Conversations at Midnight #10: Mom, What Do We Do With Paul? (Especially as Women)

It’s complicated. Depending on who you ask, he may be our best friend or worst frenemy. 

While some read his words and feel empowered, others hear them and feel constricted. He seems to draw lines that aren't to be crossed, and close spaces he doesn't mean us to fill. We’re left with the question: Is Paul for us—or against us?

To understand the tension, we have to circle back—before the letters, theology, and debates. Back to Saul, the Pharisee whose namesake was a regal king.

Before he ever wrote a word that would shape generations, Saul was a man on a mission, and it wasn’t a nice one. He burned with hatred for Christians.

These early believers were disrupting everything. They claimed the Messiah had already come, been crucified, and then, impossibly, raised him from the dead. Even worse, they suggested that Jewish religious leaders had played a role in his death. To Saul, this wasn’t just wrong; it was dangerous.

He was a student of the House of Hillel, and his teacher was none other than Gamaliel—grandson of Hillel, both known for their wisdom, knowledge of the Hebrew Scriptures, and leniency in interpretations of the Torah. Mentored by respected leaders, grounded in tradition, devoted to protecting what was sacred, from Paul's perspective, these new followers of “The Way” were threatening all of it.

A real go-getter, he acted, going from house to house, dragging men and women away, imprisoning them for their faith. He stood by as Stephen, one of the first deacons, was stoned—watching, approving, holding the coats of those who carried it out.

Saul wasn’t confused; he was certain he was right, certain this was serving God.

And then—everything changed.

On a dusty road to Damascus, mid-journey, mid-purpose, mid-certainty, his world split open with a flash of light and bolt of thunder. A voice—clear and unmistakable—called out, Saul. He fell to the ground.

Who are you, Lord? he asked, totally unprepared for what came next.

I am Jesus, the one you are persecuting.

Everything he thought he knew came undone. The man who believed he saw clearly was now utterly blind. He was led by the hand into the city he had intended to raid, without authority and no certainty. One encounter had reduced him to utter dependency.

Meanwhile, a disciple named Ananias received an instruction that must have felt almost unthinkable: go to Saul. This was the man who had been dragging people like him out of their homes, even out of their beds! But Ananias obeyed, and when he found Saul, he did something extraordinary. He addressed him as brother.

Something like scales fell from Saul’s eyes, and his sight was restored—but not just physically. His entire worldview had shifted. The persecutor became the preacher. The one who silenced voices became one who carried their message. But it would cost him: beatings; imprisonment; rejection; even a few shipwrecks! The same zeal that once fuelled his violence now fuelled his mission—and caused unfathomable suffering.

To expand the reach of the Gospel to the non-Jewish world, he would eventually shed his royal Hebrew name and become known by his Roman one, Paul, which meant small. No longer an elitist, this name reflected not only his physical stature but a recognition of the vast greatness of Jesus. He was now Jesus' messenger. And like his predecessor, the prophet, John the Baptizer, he knew himself to be small pickings beside the One he served..

Paul traveled up to 10,000 miles, writing the letters which would be preserved, studied, debated, and reflected on for over two millennia. He would suffer martyrdom at 66 years old, holding fast to the faith he proclaimed with word and pen, until the end.

For many of us, Paul’s words didn't just become history. They became personal, and part of our experience, both shared and individual. They have literally shaped our lives, mostly in good, even holy ways.

However, some of Paul's words have been used to draw boundaries around women; to restrict our roles; to limit our voices; to suggest that leadership, authority, or visibility belongs somewhere else. Even if not said harshly, it still landed that way, leaving the question hanging in the air: Did Paul intend this?

There’s a beautiful side to his story that doesn’t always get equal airtime. In his letters, women appear repeatedly. He names, trusts, and affirms them, rather than hiding or dismissing them.

There’s Phoebe—described as a deacon, entrusted with delivering Paul’s letter to the Romans. In a time when delivering a letter often meant explaining and representing its contents, that’s no minor detail.

There’s Priscilla—teaching alongside her husband, Aquila, even helping correct the theology of Apollos, a respected male apostle. Priscilla is not hiding behind the scenes but is present and engaged, sometimes even named first, underlining her prominence.

And let’s not forget Junia—described as outstanding among the apostles. She is not the token wife on her husband’s arm, next to leadership but not a part of it. Paul recognized her within it.

Paul's portraiture is multi-layered. His actions don't look to be those of a leader systematically pushing women aside. Paul is someone who worked with them and included them in ways that were radical. Still, the tension remains. Some of his words feel sharp and confining, raising questions that are hard to ignore.

When we look into these layers, we find someone navigating complex cultures, new communities, and a transformative movement unfolding in real time. Is it possible that his letters weren't written as rulebooks, but as instructions to specific communities, facing specific challenges, in specific cultural moments? If we read them within that context, I believe we will be more likely to hear the heart of each matter, and discern the direction the churches were moving into under his leadership. But how we approach these letters is something we each need to decide: rulebook or game-in-motion? And was its author another lawmaker, like Moses, or was he a coach, running the plays?

Can I suggest the question should shift from, Was Paul for or against women? to What was God establishing through him? If God could take a man who once dragged women out of their homes and transform him into someone who worked alongside them, trusted them with responsibility, and named them as leaders…maybe his story is bigger than previously thought?

Let’s dig in to these layers, and discover what God was doing for women through the Apostle Paul. Until next Friday at five...