Finding God: A Treasury of Conversion Stories

The Apostle Paul

The dramatic experience of Paul on the road to Damascus still constitutes for many the prototype and model of Christian conversion. It is true, of course, that not all authentic conversions follow the Pauline pattern. Yet there remains something normative in this early apostolic account.

Scholars and psychologists seem fascinated by Paul’s conversion, and they try to interpret what it meant and why it happened as it did. Obviously, Paul regarded his experience as of monumental and life-changing importance. There are three more or less parallel accounts of the episode in the book of Acts, and Paul made passing references to the event on other occasions (e.g., Gal. 1:15-16; 1 Cor. 9:1; 15:8; 2 Cor. 4:6).

Before his conversion, Paul was known as a relentless persecutor of the new disciples of Jesus. On many occasions in his letters, Paul enumerates his credentials as a good Jew, a Pharisee in fact (see Rom. 11:1; 2 Cor. 11:22; Phil. 3:5). Paul wants to emphasize this side of his preconversion life simply because, in sharp contrast, his postconversion mission is to be an apostle of Jesus Christ whom he had persecuted. The radical difference of before and after links Paul’s experience with so many later converts, even though their experiences may not have been as sudden or dramatic.

It is possible when interpreting Paul’s conversion, or any other for that matter, to so dwell on the details or the discrepancies as to miss the main point. The essential ingredient in the three accounts in Acts, linking all three to a common confrontation, is the question-and-answer exchange: Why do you persecute me? . . . Who are you? . . . I am Jesus. Perhaps, then, with this in mind, we can say that the Pauline experience is after all the common experience of all converts.

Act 9:3-19

Now as [Saul] was going along and approaching Damascus, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. 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. The men who were traveling with him stood speechless because they heard the voice but saw no one. Saul 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. For three days he was without sight, and neither ate nor drank.

Now there was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord said to him in a vision, Ananias. He answered, Here I am, Lord. The 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, and 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. But Ananias answered, Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints in Jerusalem; and here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who invoke your name. But 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; I myself will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name. So 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. And immediately something like scales fell from his eyes, and his sight was restored. Then he got up and was baptized, and after taking some food, he regained his strength.

Acts 22:6-16

"While I was on my way and approaching Damascus, about noon a great light from heaven suddenly shone about me. I fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to me, ‘Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?’ I answered, ‘Who are you, Lord?’ Then he said to me, ‘I am Jesus of Nazareth whom you are persecuting.’ Now those who were with me saw the light but did not hear the voice of the one who was speaking to me. I asked, ‘What am I to do, Lord?’ The Lord said to me, ‘Get up and go to Damascus; there you will be told everything that has been assigned to you to do.’ Since I could not see because of the brightness of that light, those who were with me took my hand and led me to Damascus.

A certain Ananias, who was a devout man according to the law and well spoken of by all the Jews living there, came to me; and standing beside me, he said, ‘Brother Saul, regain your sight!’ In that very hour I regained my sight and saw him. Then he said, The God of our ancestors has chosen you to know his will, to see the Righteous One and to hear his own voice; for you will be his witness to all the world of what you have seen and heard. And now why do you delay? Get up, be baptized, and have your sins washed away, calling on his name.’"

Acts 26:12-18

With this [persecution] in mind, I was traveling to Damascus with the authority and commission of the chief priests, when at midday along the road, your Excellency, I saw a light from heaven, brighter than the sun, shining around me and my companions. When we had all fallen to the ground, I heard a voice saying to me in the Hebrew language, ‘Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me? It hurts you to kick against the goads.’ I asked, ‘Who are you, Lord?’ The Lord answered, ‘I am Jesus whom you are persecuting. But get up and stand on your feet; for I have appeared to you for this purpose, to appoint you to serve and testify to the things in which you have seen me and to those in which I will appear to you. I will rescue you from your people and from the Gentiles — to whom I am sending you to open their eyes so that they may turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God, so that they may receive forgiveness of sins and a place among those who are sanctified by faith in me.’

From the New Revised Version of the Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A., and used by permission.

Constantine

(ca. 280–337)

In the history of Christianity, few conversions rival Constantine’s for its impact on the church and all of Western culture. Converted in his youth, he united the Roman empire under his rule and gave protection to the beleaguered band of early Christians. Constantine declared Christianity to be the official religion of the empire, thus beginning the Christianization of Europe and the shift of Christian power away from its origins in the Middle East to Europe and subsequently elsewhere throughout the world.

