Thoughts on Vocation

Growing up a non-denominational, evangelical, Restoration Movement Protestant, one thing that I had asked me again and again is: What does God want you to do with your life? This was frequently, though not always, used as a device for encouraging young men such as myself to give serious thought to working in missions or local church ministry. Of course, once one decided “Why yes, I do believe I should become a pastor” there followed the next obligatory item: which Bible college one would attend to train for such a vocation.

For myself, particularly in high school, that question of vocation dogged me relentlessly. And that is probably why, having read Elisabeth Elliot’s Through Gates of Splendor in the spring of my senior year, and having no clue what sort of work I might be otherwise interested in, but most importantly, looking for a way to dedicate myself wholly to Christ, I decided I would become a missionary, and decided to go to Ozark Christian College.

The problem is, once one has taken on such a paradigm, it will not let you rest. Once you accept the premise, life becomes a painstaking “laying out the fleece” and reading the providential “signs” so as not to miss “what God wants you to do with you life.”

So, even while in Bible college, I continuously doubted myself: Is this really what God wants me to do with my life?

I never did “go to the mission field,” indeed, never have once done short-term missions. A friend of mine, on our own, during our sophomore year, did spend a couple of months, once a week, doing door-to-door cold-call “evangelism.” But if anything that experience taught me the notion of a vocation to missions was primarily a romantic fantasy fueled by Jim Elliot’s life.

So, I tried on various other forms of ministry, and eventually served as a youth minister, campus minister, and finally as a pastor of a local church. But by the time I arrived at what was to be my last stint as a minister, I was already weary of the whole paradigm. It’s exhausting to continually search out “what God wants you to do with your life.”

Unfortunately, that last ministry was at a congregation that had been known for roughing up their ministers, and Anna and I were no exception to the trend. Furthermore, I had no patience for the shenanigans, so, after talking to a couple of my mentors, I resigned. From the pulpit. At the end of that Sunday’s worship service. Probably not the most tactful way to do it, but I was only twenty-nine–and heck who am I kidding, I can get a bit feisty when I’m worked up.

Now, by this point, you’d think that I’d have learned this whole “what does God want you to do with your life” paradigm just was unworkable, was fraught with a deep foundation in one’s own unconscious desires and foibles. But no, I didn’t. So, when I entered the Episcopal Church, I took the paradigm with me.

Unfortunately, it just led me down the same paths. The priest who sponsored me on my confirmation, one day, several months later, asked me if I’d ever considered becoming an Episcopal priest. I told him no. He said, “Well, you were a minister in one group of churches . . .” And I replied, “But that was for that group of churches.” To which he rejoindered, “Do you think a vocation to ministry is quite that specific? Wouldn’t it make sense that if you had been called to the ministry, that it wouldn’t be just for one group?”

Long story short: I eventually entered the formal discernment process to look into becoming an Episcopal priest. Which led me to seminary here. Which led me out of the Episcopal Church and into Orthodoxy.

When I hit the Orthodox Church, I was just flat worn out with trying to figure out “what God wanted me to do with my life.” I began to settle down. I worked on my academic program. I tried to be a better husband. I became a father. There were far too many more important things than to indulge the narcissistic quest for “what God wanted me to do with my life.”

Along the way, I discovered what it is that God wants me to do. Thankfully it’s pretty basic, and something a bone-headed, self-centered doofus like myself can figure out. Love God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength. Love my neighbor as myself. Love my wife as Christ loves the Church and gave himself up for her. Love my daughters and not embitter them.

Pretty simple stuff. The Orthodox way of life puts it even more simply: to struggle daily for the salvation of myself and my household. That’s my vocation. If there’s anything else more particular than that that God wants me to do, I suppose I’ll figure it out. The nice thing, now, however, is that it won’t be up to me to “read the signs.” The Church will take care of that for me. I’ll still have the freedom to determine my response, of course. And if I choose not to pursue anything more specific than being a good Christian, husband and father, I somehow don’t think that God will be displeased.

Work out your salvation with fear and trembling where you’re at. Don’t go looking for anything more than that. Stay put. And struggle. That’s our vocation.