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The Journey That Redefined Everything
What does it take to carry a message that the world is desperate to silence? In "The Road to the North," you aren't just reading a history; you are experiencing it through the eyes of the Apostle Paul himself. This first-person narrative takes you into the raw reality of his mission to help you connect with his doctrine in a profound new way. By walking in his sandals through every riot, miracle, and narrow escape, you will begin to understand the why and how behind the truths he eventually wrote to the Body of Christ. This is an invitation to witness the birth of the Mystery of Grace, forged in the heat of real-world struggle. By understanding Paul’s life and experiences, the deep theology of his epistles becomes a relatable reality rather than a distant study. Experience the beginning of the mission that opened the "Door of Faith" to us all.
If you find this chapter compelling and wish to continue the journey, you can secure your copy of "The Road to the North" for your own library, as a training aid for a Bible Study group, or as a thoughtful gift for a friend. This book is designed to help readers bridge the gap between the words of the epistles and the heart of the man who wrote them, making it a perfect resource for anyone looking to deepen their understanding of the Gospel of Grace. You can find the book available through the following links:
- Global Bookstore Options:
https://books2read.com/RudiSteenhuis/
- Amazon Storefront:
Road to the North (Unique Book ID: B0GXYNMYS2)
Note: The amazon link above is from the USA store. To purchase from Amazon, you need to access the book in Amazon in your region.
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Chapter 1: The Encounter
Acts 9:1-9
The memory of my life before the "Damascus Light" is a tapestry of shadows and rigid
lines, woven with a zeal that I once mistook for righteousness. I was a man of
the Law, a Hebrew of the Hebrews; as touching the law, a Pharisee; concerning
zeal, persecuting the church. My world was defined by the marble of the temple
and the meticulous scrolls of the Sanhedrin. I had sat at the feet of Gamaliel,
the master of our traditions, learning to dissect the Torah with a precision
that left no room for the scandalous claims of a Galilean carpenter. My roots
were deep in the soil of the tribe of Benjamin, and my faith was a fortress I
defended with a violent, holy hunger.
I recall how the incense filled the temple courts with a
fragrance that seemed to carry the presence of the divine, and how it
contrasted with the stench of what I then called heresy. This sect, "The
Way," was a blight upon our nation’s prophetic hope. They spoke of a
Messiah who had hung accursed upon a tree, a notion that offended every fibre
of my Pharisaic training. I was convinced that if Israel were to see the
restoration of the kingdom, the land had to be purged of those who subverted
our ancient customs.
My hatred was not a cold thing; it was a white-hot furnace.
I was the one who stood by, keeping the raiment of them that slew Stephen,
consenting unto his death. I can still hear the dull thud of the stones and see
the unnatural peace on his face—a peace that I sought to crush in every
synagogue I entered. I made havoc of the church, entering into every house, and
hailing men and women committed them to prison. I was the arm of the Sanhedrin,
the enforcer of the Law, and I relished the weight of the authority I carried.
But Jerusalem was not enough. The contagion was spreading.
Word reached us that the followers of the Nazarene had fled to the north,
finding refuge in the ancient trade hubs of the diaspora. I went to the high
priest, my sandals echoing on the polished stone of the palace, and desired of
him letters to Damascus to the synagogues. I wanted the legal right to hunt
them across borders, to bring them bound unto Jerusalem, whether they were men
or women. I felt the parchment of those warrants against my side—crisp,
authoritative, and lethal.
We departed Jerusalem through the northern gates, a small,
grim procession of temple guards and attendants. I looked back once at the city
of David, the golden dome of the temple catching the morning sun, and felt a
surge of pride. I was the guardian of the Prophetic Program. I was the one who
would ensure that the promises made to our fathers remained untainted by the
madness of the cross.
The journey was a slow, rhythmic progression through a
landscape that mirrored my own internal rigidity. We travelled along the
ancient routes, the Via Maris stretching out before us like a dusty
ribbon. The Judean hills gave way to the fertile plains, but I saw nothing of
the beauty of the land. My mind was a battlefield, rehearsing the indictments I
would deliver in Damascus. I breathed out threatening's and slaughter with
every step. The grit of the road settled into my woollen robes, and the heat
began to rise from the parched earth, but I welcomed the discomfort. It was a
small price to pay for the preservation of the Law.
