No one knows for sure when Saul of Tarsus, who became Paul, was born. Some have suggested that he was much the same age as Jesus, yet when the deacon Stephen, traditionally the first Christian martyr, was stoned to death, we are told that the witnesses laid their garments at his feet, and he is referred to as a young man (Acts vii, 58). In any case this year is being kept as the anniversary of his birth 2,000 years ago. It begins today. How might we take part?

People who may know nothing about Paul will nevertheless talk about having had a Damascus Road experience. They are referring to something that has turned their lives around in a startling way. And the expression originates with Paul’s journey to Damascus after Stephen’s execution. When Stephen died, Paul went on to persecute without mercy those who were following the way of Jesus, laying waste their community, dragging men and women from their houses, and putting them in prison (Acts viii, 3). His zeal for this work made him seek permission to go to Damascus and continue it there. But on the way something happened to him. He collapsed, blinded. And he heard a voice that said, “Why are you persecuting me?” “Who are you, Lord?” he asked. “I am Jesus,” he was told, “whom you are persecuting.”

His bewildered companions who heard the voice, but could not see the vision, took him on to Damascus where he was visited by Ananias, a disciple of Jesus, and his sight was restored. He was baptised. Then he began to preach the faith that previously he had tried to destroy (Acts ix, 1-22). Paul’s experience of conversion on the road to Damascus has come to be regarded as classic. Conversion turns a life upside down; it brings about complete change. But we need to tread gently. It is true that Paul’s life took a new direction, but Paul himself remained much as he had been. He was as committed, as passionate as ever, but he had a new cause. That was the difference.

Conversion can take many forms, sometimes dramatic, as in Paul’s case, sometimes more gradual, but it is not about acquiring a new personality (unless, of course, people turn to corruption, and then their identities will be twisted). Genuine conversion reveals what is good; it unveils hidden depths.

So Paul began to preach what previously he had tried to destroy. But not perhaps at once. He refers to three years spent in Arabia (Galatians i, 17-18). They are not easily identified in his life story. But it may be that there was a period where in quiet he prepared for his mission. Did he come to know himself better, to acknowledge his tendency to do, not what he wanted to, but the very thing he hated (Romans vii, 15)? Who among us cannot recognise at times that pattern in our own behaviour? We know what we ought to do, and we want to do it, but we do the opposite. Was it there, too, that seeds were sown in him, leading him to recognise that Christ’s love had overwhelmed him (2 Corinthians v, 14)? Was it there that he came to see himself as having been crucified with Christ, so that later he would declare, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Galatians ii, 20)?

And so the ministry began. And Paul accepted its consequences, whatever they might be. He was scourged and stoned and shipwrecked. He was driven from place to place, often in great danger, sometimes from strangers and sometimes from false friends. He laboured till he was exhausted, went hungry and thirsty, was cold and naked (2 Corinthians xi, 23-27). His dedication knew no limit. He was not driven by fanaticism, but the longing that others should be as possessed by the love of Christ as he was, rooted and grounded in love, knowing the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge (Ephesians iii, 17, 19).

So here may be one path through the Pauline year, a path marked by a desire for personal renewal and a valuing of silence which explores the depths within us, and leads us to bear witness to the love for everyone that God has revealed in Christ.

Monsignor Roderick Strange is the Rector of the Pontifical Beda College, Rome