It’s natural to want power. I think often it starts as a reaction–we feel powerless, and so we seek to rectify that. We are ignored or neglected or abused or persecuted, and we want it to stop. How better to stop it than to wrest power from the oppressors, right?

We want to take control. We want to gain authority. We want to be able to say, “No,” and know it will be obeyed. We want to be the one to set down the law, to make policy, to create the rules and enforce obedience.

And yet there is a truism we all have heard, and which I’ve never heard anyone try to argue isn’t true: Power corrupts.

Sure, there are limited examples of people in power who maintain their morals, their principles, their faith. But are we ever really surprised when dark secrets come out? Or do we shake our heads and wonder why, why power has this effect on people? Don’t we always wonder what has gone wrong or why people slipped into the very habits they’d originally been against? Don’t we wonder why people focus so hard on denouncing one sin that they charge headlong into a different sin on the opposite side of the spectrum?

As my husband and I were discussing reactions people have to traumatic events in their lives, these words came tumbling out. I hadn’t thought it through, but as I said it, it made so much sense. I said, “It’s the difference between power and strength. When people hurt, when they feel powerless, they think the answer is to grab at the opposite: power. But what they really need is strength.”

Strength to endure, yes, but also strength to overcome. Strength to grow. Strength to protect. Strength to create rather than destroy.

We see this difference in political circles, yes, but not just there. We see it in a bunch of the -isms too–movements meant to combat the status quo. People want change, and so they seek the power to effect that change. And maybe that’s the best or only way to get things to be different, I don’t know…

What I do know is that power will always hurt the people it’s taken from. Power will always seek the good of one group at the expense of another. Power will always be insatiable.

Strength, though… Where power is about taking from others, strength is about you. It’s about becoming, not having. Growing, not ruling.

I’ve had many people comment on how I write strong heroines–women who are doing things that are unusual for their time or challenging prejudices or shining through adversity. This is absolutely, 100% true. But I am far from a feminist. (One of those -ists or -isms!) I believe everyone, male and female, should find their own inner strength, their faith in the God who gives them that strength, first. I believe that we MUST be strong individuals in order to be part of a healthy relationship (whether that relationship is romantic or a friendship or a family or a working relationship). I believe we should all chase our dreams, whether that dream is excelling in a field that doesn’t want to welcome us or raising our children or following in our parents’ footsteps.

I believe that strong individuals don’t need power, because they have something better: authority that they have earned. Strength breeds trust. Strength breeds commitment. Strength breeds cooperation.

Power breeds destruction. Power breeds contempt. Power breeds control.

In our society today, I see so many people–people I agree with on 98% of things–willing to compromise so many things for power. I see people blindly following those who embody that power or promise to share it for the low cost of their vote. I see people breaking relationships over the desire to be right.

And I sorrow. I grieve. Because it’s so, so easy to mistake power for strength. It’s easy to look at “winners” and want to jump on that moving train because of what they promise us.

But friends, examine the cost. Who is hurt by our gain?

The powerful will always, always crush their opponents under their heels. They will lash out and oppress the ones they first called oppressors.

The strong will protect the weak, even when they’re not on the same side. The strong will pray for their enemies. The strong will sacrifice for their oppressors to show them a better way. The strong will walk the extra mile, will give more than is demanded, will turn the other cheek.

The strong will give love in the face of hate.

What are we seeking today? Power to force our will on others…or strength to seek the will of the One who promised us His strength when we are weak?

As you no doubt realized in last week’s post, I’m reading through Acts again. This time I’m using the Word on Fire Bible, which has some amazing commentary from both modern scholars and historical ones, along with sacred art by some of the greatest masters of all time, word studies on terms in Greek or Hebrew we might be unfamiliar with, and so much more. I’ve been thoroughly enjoying the experience, and quite often the little essays or paragraphs of commentary make me see something in a new light.

Reading about the conversion of Paul this time around, I first had that thought about how it only took a few words to convince Paul he’d been wrong…then I read a note from Bishop Barron that really made me pause and think.

