"But Barnabas took him…": Bekah Beck Dixon
“When he [Paul] had come to Jerusalem, he attempted to join the disciples, and they were all afraid of him, for they did not believe that he was a disciple… But Barnabas took him…”
(Acts 9:26-27a)
Over the past year or so, I have been persistently fascinated by the story of Apostle Paul’s integration into the early Christian community. I’m interested in it because I seldom heard it preached when I was a child. On those few occasions when it was taught from the pulpit, it was taught as though God converted Paul by making Paul into a perfect Christian—one without the need for sanctification or connection to the greater Body of Christ. I am also interested in this narrative because I believe it speaks a profound word to us American Christians about justice.
The above piece of Acts 9 occurs right when Paul has been rejected by the Christian community in Jerusalem. See, up until this point, Paul has been “breathing out murderous threats” against them (Acts 9:1). Scripture itself keeps a record of how Paul looked on approvingly at Stephen's tribunal execution, holding the coats of those who hurled stones at the martyr. Paul dragged Christian folks out of their homes and threw them into prison. His rampage became so great that the Christian folks began scattering around the nation to escape his threatening hand. Violence was so woven into the fiber of Paul's body that even God Almighty had to use a little force to knock him off his donkey. Then Paul gets converted and God changes his name.
While this new name coincided with a radical shift in Paul’s identity, it did not erase his reputation. When Paul starts preaching about Christ in the synagogues, people begin to ask,
“Is not this the man who made havoc in Jerusalem?” (Acts 9:21)
When we catch up to Paul in Acts 9:26, we find him stepping up to the threshold of homes that he had once ransacked, asking to be welcomed in. He was resisted by everyone in the Christian community except for one man - Barnabas.
“But Barnabas took him and brought him to the apostles and declared to them how on the road he had seen the Lord, who spoke to him, and how at Damascus he had preached boldly in the name of Jesus.” (Acts 9:27)
We might wonder what went on in Barnabas' mind when he decided to look after Paul. I wonder if any part of him was afraid? After all, Paul's reputation certainly wasn’t a good one. Why did Barnabas feel compelled to take him in at all? I wonder if Barnabas was hearing the words of Jesus in his memory when Jesus said, “Pray for your enemies and bless those who curse you.” Or, maybe Barnabas was remembering when Jesus said, “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.” Or, maybe Barnabas was so familiar with the power of Jesus in his own life that he was inclined to believe Paul's conversion story.
By all accounts, Barnabas should have also been afraid and shunned Paul because of what Paul had done to his community. Still, Barnabas took him. He did not brand Paul as irredeemable and good-for-nothing, nor did he try to inflict any kind of punishment on Paul as payment for his previous actions. Barnabas knew that if anyone was in Christ, they were a new creation. The old has passed away and the new, indeed, has come.
In a country like the US that has built its understanding of justice on isolation, self-protection, and punishment, this narrative really makes no sense. What about the Christians whom Paul had tortured and thrown into prison? Were they now expected to lift their head up from a congregational prayer and see their torturer right there? While I’m sure these questions are worth some exploration, to the Christian, Paul and Barnabas’ story is a testimony to the hard, terrifying, life-giving truth that no one is irredeemable. It is a testimony to the truth that biblical justice looks much more like reconciliation than retribution. And praise God for that.
Over the past seven years of my life, I have worked in proximity to America’s carceral system. I have worked in therapeutic centers with justice-involved youth. I have volunteered with reentry homes and transformative justice coalitions. And, I have had the honor to study scripture alongside incarcerated women. In all of this, I have become convinced that God’s justice looks nothing like a prison cell. Instead, it looks like patience. It lets victims tell their stories and be heard. It addresses the root of the harm, not the symptom. It is a lover of mercy.
And if this is what God’s justice looks like, then surely this is Good News for us.
Bekah Beck Dixon is a former Wesley intern that is an endless blessing to our community. Her joyful spirit, tenacity, servant’s heart, and faithfulness have encouraged countless people in our community in their walk with Christ. She is currently in her third year of seminary and continues to bless and encourage those around her. A great friend and a lover of long walks, podcasts, and vegetables, Bekah is an example of what it looks like to live a life of faithful service to Christ.