We moved past the Sea of Galilee, the air thick and humid,
the smell of brackish water and drying nets clinging to the breeze. My
companions spoke in low tones, wary of my intensity. I was a man possessed by a
singular purpose. I was not looking for a new revelation; I was defending the
old one with a ferocity that bordered on madness. I believed, with a conviction
that reached into the very marrow of my bones, that I was doing God a service.
As we ascended toward the Golan, the terrain became more
rugged, the limestone paths narrowing between jagged outcrops. The sun was a
relentless eye, watching our progress as we moved further from the safety of
Jerusalem. I touched the high priest’s letters again, ensuring they were
secure. I was Saul of Tarsus, a man of power and prestige, certain of my path
and confident in my God. I did not know that I was marching toward my own
execution. I did not know that the Law I served was about to be eclipsed by a
Grace I could not yet name. Every mile brought me closer to the end of the man
I had spent my life becoming, and the beginning of a Mystery that would turn
the world upside down.
The ascent toward the plateau of Damascus offered no
reprieve from the relentless Syrian sun, but my inner fire outpaced the heat of
the day. I was nearly there. I could almost taste the dust of the city gates
and feel the weight of the heretics in my grip. My mind was a meticulously
ordered library of legal precedents and ancestral traditions, each one a weapon
I intended to wield against the followers of the Nazarene. I felt the sweat
trickling down my spine, a salt-sting that only served to sharpen my focus. I
was the champion of the Sanhedrin, the spear-tip of the Prophetic Program,
certain that my violence was the purest form of worship.
Then, my world ended.
At midday, as the world stood still under the vertical sun,
a sudden light from heaven, exceeding the brightness of any earthly radiance,
shined round about me and them which journeyed with me. It was not a flash, but
a violent intrusion of glory—a brilliance so absolute that the physical world
simply ceased to exist. The rocky path, the shimmering heat of the desert, and
the distant white walls of Damascus were swallowed by a whiteness so pure it
felt like a weight. I was struck to the earth, the impact jarring my very soul
as I fell face-first into the hot, biting limestone.
In that blinding void, the silence of my terror was
shattered by a voice. It did not come from the air around me, but seemed to
vibrate through my marrow, speaking in the sacred Hebrew tongue of my fathers:
"Saul, Saul, why
persecutest thou me?"
The words were not a query for information; they were a
thunderclap of indictment. The repetition of my name—Saul, Saul—stripped
away every layer of my Pharisaic pride. I had spent my life defending the
honour of the God of Abraham, yet here was the Shekinah itself, accusing me of
war against the heavens. I felt the grit of the road in my mouth, the taste of
my own humiliation. My breath was a ragged, panicked gasp as I managed to
stammer the only question that remained:
"Who art thou,
Lord?"
The answer was the death of everything I had spent thirty
years building.
"I am Jesus whom
thou persecutest: it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks".
The name "Jesus"
hit me with the force of a physical blow. The one I had labelled a deceiver,
the one whose memory I had sought to bury under a mountain of stones and
warrants, was alive. He was not a dead pretender; He was the Lord of Glory. In
an instant, the horrifying reality of my "zeal"
was laid bare. Every lash I had commanded, every prison door I had locked, and
every breath of "threatening and
slaughter" had been directed at the face of the Living God. I had been
"kicking against the pricks"—the
sharp, iron-tipped goads used to drive stubborn oxen—fighting against the
inevitable purpose of God with a ferocity that had only served to pierce my own
soul.
I lay there, trembling and astonished, the foundations of my
world crumbling into the dust of the road. The Law—my shield, my sword, and my
identity—was suddenly silent. It could not save me from the presence of the one
it had condemned. I was a murderer standing before the one I had slain. I was a
rebel discovered in the court of the King. Yet, in that moment of absolute
exposure, there was no bolt of lightning to consume me. There was only the
weight of an authority that demanded total surrender.
"Lord, what wilt
thou have me to do?"
"Arise, and go
into the city, and it shall be told thee what thou must do," the Lord
commanded.