He pointed out that every time in Scripture–every time–God appears to man, it isn’t for the sake of that one person. It’s to equip them to go out and do the work of the Lord.

Moses didn’t see the burning bush just to convince him to have faith. He saw the burning bush so that he’d be the rescuer of hundreds of thousands of people.

Samuel didn’t hear the Voice of God to reassure him of anything. He heard the Voice of God so that the priesthood would be cleansed of sin and they could better serve the people.

Abraham didn’t receive the covenant just for his own salvation. He received the covenant so that all men, all nations, could come to salvation.

Saul didn’t see that blinding light just to turn his feet onto the straight and narrow. He saw that blinding light because God wanted to use him to reach the Gentiles.

I remember once when I was a kid, maybe twelve or thirteen, the Santmyires came home for a visit. They were full-time missionaries and had served in many different countries. I think at that point they were in Bulgaria, but honestly, I don’t recall where they’d come from. I just remember being so excited that their daughter Amber, who was a year older than me, was spending the night with us. I imagine her sister, Torrey, was too–I imagine Torrey and my own sister, Jennifer, were in Jen’s room talking about older-girl things long into the night. Amber and I stationed ourselves on the sectional couch in my living room, right in front of the wide bay windows that provide a stunning view of the valley below and the mountains beyond.

I don’t remember all of what Amber and I talked about that night. I know we laughed, I know we got into all the things that mattered to us. But I distinctly remember talking about the wonders of the Lord, and how we hoped that, someday, we could see one of His angels with our own eyes. We talked about the stories we’d heard of heavenly encounters. We wondered how angels must really look, given that their first words to humans always seemed to be “Don’t be afraid.”

And then we realized that we’d turned so that we were not looking out that big window. Because we were suddenly afraid we would see an angel, and that it would be terrifying. It gave us another laugh.

But it also stuck with me. Because, I think, even as a child, I understood that seeing the power of God with my own eyes would be so much more than an interesting story. And maybe because I recognized that seeing the power of God with my own eyes would mean flipping everything on its head. Because God doesn’t appear to those who just need to keep doing what they’re doing. He doesn’t appear to those who just need a little encouragement.

He appears to people whose lives are about to be shaken to their core, flipped on their heads, and sent on a whole new trajectory. When He’s going to call them from the only home they ever knew. From the path they thought was just. From the livelihood their families depend on. From the security of a life of oblivion. He appears to people who are going to be hated, cursed, reviled, persecuted, martyred, and thrown into battle without any formal training.

God has so many ways of speaking to us, encouraging us, and equipping us. I have experienced the wonder of those ways many times in my life, and I am so grateful for them. And even those smaller ways, those less-terrifying ways…they, too, speak to this key characteristic of God’s movement:

It’s never just for us. Because faith in Him, following Him, is never just for us. It’s for the world. It’s for the lost. It’s for the Church. It’s for our neighbor. It’s for our enemy. It’s for our family.

And most of all, it’s for Him.

He doesn’t appear to show us His glory. He appears to show us how to give that glory back to Him.

I don’t know if I’ll ever see an angel, or a blinding light, or hear a voice from Heaven that sounds like thunder to those around me. But I know this–every whisper, every breeze, every sunrise that calls to my heart in His voice, has a purpose, and that purpose isn’t just for me. It’s for equipping me to do His work.

I’ve read the account in Acts of the conversion of Saul/Paul many times. But I just reread it a couple weeks ago, and something really struck me this time.

Have you ever noticed how little it took to win Paul’s heart for Christ?

I mean, sure, there was the miracle–the blinding light (which his companions saw too), the voice from heaven (which they couldn’t hear). That’s enough to get anyone’s attention. But that Voice…He spoke only a few words. “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” and then, when Saul asked Him who He was, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.”

That was it. That’s all it took to change the life of a man who went on to be one of the most influential Christians in history. Jesus didn’t need to explain to him why he shouldn’t be persecuting Him. He didn’t need to explain that He was the Son of God. He didn’t need to say, “And now I need you to repent and turn over a new leaf and go and sin no more.”