This union of church and state became the dominant pattern in Western church history — at least until the eighteenth century — and today it is often described as Constantinian Christianity. In short, Constantine’s conversion marked a revolutionary turning point for Christianity.

The enduring effects of this conversion are fairly obvious; the conversion itself is difficult to describe. We have no account by Constantine himself, but Eusebius (260?-340?), known as the first church historian, recorded an early version in his Ecclesiastical History. Another description appears in The Life of Constantine the Great, which is supposed to have been written later by Eusebius. The second account emphasizes the powerful vision revealed to Constantine, and this dimension of the story was probably picked up from a very brief narrative of Constantine’s conversion by Lactantius, a Christian tutor in Constantine’s family. Reprinted here are the two versions by Eusebius.

Despite the differences, it is clear that Constantine was converted in A.D. 312 and that his victory over Maxentius at the Milvian Bridge ended a Roman civil war and assured Constantine’s control over the Roman empire. But the variations in the texts raise difficult problems. Was there a vision? Was Constantine’s conversion a genuine religious experience or a matter of astute political policy? What influenced him to accept Christianity? Did he become a full Christian at once or did he accept Christianity as only one of many forms of worship of an all-powerful deity?

An account from Constantine himself would probably not answer these questions, for they are tied to the mystery of the conversion experience itself. It may have been good politics to give the empire a common religion, but there was no compelling reason why it had to be Christianity. Yet Constantine became a Christian; with that the history of the world changed, and the church today still lives with the results of Constantine’s decision for Christ.

When Constantine, whom we have already mentioned as an emperor, born of an emperor, a pious son of a most pious and prudent father; and Licinius, second to him, — two God-beloved emperors, honored alike for their intelligence and their piety, — being stirred up against the two most impious tyrants by God, the absolute Ruler and Saviour of all, engaged in formal war against them, with God as their ally, Maxentius was defeated at Rome by Constantine in a remarkable manner, and the tyrant of the East did not long survive him, but met a most shameful death at the hand of Licinius, who had not yet become insane. Constantine, who was the superior both in dignity and imperial rank, first took compassion upon those who were oppressed at Rome, and having invoked in prayer the God of heaven, and his Word, and Jesus Christ himself, the Saviour of all, as his aid, advanced with his whole army, proposing to restore to the Romans their ancestral liberty. But Maxentius, putting confidence rather in the arts of sorcery than in the devotion of his subjects, did not dare to go forth beyond the gates of the city, but fortified every place and district and town which was enslaved by him, in the neighborhood of Rome and in all Italy, with an immense multitude of troops and with innumerable bands of soldiers. But the emperor, relying upon the assistance of God, attacked the first, second, and third army of the tyrant, and conquered them all; and having advanced through the greater part of Italy, was already very near Rome. Then, that he might not be compelled to wage war with the Romans for the sake of the tyrant, God himself drew the latter, as if bound in chains, some distance without the gates, and confirmed those threats against the impious which had been anciently inscribed in sacred books, — disbelieved, indeed, by most as a myth, but believed by the faithful, — confirmed them, in a word, by the deed itself to all, both believers and unbelievers, that saw the wonder with their eyes. Thus, as in the time of Moses himself and of the ancient God-beloved race of Hebrews, he cast Pharaoh’s chariots and host into the sea, and overwhelmed his chosen charioteers in the Red Sea, and covered them with the flood, in the same way Maxentius also with his soldiers and body-guards went down into the depths like a stone, when he fled before the power of God which was with Constantine, and passed through the river which lay in his way, over which he formed a bridge with his boats, and thus prepared the means of his own destruction. In regard to him one might say, he digged a pit and opened it and fell into the hole which he had made; his labor shall turn upon his own head, and his unrighteousness shall fall upon his own crown. Thus, then, the bridge over the river being broken, the passageway settled down, and immediately the boats with the men disappeared in the depths, and that most impious one himself first of all, then the shield-bearers who were with him, as the divine oracles foretold, sank like lead in the mighty waters; so that those who obtained the victory from God, if not in words, at least in deeds, like Moses, the great servant of God, and those who were with him, fittingly sang as they had sung against the impious tyrant of old, saying, Let us sing unto the Lord, for he hath gloriously glorified himself; horse and rider hath he thrown into the sea; a helper and a protector hath he become for my salvation; and Who is like unto thee, O Lord; among the gods, who is like unto thee? glorious in holiness, marvelous in glory, doing wonders. These and the like praises Constantine, by his very deeds, sang to God, the universal Ruler, and Author of his victory, as he entered Rome in triumph. Immediately all the members of the senate and the other most celebrated men, with the whole Roman people, together with children and women, received him as their deliverer, their saviour, and their benefactor, with shining eyes and with their whole souls, with shouts of gladness and unbounded joy. But he, as one possessed of inborn piety toward God, did not exult in the shouts, nor was he elated by the praises; but perceiving that his aid was from God, he immediately commanded that a trophy of the Saviour’s passion be put in the hand of his own statue. And when he had placed it, with the saving sign of the cross in its right hand, in the most public place in Rome, he commanded that the following inscription should be engraved upon it in the Roman tongue: By this salutary sign, the true proof of bravery, I have saved and freed your city from the yoke of the tyrant; and moreover, having set at liberty both the senate and the people of Rome, I have restored them to their ancient distinction and splendor. And after this both Constantine himself and with him the Emperor Licinius, who had not yet been seized by that madness into which he later fell, praising God as the author of all their blessings, with one will and mind drew up a full and most complete decree in behalf of the Christians, and sent an account of the wonderful things done for them by God, and of the victory over the tyrant, together with a copy of the decree itself, to Maximinus, who still ruled over the nations of the East and pretended friendship toward them. But he, like a tyrant, was greatly pained by what he learned; but not wishing to seem to yield to others, nor, on the other hand, to suppress that which was commanded, for fear of those who enjoined it, as if on his own authority, he addressed, under compulsion, to the governors under him this first communication in behalf of the Christians, falsely inventing things against himself which had never been done by him.

