It seems wise to always be attentive of where we are as a community and as a world. And it seems that we find ourselves in a heavy moment. During this week ahead, the Canadian Mental Health Association encourage us to consider mental health as Mental Health Week commences. It is encouraged to be a time when we acknowledge that wellness isn't only physical, but also deeply emotional, psychological, and spiritual. And as a global community, we continue to mourn with the people of the Philippines after the tragedy during the Lapu-Lapu Day Festival, where lives were lost and many more were shattered in a moment of senseless violence. Indeed, it is wise to be attentive to where we are as a community and consider how the texts might speak hope and truth to it.
In such moments, we might ask deep questions of how we can see God amidst it all: Where is God? What does resurrection mean when people are hurting? And how do we live as Easter people in a world that is still being crucified by pain? This morning’s story in Acts 9 of Saul’s encounter with the risen Jesus, I think, gives us a window into God’s answer to these questions.
Before he became Paul, the one whose letters we read through much of the New Testament, Paul was a very different person. Paul was Saul. He thought he was doing God's work, persecuting the followers of Jesus. But he couldn’t see the harm he was causing. He was blind other’s pain; blind to their suffering; blind to their persecution. And then, in a blinding flash of light, Jesus interrupts Saul’s certainty and Saul is stopped. Literally and spiritually. And for three days, he cannot see…or perhaps he is ‘learning’ to see!
I have shared in previous sermons my personal battle with mental health. Sharing the power that depression once had in my life. I shared the story of the angels God placed around me to help recover, and the ongoing commitment I have to my personal wellness. I have done so because many among our circles (perhaps even you yourself) deal with our own form of mental health challenge. The Canadian Mental Health Association (CMHA) suggest that 1 in 5 people deal with a mental health issue. And by the age 40, that number increases to 1 in 2…50%! So, many among us know the reality of depression, anxiety, trauma, and complicated forms of grief. These can be times of invisible blindness—when we feel cut off, directionless, lost in the darkness. One of the ongoing movements with the CMHA is their call to break the silence about our experiences and to create space where people don’t have to suffer in the dark.
While Saul sits in this time of blindness, God is working. If we pay attention…God is always working. God, in the text, speaks to Ananias—a regular man. He is not an angel or a prophet. Ananias is a disciple; a faithful follower of God’s call. And God says, “Go to Saul. Lay hands on him. Love the one you fear.” Imagine how hard that must have been for poor Ananias. He had every reason to distrust Saul. So, Ananias answered back, "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." He (rightfully) may have felt like a lamb going to the slaughter, yet somehow he knew that was his calling to go.
And so, Ananias goes. And he calls him "Brother Saul." That word—Brother—is resurrection in action, isn’t it? It is Easter vision—that allows Ananias to see in Saul not an enemy, but a person. Not a threat, but someone God will transform. Ananias saw him as a “brother” a fellow child of God.
In our world, where mental health stigma continues, and where tragic violence like that at the Lapu-Lapu Day Festival tempts us toward fear and blame, God uses people like Ananias to show us a different way: The way of courageous compassion. The way of holding space for healing—even for the ones we least expect. When Ananias lays hands on Saul, the text records that “something like scales fall from his eyes.” And Saul begins to see. Seeing not just physically, but spiritually. Saul is baptized. He is changed…he takes on a new name: Paul. And Paul begins to preach life where he, in the past, had spread fear. This, friends, is what resurrection does. It doesn’t deny darkness—and it doesn't let darkness win. It doesn’t erase trauma—it transforms it into a place for God to act. In the face of tragedies like the one that occurred on the Lapu-Lapu day celebrations, we long for something to change. And in the tender work of mental health awareness, we long for society to see pain not as weakness, but as part of our shared humanity. Where we might see a vitality; a transformed health together; grow together; be brother, sister, sibling…together.
So what does it mean to be empowered to see as God's Easter people? I think that it means we see pain and we stay, rather than turn away. I think that it means we see each other as whole, even when only the brokenness is visible (for now). I think it means we believe that transformation is possible—for individuals, for communities, even for those who cause harm.
In a week where we advocate for mental health, we say with the Gospel: You are not alone. You are not invisible. You are not defined by your struggles.
In the aftermath of Lapu Lapu Day violence, we say with hope: we will not become numb. We will pray, speak, and actively work for peace. And in the name of the risen Christ, we say with boldness: We will see as God sees. We will love as God loves. We will live as Easter people—in the light of the Resurrection.
And in a world where we seek to ‘see’ with Easter vision, may we have the scales fall from our eyes. That we can see the pain and suffering of others; that we can see that pain and suffering inside; that we can see God’s healing light guiding as the way of community, care and compassion.
And so, friends, we go forth with a prayer for an with Easter vision. That we may see new life in places of despair. That we may be like Ananias, in a world with many Sauls, and yet still be agents of healing, not hate. As scales fall from eyes, and collectively we begin to glimpse visions of God’s Kin-dom, seeing the world as God sees it: Beloved. Broken…(yet always) Beautiful.
Amen.