All He had to do was state His name. State that Saul was persecuting Him. Not just the followers of the Way, not just the fledgling church, but Christ himself.

If we put the pieces together, we get the impression that Saul had never met or heard Jesus directly during His ministry on earth, but we also know that Saul studied under Gameliel in Jerusalem, so it’s quite likely he was there in the capital while the events of the Gospels were playing out. He may never have met Jesus, but he certainly knew of Jesus. And like his teachers, he clearly thought that Jesus was not only full of hot air, but a danger to the God Saul loved.

Because Saul loved God with a deep passion. He was zealous for his faith–that’s why he wanted to protect it from heresy, and to paraphrase C.S. Lewis, Jesus was either truly the Son of God, a madman, or a heretic, there’s no in between. No room to call Him “just a good teacher.” Saul wanted to stamp out those early Christians because he fully believed they were trying to tear apart the true faith in God.

Until that road to Damascus. Until that light blinded him. Until that voice came to Him. Saul clearly knew, as his senses were overwhelmed with heaven, that this Light, this Voice, belonged to none other than God. He clearly knew that he was in the presence of the One he loved above all others.

Then that Voice gave him an equation. The Voice, clearly God, identified Himself as Jesus.

And that’s all it took. All it took for Saul to become Paul, to be willing to go to his enemies and listen to the Truth they bravely, riskily told him. All it took to turn him from persecutor to apostle.

Which is fitting–because that’s so similar to how Christ called all His disciples, isn’t it? All He ever had to do was say, “Follow me.” And the fishermen left their nets. The tax collectors left their money. The zealots left their missions.

As I pondered this, I had to ask myself…what does it take for us today? Not just to call us to Christ, but to recognize Him? What if He says to us:

I am Jesus, whom you bypassed on the corner because I smelled bad and had no place to lay my head.
I am Jesus, whom you cursed because I love the politician you hate.
I am Jesus, whom you opted not to help because you were saving up for that thing you didn’t really need.
I am Jesus, whom you cast out of your city, your state, your country, because you called me undeserving to be there.
I am Jesus, whom you dismissed because I didn’t speak English well enough.
I am Jesus, whom you said got what I deserved.

Our Lord tells us in the Gospels that what we do to the “least of these,” we do to Him. And when it comes to mission trips or seving at shelters or even prison ministries, we’re quick to identify it with that lesson.

But are we as quick to see Him in the people we meet in our day-to-day lives? Are we as quick to remember that Christ loves that politician we denounce so much that He died for them? Are we as quick to remember that how we interact with everyone is how we interact with Jesus? Do we remember that it’s love He wants us to be remembered for?

I find myself wondering frequently what happened to those companions who were with Saul when the light blinded them. They couldn’t hear the voice, just a sound like thunder. Why? Were their hearts too hard? Or was the thunder and light enough to convince them too? Did they go with Saul to hear the Good News? Did they accept it?

Or did they turn around and go back to Jerusalem, shaking their heads as they told the Sanhedrin, “Another one bites the dust. He was sucked in by the teachings of that false prophet.”

I can’t count the times I’ve heard Christians say they wished they’d been alive to see Jesus in the flesh. And I get that…but why do we think it would have been different? Most people who heard Him didn’t become part of that first Church. Most people who followed Him were only in it for the meal He provided, the miracles, the easy stuff. When the teachings got difficult, they shook their heads and walked away. Most people who heard His voice didn’t hear His voice. It was just thunder in their ears. They saw the Light, but then they blinked and turned away.

Saul had a heart always chasing after God–he was just wrong, at first, about the direction. But all it took was that “I AM” moment for him to redirect his entire life. To go from accomplice-to-murder to martyr-at-heart.

Are my eyes as ready to be blinded by Him? Is my heart as ready to change? Are my ears so attuned to Him that I hear the directions He gives, or is He thunder to me?

Would I be Saul…or one of his unnamed companions? Would I give up my own understanding, my preconceived notions, my definition of faith if and when He calls me to a path I’d thought was wrong?

Are a few words from Jesus enough to change our whole life?