I pushed myself up from the hot, dusty ground. My muscles
felt like water, my joints aching from the fall. I opened my eyes, expecting to
see the terrified faces of the temple guards or the shimmering horizon of the
Syrian desert. But there was only a thick, impenetrable blackness. The glory of
that heavenly light had seared the world from my vision; when my eyes were
opened, I saw no man.
A thick, velvet blackness had descended over my vision. I
looked toward where I knew the sun should be, but there was only a void. I
turned my head frantically, searching for a shadow, a shape, a glimmer of the
road.
"Help me,"
I cried out, my voice breaking. "I
cannot see!"
I reached out into the empty air, my fingers groping for a
hand, a sleeve, anything to anchor me. I was the great Saul of Tarsus, the
scholar, the leader, the zealot—and I was reduced to a helpless child,
terrified of a world I could no longer perceive. My companions, who had stood
speechless, hearing a sound but seeing no man, looked at me—the once-mighty
Saul—now stumbling and sightless. They took me by the hand, the humiliation was
absolute; I, who had come to Damascus to lead the "guilty" in chains to Jerusalem, was now being led like a
captive myself through the gates of the city.
I was brought to the house of a man named Judas, on the
street called Straight—a massive, colonnaded Roman thoroughfare that felt like
a tunnel of echoes to my sightless senses. I wasn't just physically blind; the
darkness was a mirror of my spiritual state. I had thought I saw everything so
clearly. I thought I was acting according to the truth. But I had been
stumbling in a pitch-black cave of my own making, and the very first glimpse of
True Light had burned my eyes out.
For three days, I sat in the house of Judas on the street
called Straight. I sat in a silence so heavy it felt like stone. I would not
eat. I could not drink. Every time I tried to swallow, I tasted the blood of
the saints.
My thoughts were like a chaotic storm, leaving nothing but
debris behind. In the blackness, I revisited every scroll I had ever memorised.
I saw the face of Stephen again—not as a victim, but as a witness. I realised
that while I had been master of the Law’s letter, I had been an enemy of its
Spirit. I had been a "blasphemer,
and a persecutor, and injurious," yet I was still breathing. Why? Why
had the Lord of Glory stopped for me on a dusty road instead of striking me
down?
I felt like my life was turned upside down, and I was left
grappling with a reality I couldn't make sense of. My old self—the person
around whom I’d built my identity—was dead, left behind on the Damascus Road.
The possibility of something new was there, but it was buried beneath layers of
uncertainty and confusion. I was a man suspended between two worlds, a
persecutor who had met his Victim and found Him to be his Lord. For the first
time, I was painfully aware of what I had done, unable to hide from the consequences
of my actions. The tension between regret and hope was overwhelming. I realized
I had to let go of everything I thought I knew and accept that change wouldn’t
come quickly or easily.
The darkness around me was uncomfortable, even frightening.
I searched my soul, wading past the pride and tradition until there was nothing
left but a raw, bleeding heart. I was waiting. I was broken. I was blind. But I
was finally ready to face the truth, wherever it might lead.
Lessons from the Narrative
This section unearths the immediate spiritual truths
embedded within the grit and glory of Saul’s encounter on the Damascus road. By
looking past the historical event, we discover the fundamental ways in which
God interacts with a soul that is dead in religious pride.
The Sovereignty of the Divine Arrest: Salvation is
not a cooperative effort initiated by man’s seeking, but moments of God's intrusion
of mercy into one's life. Saul was not in a state of quiet meditation or
spiritual hunger; he was in a state of active rebellion, breathing out threatening's
and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord. This lesson teaches us that
the Grace of God does not wait for an invitation but pursues the enemy. It
shatters the notion that our sincerity is the engine of our redemption, showing
instead that we are apprehended by Christ before we ever think to reach for
Him.
The Blindness of Human Religion: The more one is
enlightened by the letter of the Law and religious tradition, the more profound
their spiritual darkness becomes. Saul possessed the highest education
available under Gamaliel, yet he was functionally blind to the very Messiah his
scriptures predicted. His physical blindness for three days served as a pure
reflection of his internal state, proving that human intellect and religious
zeal are actually barriers to seeing the Truth. To truly see the Mystery of Christ,
we must first be stripped of our own vision and brought to a place of total,
helpless darkness where only the Light of Glory remains.
