It is Not Too Late

A Reflection for Monday, March 16 by Grace Bala

Lectionary reading for 03/16/2026: Psalm 146; Isaiah 59:9-19; Acts 9:1-20

Selected passage for reflection: Acts 9:1-20

Read

Acts 9:1–20 (NRSV)

Meanwhile Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest ²and asked him for letters to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem. ³Now as he was going along and approaching Damascus, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. ⁴He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, ‘Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?’ ⁵He asked, ‘Who are you, Lord?’ The reply came, ‘I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. ⁶But get up and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do.’ ⁷The men who were travelling with him stood speechless because they heard the voice but saw no one. ⁸Saul got up from the ground, and though his eyes were open, he could see nothing; so they led him by the hand and brought him into Damascus. ⁹For three days, he was without sight, and neither ate nor drank.

¹⁰Now there was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord said to him in a vision, ‘Ananias.’ He answered, ‘Here I am, Lord.’ ¹¹The Lord said to him, ‘Get up and go to the street called Straight, and at the house of Judas look for a man of Tarsus named Saul. At this moment, he is praying, ¹²and he has seen in a vision a man named Ananias come in and lay his hands on him so that he might regain his sight.’ ¹³But Ananias answered, ‘Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints in Jerusalem; ¹⁴and here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who invoke your name.’ ¹⁵But the Lord said to him, ‘Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel; ¹⁶I myself will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name.’ ¹⁷So Ananias went and entered the house. He laid his hands on Saul and said, ‘Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus, who appeared to you on your way here, has sent me so that you may regain your sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit.’ ¹⁸And immediately something like scales fell from his eyes, and his sight was restored. Then he got up and was baptized, ¹⁹and after taking some food, he regained his strength.

For several days, he was with the disciples in Damascus, ²⁰and immediately he began to proclaim Jesus in the synagogues, saying, ‘He is the Son of God.’

The Conversion of St. Paul by Benjamin West, 1738-1820

Reflect

Saul is on the move and his mission is clear.

He is not confused. He is not conflicted. He is not “wrestling with nuance.”  

Saul is certain. Certain that he is defending the God of his people. Certain that there is a threat that must be contained. Certain that coercion, backed by law and authority, is righteousness and that a ‘warrant’ is justification.

He is breathing threats. The Greek suggests something visceral—like violence is the air in his lungs. Violence to accompany his “cause” is no longer an action. It is embodied.

And then, light.

This light is not a gentle nudge or a well-reasoned counterargument. It is a collapse. Saul’s embodied self is stopped by a voice calling his name twice, the way God does when something irreversible is about to happen.

“Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?”

The question is not, “Why are you wrong politically?”It is not, “Why are you misinformed?”It is, “Why are you harming me?”

Saul embodies violence. God embodies the target of that violence.

This revelation reframes everything. It reframes detention without due process. It reframes the quiet erosion of civil norms. It reframes the slow drip of withheld information, the closed doors, the power moves that feel untouchable. If Christ identifies himself with the vulnerable, then harm done in the name of order is still harm.

Surprisingly, Saul does not argue back. He cannot see.

Blindness, here, is mercy. It stops him.

In this reading, I am reminded of an idea that feels like both confession and invitation: You are allowed to say at any point that I don’t support this. Even if you did. Even if you were unsure. You can say this has gone too far. And while the best time to say this was earlier, the second-best time is now.

Saul could have stopped earlier. Before the letters. Before the arrests. Before the fear he spread. But the road to Damascus is not too late.

He has to be led by the hand into the city. Saul, the strong man, is suddenly vulnerable, even dependent on others. And then there is Ananias.

Ananias is often bypassed as simply a means to an end, a vehicle for transformation. But imagine the tremor in his body when God says, “Go to Saul.” Saul is the very man who has been detaining Ananias’ friends. He has legal backing. He believes he is right and will kill to protect that belief.

And still, Ananias goes.

He even calls Saul “Brother.”

That word is resistance.

It is not flashy resistance but rather is embodied faithfulness. A hand laid on a former enemy. Scales falling. Sight returning. A life redirected.

Miraculously, Saul does not disappear into private regret. He changes course publicly. The energy that once fueled persecution now fuels proclamation. The certainty remains—but it has been broken open and remade by an encounter.

I think about the current climate. The way rhetoric hardens. The way power consolidates. The way people on every side double down rather than fall down.

What would it look like for us to allow interruption?

To say, even late, even awkwardly, even at relational cost: This has gone too far.

Conversion is not about winning arguments. It is about ceasing harm. It is about asking where Christ is standing—and adjusting accordingly.

Sometimes the light feels blinding. Sometimes repentance feels humiliating. Sometimes we are Saul. Sometimes we are Ananias. Sometimes we are the ones praying in the dark, waiting for someone to show up.

The story insists: transformation is still possible.

It is not too late.

Respond

Name where harm is being done and refuse to normalize it. Advocate for due process, dignity, and transparency in the spaces where you have a voice. And at home, practice quiet resistance—teach your child to love their neighbor, to notice who is excluded, to ask gentle questions about power and fairness. Small faithfulness forms future courage.

Rest

Christ who meets us on the road,

Interrupt our certainty.

Expose where we participate in harm.

Give us the courage to say, “No more,” even now.

Make us brave enough to change. And tender enough to call former enemies “brother” and “sister.”

Amen.

About the Author

Grace Bala (she/her) is a millennial mom, hospital chaplain and lifetime student located in Pennsylvania. A recovering people pleaser, Grace is moved to action by injustice and has had her fair share of “not too late” transformations. When not working, she enjoys reading and taking “puddle jumping” walks in the rain with her toddler.