***

Thus then the God of all, the Supreme Governor of the whole universe, by his own will appointed Constantine, the descendant of so renowned a parent, to be prince and sovereign: so that, while others have been raised to this distinction by the election of their fellow-men, he is the only one to whose elevation no mortal may boast of having contributed.

While . . . he regarded the entire world as one immense body, and perceived that the head of it all, the royal city of the Roman empire, was bowed down by the weight of a tyrannous oppression; at first he had left the task of liberation to those who governed the other divisions of the empire, as being his superiors in point of age. But when none of these proved able to afford relief, and those who had attempted it had experienced a disastrous termination of their enterprise, he said that life was without enjoyment to him as long as he saw the imperial city thus afflicted, and prepared himself for the overthrowal of the tyranny.

Being convinced, however, that he needed some more powerful aid than his military forces could afford him, on account of the wicked and magical enchantments which were so diligently practiced by the tyrant, he sought Divine assistance, deeming the possession of arms and a numerous soldiery of secondary importance, but believing the co-operating power of Deity invincible and not to be shaken. He considered, therefore, on what God he might rely for protection and assistance. While engaged in this enquiry, the thought occurred to him, that, of the many emperors who had preceded him, those who had rested their hopes in a multitude of gods, and served them with sacrifices and offerings, had in the first place been deceived by flattering predictions, and oracles which promised them all prosperity, and at last had met with an unhappy end, while not one of their gods had stood by to warn them of the impending wrath of heaven; while one alone who had pursued an entirely opposite course, who had condemned their error, and honored the one Supreme God during his whole life, had found him to be the Saviour and Protector of his empire, and the Giver of every good thing. Reflecting on this, and well weighing the fact that they who had trusted in many gods had also fallen by manifold forms of death, without leaving behind them either family or offspring, stock, name, or memorial among men: while the God of his father had given to him, on the other hand, manifestations of his power and very many tokens: and considering farther that those who had already taken arms against the tyrant, and had marched to the battle-field under the protection of a multitude of gods, had met with a dishonorable end (for one of them had shamefully retreated from the contest without a blow, and the other, being slain in the midst of his own troops, became, as it were, the mere sport of death); reviewing, I say, all these considerations, he judged it to be folly indeed to join in the idle worship of those who were no gods, and, after such convincing evidence, to err from the truth; and therefore felt it incumbent on him to honor his father’s God alone.

Accordingly he called on him with earnest prayer and supplications that he would reveal to him who he was, and stretch forth his right hand to help him in his present difficulties. And while he was thus praying with fervent entreaty, a most marvelous sign appeared to him from heaven, the account of which it might have been hard to believe had it been related by any other person. But since the victorious emperor himself long afterwards declared it to the writer of this history, when he was honored with his acquaintance and society, and confirmed his statement by an oath, who could hesitate to accredit the relation, especially since the testimony of after-time has established its truth? He said that about noon, when the day was already beginning to decline, he saw with his own eyes the trophy of a cross of light in the heavens, above the sun, and bearing the inscription, CONQUER BY THIS [In Hoc Signo]. At this sight he himself was struck with amazement, and his whole army also, which followed him on this expedition, and witnessed the miracle.

