirit convicts a man of his sin, he gets alone with God.

How completely grace is joined with the authority that so plainly belongs to the glorious Speaker! And how unanswerable is the question! It might have been a sentence of judgment, but it seeks only the soul's own judgment of itself.

With our natural thoughts about God and His ways, what would you expect Him to do with a wretch like Saul? He was breathing out threats and murder against the disciples of the One he hated so terribly. Of course, you say, almighty power would sweep such a plague off the earth… But how different from all this natural thinking was His way with poor Saul. God will stop him — but with what? With the pit? No, with glory. A light from heaven, brighter than the sun, shone around him. At midday, when the sun is at its brightest, something brighter still stopped Saul.

The voice did not say "Mine," nor even "us," but "Me." "Mine" would imply a company of people who belong to Christ — true indeed, but not the whole truth. "Us" would imply a company of people associated with Christ — also true, but not the full truth. "Me" means a company of people in union with Christ, and so closely joined to Him that to touch them is to touch Christ.

"Why are you persecuting Me?" was the question. But Saul had never seen Him. How could he on earth persecute One in heaven? That question contained a truth, a revelation. This was the first glimpse of the Body of Christ, and it came, as was fitting, from the Head Himself. "Me," He said — not "My people," not "My saints," but "Myself."

What a revolution this brings about in his whole being! What a discovery of what man is at his best before God! All his strict conscientiousness, earnest religiousness, and blameless outward walk made him the most open enemy of Christ in glory the world had ever seen.

Fallen to the earth, he heard a voice charging him with persecuting the One he could not admit to be the Lord. The astonished Saul learns, to his utter confusion before God, that it was Jesus — Jesus persecuted in His own, who were one with Him.

The words should arrest us as they arrested Saul; there is surely a fullness in them that is little understood. 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.