The Identification of the Body: When the Lord asked, "Why persecutest thou me?", He
revealed a revolutionary truth that had been hidden in ages past. Saul thought
he was merely arresting physical men and women in Damascus, but the Lord’s
response identified the believers as being one with Himself; bone of His bone
and flesh of His flesh (Eph.5:30). This is the seed of the Mystery doctrine:
the Body of Christ. It teaches us that the believer's identity is no longer
found in their earthly heritage or religious standing, but in their spiritual
union with the ascended and glorified Head in heaven.
The Hardness of Kicking Against Truth: The mention of
"kicking against the pricks"
highlights the internal struggle of a man trying to maintain a system that God
has already moved past. Saul was like a stubborn ox resisting the goad,
suffering unnecessary pain because he refused to submit to the new direction of
God's dealings. This illustrates the agony of legalism, trying to please God
through a program of works when He has already provided everything through
Grace. It warns us that resisting the revelation of the Mystery only leads to
spiritual exhaustion and a heart hardened by religious "duty."
Connections to Paul’s Letters
The trauma and transformation Saul experienced on the road
to Damascus were not merely personal milestones; they became the skeletal
structure of the Mystery doctrine he would later deliver to the Body of Christ.
These connections bridge the story with the unique Grace instructions found in
his epistles.
The Divine Origin of the Gospel: Paul frequently
reminded his readers that his message was not a refined version of the Kingdom
gospel preached in Jerusalem, but a direct celestial hand-off. The suddenness
of the Damascus encounter—where no man taught him, and no apostle briefed
him—is the historical proof of this claim. He asserts that the Grace he
preaches is a distinct revelation meant specifically for the Body of Christ.
This validates the authority of his letters as the primary instructions for the
believer today, separate from the earthly ministry of the Twelve.
"But I certify you, brethren, that the gospel which was preached of me is not after man. For I neither received it of man, neither was I taught it, but by the revelation of Jesus Christ." (Gal.1:11-12)
The Pattern of Long-suffering: Paul viewed his own
arrest on the road as the ultimate "case
study" for God’s grace. If the Lord would stop for a man who was
actively murdering His followers, then no sinner is beyond the reach of the
Cross. This experience formed his teaching on the "chief of sinners," proving that salvation is entirely
based on God’s mercy rather than human merit. It serves as a pattern for all
who would hereafter believe, demonstrating that God’s grace is most magnified
when it rescues His greatest enemies.
"This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief. Howbeit for this cause I obtained mercy, that in me first Jesus Christ might shew forth all longsuffering, for a pattern to them which should hereafter believe on him to life everlasting." (1Tim.1:15-16)
The New Sight of the Mystery: The physical light that
blinded Saul's natural eyes was the catalyst for the spiritual "enlightening" he describes in
his letters. He teaches that until the "vail"
of the Law is taken away through Christ, the heart remains in the same darkness
Saul experienced in the house of Judas. His experience became our doctrine:
that the God who commanded light to shine out of darkness has now shined in our
hearts. We no longer see Christ according to the flesh or the Kingdom, but as
the glorified Lord of the Mystery.
"For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ." (2Cor.4:6)
The Dispensational Lens
To understand the significance of Saul’s transformation, we
must distinguish between the Prophetic Program God was fulfilling with Israel
and the Mystery Program He began with Paul. Blending these two distinct
operations of God leads to a confused faith that lacks the power of the
finished work of Christ.
In the Kingdom Doctrine, as seen in the early chapters of
Acts, the focus was on Israel’s national repentance and the earthly reign of
the Messiah. The message preached by the Twelve required water baptism for the
remission of sins and was confirmed by signs and wonders meant for the Jews.
Saul himself was the primary opponent of this program, believing he was
protecting the Law from a false King. This program was grounded in
prophecy—what God had spoken by the mouth of all His holy prophets since the world
began (Act.3:21).
In the Grace Doctrine, revealed specifically to Paul progressively
after his encounter, the focus shifts to the Body of Christ—a new agency where
there is no distinction between Jew and Gentile. Unlike the Kingdom program,
Grace is not based on national identity or ritual performance, but on the
finished work of the Cross. On the Damascus road, Jesus did not call Saul to
join the Twelve in their earthly mission; He appeared from heaven to start
something "kept secret since the
world began (Rom.16:25-26)."
