The Road We Think We Know

“He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, ‘Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?’ He asked, ‘Who are you, Lord?’ The reply came, ‘I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. But get up and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do.’” — Acts 9:4-6 (NRSV)

You’ve heard the phrase. Maybe you’ve used it yourself. “It was a real Damascus Road moment” — meaning something stopped you cold, turned you completely around, changed everything.

The expression has become so common that it’s easy to assume we already know the story. But the actual account in Acts is stranger and more unsettling than the phrase suggests.

Saul of Tarsus was not a confused man searching for meaning. He was not someone open to a new perspective. He was on his way to Damascus with legal authority to arrest followers of Jesus — to drag them back to Jerusalem in chains. He was certain he was doing God’s work. He was zealous, educated, and completely, catastrophically wrong.

Then the light. Then the ground. Then the voice.

And here’s where the familiar story gets unfamiliar: Jesus doesn’t ask Saul why he’s persecuting the church. He doesn’t ask why Saul is persecuting his followers, or his people, or his movement.

He says, “Why do you persecute me?”

Me.

Saul hadn’t laid a hand on Jesus. Jesus was risen, ascended, glorified. And yet — every believer dragged from their home, every family torn apart, every person imprisoned for following the Way — Jesus counted it as done to himself. He was so completely identified with his people that an attack on them was an attack on him.

That’s not just a comfort for people facing persecution. It’s a staggering claim about who Jesus is and how close he stays.

It means the lonely person sitting in the back of the church — Jesus is there. The believer nobody checks on — Jesus notices. The one who feels invisible, forgotten, like their suffering doesn’t register anywhere — Jesus says, that registers with me. That happened to me.

Saul asked, “Who are you, Lord?” — the right question, finally, after years of being certain he already knew.

Sometimes, the most important thing a Damascus Road moment does isn’t change our direction. It changes who we think we’re dealing with.

Prayer:

Father, open our eyes to how closely you identify with the people around us. Help us see that how we treat others — especially the forgotten and the struggling — is how we treat you. Amen.

This devotional was written and read by Cliff McCartney

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