He said, moreover, that he doubted within himself what the import of this apparition could be. And while he continued to ponder and reason on its meaning, night suddenly came on; then in his sleep the Christ of God appeared to him with the same sign which he had seen in the heavens, and commanded him to make a likeness of that sign which he had seen in the heavens, and to use it as a safeguard in all engagements with his enemies.

At dawn of day he arose, and communicated the marvel to his friends: and then, calling together the workers in gold and precious stones, he sat in the midst of them, and described to them the figure of the sign he had seen, bidding them represent it in gold and precious stones. And this representation I myself have had an opportunity of seeing.

Now it was made in the following manner. A long spear, overlaid with gold, formed the figure of the cross by means of a transverse bar laid over it. On the top of the whole was fixed a wreath of gold and precious stones; and within this, the symbol of the Saviour’s name, two letters indicating the name of Christ by means of its initial characters, the letter P being intersected by X in its centre: and these letters the emperor was in the habit of wearing on his helmet at a later period. From the cross-bar of the spear was suspended a cloth, a royal piece, covered with a profuse embroidery of most brilliant precious stones; and which, being also richly interlaced with gold, presented an indescribable degree of beauty to the beholder. This banner was of a square form, and the upright staff, whose lower section was of great length, bore a golden half-length portrait of the pious emperor and his children on its upper part, beneath the trophy of the cross, and immediately above the embroidered banner.

The emperor constantly made use of this sign of salvation as a safeguard against every adverse and hostile power, and commanded that others similar to it should be carried at the head of all his armies.

These things were done shortly afterwards. But at the time above specified, being struck with amazement at the extraordinary vision, and resolving to worship no other God save Him who had appeared to him, he sent for those who were acquainted with the mysteries of His doctrines, and enquired who that God was, and what was intended by the sign of the vision he had seen.

They affirmed that He was God, the only begotten Son of the one and only God: that the sign which had appeared was the symbol of immortality, and the trophy of that victory over death which He had gained in time past when sojourning on earth. They taught him also the causes of His advent, and explained to him the true account of His incarnation. Thus he was instructed in these matters, and was impressed with wonder at the divine manifestation which had been presented to his sight. Comparing, therefore, the heavenly vision with the interpretation given, he found his judgment confirmed; and, in the persuasion that the knowledge of these things had been imparted to him by Divine teaching, he determined thenceforth to devote himself to the reading of the Inspired writings.

Moreover, he made the priests of God his counselors, and deemed it incumbent on him to honor the God who had appeared to him with all devotion. And after this, being fortified by well-grounded hopes in Him, he hastened to quench the threatening fire of tyranny. . . .

And already he was approaching very near Rome itself, when, to save him from the necessity of fighting with all the Romans for the tyrant’s sake, God himself drew the tyrant, as it were by secret cords, a long way outside the gates. And now those miracles recorded in Holy Writ, which God of old wrought against the ungodly (discredited by most as fables, yet believed by the faithful), did he in every deed confirm to all alike, believers and unbelievers, who were eye-witnesses of the wonders. For as once in the days of Moses and the Hebrew nation, who were worshipers of God, Pharaoh’s chariots and his host hath he cast into the sea, and his chosen chariot-captains are drowned in the Red Sea, — so at this time Maxentius, and the soldiers and guards with him, went down into the depths like stone, when, in his flight before the divinely-aided forces of Constantine, he essayed to cross the river which lay in his way, over which, making a strong bridge of boats, he had framed an engine of destruction, really against himself, but in the hope of ensnaring thereby him who was beloved by God. For his God stood by the one to protect him, while the other, godless, proved to be the miserable contriver of these secret devices to his own ruin. So that one might well say, He hath made a pit, and digged it, and is fallen into the ditch which he made. His mischief shall return upon his own head, and his violence shall come down upon his own pate. Thus, in the present instance, under divine direction, the machine erected on the bridge, with the ambuscade concealed therein, giving way unexpectedly before the appointed time, the bridge began to sink, and the boats with the men in them went bodily to the bottom. And first the wretch himself, then his armed attendants and guards, even as the sacred oracles had before described, sank as lead in the mighty waters. So that they who thus obtained victory from God might well, if not in the same words, yet in fact in the same spirit as the people of his great servant Moses, sing and speak as they did concerning the impious tyrant of old: Let us sing unto the Lord, for he hath been glorified exceedingly: the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea. He is become my helper and my shield unto salvation. And again, Who is like unto thee, O Lord, among the gods? who is like thee, glorious in holiness, marvelous in praises, doing wonders?