A prominent
misconception illuminated by this chapter is the failure to distinguish between
the Prophetic Program God fulfilled with Israel and the unique Mystery Program
revealed to Paul. The narrative emphasizes that many readers mistakenly combine
the practices and doctrines of the Twelve—such as national repentance and the
expectation of earthly signs and wonders—with the instructions given to Paul
for the Body of Christ. This blending leads to confusion, obscuring the clarity
and power of the revelation received by Paul on the Damascus Road. The chapter
insists that proper understanding comes from ‘rightly dividing’ these two
operations: recognizing that Grace and the Body of Christ are not continuations
of Israel’s prophetic promises, but a new revelation initiated by the ascended
Lord. The dangers of merging these approaches are made clear, warning that such
confusion can result in a faith rooted in tradition rather than in the distinct
truths entrusted to Paul.
The Faith Check
As you stand in the dust of the Damascus road with Saul, you
are forced to confront the reality that your own religious efforts may be the
very thing keeping you from the Light. This narrative demands that you move
from a historical understanding of Saul's blindness to a direct confrontation
with your own spiritual standing.
How are you currently interpreting this passage? Are
you still relying on your own "zeal"
or "sincerity" as a measure
of your standing with God, much like Saul did before he was struck down? Are
you "kicking against the
pricks" of Grace by trying to add your own works to the finished work
of Christ?
"Now to him that worketh is the reward not reckoned of grace, but of debt. But to him that worketh not, but believeth on him that justifieth the ungodly, his faith is counted for righteousness." (Rom.4:4-5); Rom.11:6; Gal.2:16; Tit.3:5
Do your beliefs measure up to the correct interpretation
of Pauline doctrine? Have you allowed the traditions of men to "blend" the programs of God,
leaving you blind to the unique revelation of the Mystery? Is your faith
anchored in what you do for God, or in what the glorified Christ has already
done for you?
"For I bear them record that they have a zeal of God, but not according to knowledge. For they being ignorant of God's righteousness, and going about to establish their own righteousness, have not submitted themselves unto the righteousness of God." (Rom.10:2-3); Phil.3:9; 2Cor.5:16; Eph.3:1-3
Motivation and Inspiration
The story of Saul’s encounter is the ultimate proof that no
soul is too far gone, and no heart is too hard for the reach of God’s Grace. If
the chief persecutor can be turned into the chief apostle in a single moment of
glory, there is no limit to what God can do with a life that finally surrenders
its own self-righteousness. This narrative invites you to step out of the
shadows of religious performance and into the brilliant light of your identity
in Christ.
- You are not defined by the "threatening's and slaughter" of your past, but by the mercy of the Lord who stopped for you.
- The darkness you may feel today is often the precursor to the greatest revelation of Light your soul has ever known.
- Stop fighting to prove your worth and start resting in the worthiness of the One who appeared to Saul.
- · Your life is no longer a search for a Kingdom on earth, but a hidden reality in the Body of Christ in heavenly places.
Advance today in the absolute confidence that the Lord who
apprehended Saul is the same Lord who has sealed you with His Spirit when you
believed in the Grace gospel. Let the scales of tradition fall from your eyes,
and walk forward as a captive of Grace, ready to serve the One who loved you
and gave Himself for you.
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Whether you are looking to enrich your own personal study, searching for a unique Bible Study training aid for your group, or wanting to gift a meaningful resource to a friend, "The Road to the North" is a valuable tool for anyone desiring to grasp the life of Paul and the profound doctrine he penned. By moving beyond the page and into the heart of his mission, you will find the scriptures opening up with new clarity and purpose.
I hope you enjoyed this FREE chapter directly from the book. You can secure your copy through the links provided at the top of this post.
God bless.
NOTE:
It is important to note that, while every effort has been made to ensure historical, geographical, cultural, and biblical accuracy throughout the narrative, certain aspects have been artistically embellished to enhance immersion and convey the emotional depth of Paul's journey. The story is crafted to place you directly within his experiences, yet the narration should not be regarded as a fully factual account in its finer details. Readers are encouraged to approach the story with discernment, appreciating its intention to bring doctrine to life rather than provide a strictly literal retelling.