Having then at this time sung these and such-like praises to God, the Ruler of all and the Author of victory, after the example of his great servant Moses, Constantine entered the imperial city in triumph. And here the whole body of the senate, and others of rank and distinction in the city, freed as it were from the restraint of a prison, along with the whole Roman populace, their countenances expressive of the gladness of their hearts, received him with acclamations and abounding joy; men, women, and children, with countless multitudes of servants, greeting him as deliverer, preserver, and benefactor, with incessant shouts. But he, being possessed of inward piety toward God, was neither rendered arrogant by these plaudits, nor uplifted by the praises he heard; but, being sensible that he had received help from God, he immediately rendered a thanksgiving to him as the Author of his victory.

Excerpted from Eusebius, The Ecclesiastical History, IX.9.1-12, and The Life of Constantine the Great, I.xxvi-xxxix, in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, 2nd series, ed. Philip Schaff and Henry Wace (New York, 1890; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1952), 1:363-64, 489-93.

Augustine

(354–430)

Like the apostle Paul, with whom he had so much in common, Augustine’s career as churchman and theologian began with a sudden, dramatic conversion. With both men, the experience became determinative for all their subsequent life and thought, and, in later years, each frequently reminisced about his conversion experience, indicating its enduring and normative influence.

Born in 354 in Tagaste, North Africa, Augustine was the last and the greatest of the so-called early church Fathers. He also had one foot in the early Middle Ages, so that both patristic and medieval theology were combined in his own system. But system is hardly the right word for Augustine’s theology. He was, especially in his youthful years, an eclectic sampler of various schools of philosophy, religion, and morality. Even after his conversion and during his prolific writing career, Augustine moved from topic to topic in an endless succession of seemingly unrelated works. His two most important theological foci were sin and grace, and the conflict that these two set up in his own experience, as in his conversion, provided a trademark for nearly everything he did or wrote.

It is tempting to interpret Augustine psychologically at this point, for just as his theology seems to combine opposing ideas, so does his personality. His father, Patricius, was not a religious man and seemed mostly untroubled by moral questions; but Augustine’s mother, Monnica, was a Christian of rare devotion. Perhaps Augustine was himself the mixture of the sensual father and the Christian mother.

After some years of studying in various centers, and a long-standing relationship with a nameless mistress, by whom a son, Adeodatus, was born, Monnica and a few friends persuaded Augustine to go to Milan to study with the great Ambrose. It was while in Milan, in the year 386 and in the company of a friend, Alypius, that Augustine experienced his moving conversion. He had been agonizing, as had Paul, about the power of sin and the failure of his will. I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do. . . . Wretched man that I am! (Rom. 7:19, 24).

Augustine’s own description of the event needs no further commentary. It was included in one of the world’s great devotional classics, the Confessions. Although written more than forty years later, we can be reasonably certain, because of its intensity, that Augustine remembered the experience vividly, even to the details.

There was a little garden belonging to our lodging, of which we had the use — as of the whole house — for the master, our landlord, did not live there. The tempest in my breast hurried me out into this garden, where no one might interrupt the fiery struggle in which I was engaged with myself, until it came to the outcome that thou knewest though I did not. But I was mad for health, and dying for life; knowing what evil thing I was, but not knowing what good thing I was so shortly to become.

I fled into the garden, with Alypius following step by step; for I had no secret in which he did not share, and how could he leave me in such distress? We sat down, as far from the house as possible. I was greatly disturbed in spirit, angry at myself with a turbulent indignation because I had not entered thy will and covenant, O my God, while all my bones cried out to me to enter, extolling it to the skies. The way therein is not by ships or chariots or feet — indeed it was not as far as I had come from the house to the place where we were seated. For to go along that road and indeed to reach the goal is nothing else but the will to go. But it must be a strong and single will, not staggering and swaying about this way and that — a changeable, twisting, fluctuating will, wrestling with itself while one part falls as another rises. . . .

Now when deep reflection had drawn up out of the secret depths of my soul all my misery and had heaped it up before the sight of my heart, there arose a mighty storm, accompanied by a mighty rain of tears. That I might give way full to my tears and lamentations, I stole away from Alypius, for it seemed to me that solitude was more appropriate for the business of weeping. I went far enough away that I could feel that even his presence was no restraint upon me. This was the way I felt at the time, and he realized it. I suppose I had said something before I started up and he noticed that the sound of my voice was choked with weeping. And so he stayed alone, where we had been sitting together, greatly astonished. I flung myself down under a fig tree — how I know not — and gave free course to my tears. The streams of my eyes gushed out an acceptable sacrifice to thee. And, not indeed in these words, but to this effect, I cried to thee: And thou, O Lord, how long? How long, O Lord? Wilt thou be angry forever? Oh, remember not against us our former iniquities.¹ For I felt that I was still enthralled by them. I sent up these sorrowful cries: How long, how long? Tomorrow and tomorrow? Why not now? Why not this very hour make an end to my uncleanness?

I was saying these things and weeping in the most bitter contrition of my heart, when suddenly I heard the voice of a boy or a girl — I know not which — coming from the neighboring house, chanting over and over again, Pick it up, read it; pick it up, read it.² Immediately I ceased weeping and began most earnestly to think whether it was usual for children in some kind of game to sing such a song, but I could not remember ever having heard the like. So, damming the torrent of my tears, I got to my feet, for I could not but think that this was a divine command to open the Bible and read the first passage I should light upon. For I had heard³ how Anthony, accidentally coming into church while the gospel was being read, received the admonition as if what was read had been addressed to him: Go and sell what you have and give it to the poor, and you shall have treasure in heaven; and come and follow me.⁴ By such an oracle he was forthwith converted to thee.

So I quickly returned to the bench where Alypius was sitting, for there I had put down the apostle’s book when I had left there. I snatched it up, opened it, and in silence read the paragraph on which my eyes first fell: Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying, but put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh to fulfill the lusts thereof.⁵ I wanted to read no further, nor did I need to. For instantly, as the sentence ended, there was infused in my heart something like the light of full certainty and all the gloom of doubt vanished away.

Closing the book, then, and putting my finger or something else for a mark I began — now with a tranquil countenance — to tell it all to Alypius. And he in turn disclosed to me what had been going on in himself, of which I knew nothing. He asked to see what I had read. I showed him, and he looked on even further than I had read. I had not known what followed. But indeed it was this, Him that is weak in the faith, receive.⁶ This he applied to himself, and told me so. By these words of warning he was strengthened, and by exercising his good resolution and purpose — all very much in keeping with his character, in which, in these respects, he was always far different from and better than I — he joined me in full commitment without any restless hesitation.

Then we went in to my mother, and told her what happened, to her great joy. We explained to her how it had occurred — and she leaped for joy triumphant; and she blessed thee, who art able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think.⁷ For she saw that thou hadst granted her far more than she had ever asked for in all her pitiful and doleful lamentations. For thou didst so convert me to thee that I sought neither a wife nor any other of this world’s hopes, but set my feet on that rule of faith which so many years before thou hadst showed her in her dream about me. And so thou didst turn her grief into gladness more plentiful than she had ventured to desire, and dearer and purer than the desire she used to cherish of having grandchildren of my flesh.

From Augustine: Confessions and Enchiridion, trans. and ed. Albert C. Outler, vol. 7 of the Library of Christian Classics (London: SCM Press; Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1955). Extracts from Library of Christian Classics are copyright © SCM Press and are reproduced by permission.

Martin Luther

(1483–1546)

Martin Luther was unquestionably one of the most important figures in the history of Christianity and the history of Europe. He never intended to start a new church but to reform the Roman Catholic Church in which he was raised, baptized, and ordained. But by his life and writings, he launched both the ideas and the movements that would divide Western Christianity into Protestant and Catholic camps and mold what became modern Western culture.

Luther was a coal miner’s son. His father yearned for and achieved financial success, and he hoped his son Martin would find similar prosperity. When Martin finished his liberal arts studies at the University of Erfurt, the elder Luther pressured him into studying law. Less than six weeks later, Martin Luther abandoned law to enter the Augustinian monastery at Erfurt. The abrupt decision was due to the first of three monumental crises in Luther’s life. On a trip through a forest amid a violent thunderstorm, Luther cried out in terror, Help me, St. Anne, I will become a monk.

As in virtually all things, Luther took to monasticism with a visceral commitment and emotional zeal. Throughout his early spiritual struggles, the central question was certainty: How could he be sure that he had been saved by God? He tried to abide by every discipline known to the monastery. Indeed, he later said, I was a good monk, and I kept the rule of my order so strictly that I may say that if ever a monk got to heaven by his monkery it was I.

But as soon as he had satisfied the rigors of the rule of monastic life, he was afflicted by doubt again: Have I done enough? Is more required?

His second crisis came before he celebrated his first Mass. Plagued again by his doubts about his righteousness before God, he was barely able to perform the service and handle the holy elements with what he perceived were his unholy hands.

Interestingly for Luther, the third crisis was a quiet affair, known as his tower experience. Luther was primarily a student and scholar of the Bible, earning a doctorate in biblical studies. His preoccupation was the study of the Scriptures, which he increasingly saw as the foremost authority for Christian life and faith. His spiritual imagination was captured most by the anguish of the apostle Paul, who, like Luther, wrestled with the question of how unrighteous individuals could find refuge in a righteous God.

The account that follows, written the year before he died, is Luther’s tower experience, a breakthrough in his study where he discovered again Paul’s conviction that people are not saved by their works or deeds. Rather, they are saved by the love of God in Jesus Christ that sets them right with God. This insight — justification by grace through faith — would serve as one of the rallying cries of the entire Protestant Reformation and has shaped Protestantism ever since.

Luther’s influence extended well beyond theology and church affairs. As a writer of hymns and lover of music, he nurtured the artistic impulse in Western culture. As a translator of the Bible into German, he set the standards of the modern German language and stimulated literacy and education. In politics, his legacy is ambiguous, for he not only blessed the stirrings of liberty but also condemned the uprising of peasants and contributed to the anti-Semitism of his age and subsequent European history.

But as a religious genius, he unquestionably grasped the reality of the question posed to Paul by his jailer: What must I do to be saved? (Acts 16:30). In answering that question, Martin Luther captured the biblical truth that we cannot save ourselves; only God can save us. In answer to the more modern question, How can I be sure? Luther declared in his most famous hymn,

A mighty fortress is our God,

A bulwark never failing.

Meanwhile, I had already during that year returned to interpret the Psalter anew. I had confidence in the fact that I was more skilful, after I had lectured in the university on St. Paul’s epistles to the Romans, to the Galatians, and the one to the Hebrews. I had indeed been captivated with an extraordinary ardor for understanding Paul in the Epistle to the Romans. But up till then it was not the cold blood about the heart, but a single word in Chapter 1 [v. 17], In it the righteousness of God is revealed, that had stood in my way. For I hated that word righteousness of God, which, according to the use and custom of all the teachers, I had been taught to understand philosophically regarding the formal or active righteousness, as they called it, with which God is righteous and punishes the unrighteous sinner.

Though I lived as a monk without reproach, I felt that I was a sinner before God with an extremely disturbed conscience. I could not believe that he was placated by my satisfaction. I did not love, yes, I hated the righteous God who punishes sinners, and secretly, if not blasphemously, certainly murmuring greatly, I was angry with God, and said, As if, indeed, it is not enough, that miserable sinners, eternally lost through original sin, are crushed by every kind of calamity by the law of the decalogue, without having God add pain to pain by the gospel and also by the gospel threatening us with his righteousness and wrath! Thus I raged with a fierce and troubled conscience. Nevertheless, I beat importunately upon Paul at that place, most ardently desiring to know what St. Paul wanted.

At last, by the mercy of God, meditating day and night, I gave heed to the context of the words, namely, In it the righteousness of God is revealed, as it is written, ‘He who through faith is righteous shall live.’ There I began to understand that the righteousness of God is that by which the righteous lives by a gift of God, namely by faith. And this is the meaning: the righteousness of God is revealed by the gospel, namely, the passive righteousness with which merciful God justifies us by faith, as it is written, He who through faith is righteous shall live. Here I felt that I was altogether born again and had entered paradise itself through open gates. There a totally other face of the entire Scripture showed itself to me. Thereupon I ran through the Scriptures from memory. I also found in other terms an analogy, as, the work of God, that is, what God does in us, the power of God, with which he makes us strong, the wisdom of God, with which he makes us wise, the strength of God, the salvation of God, the glory of God.

And I extolled my sweetest word with a love as great as the hatred with which I had before hated the word righteousness of God. Thus that place in Paul was for me truly the gate to paradise. Later I read Augustine’s The Spirit and the Letter, where contrary to hope I found that he, too, interpreted God’s righteousness in a similar way, as the righteousness with which God clothes us when he justifies us. Although this was heretofore said imperfectly and he did not explain all things concerning imputation clearly, it nevertheless was pleasing that God’s righteousness with which we are justified was taught. Armed more fully with these thoughts, I began a second time to interpret the Psalter. And the work would have grown into a large commentary, if I had not again been compelled to leave the work begun, because Emperor Charles V in the following year convened the diet at Worms.

I relate these things, good reader, so that, if you are a reader of my puny works, you may keep in mind, that, as I said above, I was all alone and one of those who, as Augustine says of himself, have become proficient by writing and teaching. I was not one of those who from nothing suddenly become the topmost, though they are nothing, neither have labored, nor been tempted, nor become experienced, but have with one look at the Scriptures exhausted their entire spirit.

From Luther’s Works, volume 34: Career of the Reformer IV by Martin Luther, edited by Lewis W. Spitz; Helmut Lehmann, general editor, pp. 336-38. Copyright © 1960 Fortress Press, 2011 Evangelical Lutheran Church in America admin Augsburg Fortress. Use by permission.

Bartolomé de Las Casas

(1484–1566)

It is a sad, tragic, and horrific fact that the settlement of North and South America — indeed, the colonization of the world by Western European nations — is also the story of slavery. It is also sad that in most cases, the Christian church helped justify and undergird the practice of slave-trading and slave-holding.

But there were exceptions, and one was Bartolomé de Las Casas, who was born just as Christopher Columbus was planning his explorations of what was later called the New World. In 1493, as a young boy, Las Casas saw the return of Christopher Columbus to Seville after his first voyage. Las Casas’s father Pedro and several uncles left with Columbus the same year and returned in 1498. His father’s present to Bartolomé when he returned was the gift of a young native Taíno youth, Juanico, with whom Las Casas forged a friendship. Although Juanico was returned to the West Indies by royal decree two years later, this was Las Casas’s first exposure to slavery.

Las Casas’s father decided to return to the West Indies permanently, and after briefly studying for the priesthood, Las Casas accompanied him. After five years, Las Casas returned to Spain, and in Rome in 1507 he was ordained as a priest. He pursued additional theological studies, and then he returned to Hispaniola (now the Dominican Republic and Haiti). There Las Casas performed the duties of a priest but also presided over his own land-holdings and slaves. He also encountered a group of Dominican friars, whose opposition to slavery was clear and uncompromising. He asked for absolution for his own enslavement of the natives and was denied. Yet he made peace with himself because he was a humane and gentle slaveholder.

Las Casas departed Hispaniola in 1512, leaving behind his clerical duties, his land, and his slaves to become a chaplain to the Spanish forces in Cuba. There he witnessed some of the atrocities of the Spanish military, and he became increasingly concerned about the brutality and injustice of enslaving the natives. It was in this context that Pentecost 1514 arrived. The conflict between God’s design and human slavery became clear to Las Casas. And he had to preach about it.

That was the turning point — the moral conversion — of Las Casas. He gave up his slaves. He became the preeminent advocate against slavery of the native peoples of the West Indies and South America and was instrumental in the formulation of the New Laws (1542) that abolished the basic economic structure of slavery in Latin America. He eventually joined a Dominican monastery and turned to writing a history of Columbus’s voyages and the history of the West Indies, from which the following account of his moral crisis is taken. (Las Casas wrote in both the first person and the third person, but readers should understand that he is describing himself throughout this passage.)

Las Casas became the moral compass of Spanish colonization. His writings and the New Laws he helped formulate represent the beginning of modern international law and presage the later United Nations Declaration of Human Rights. Though he failed to squash slavery’s most violent and devastating consequences, he was a voice for equity and compassion in the midst of greed and acquisition.

He listened to God and tested himself against a biblical text: The Lord is pleased only by those who keep to the way of truth and justice.

1. Seeing Conditions in Cuba

. . . We told how Diego Velásquez, in charge of Cuba for the admiral, marked out five places for settlement where all the Spaniards on the island were to live in groups. There was one already populated, Baracoa. The Indians who lived near each settlement were divided up and given to the Spaniards. Each Spaniard had an itch for gold and a narrow conscience. They had no thought that those natives were made of flesh and blood. They put them to work in mines and at other projects the Indians could accomplish as slave labor, put them to work so promptly, so pitilessly that in a few days’ time many native deaths showed the brutality of Spanish treatment. The loss of