What God Wants For Your Life

Our Gordon Setter, Hilda, got out of her kennel last night. We evidently failed to secure the latch and she stood downstairs in the middle of the room barking. The bark wasn’t a confident, ferocious bark, it was a frightened, startled bark — the kind of bark that says, “I’m out, I’m not supposed to be out, it’s dark, and my people aren’t out here with me. Help!”

Freedom can be a scary thing.

To one degree or another, I think we all find it that way and we run from it. We allow other people to make decisions for us that only we can really make. We blame others for the decisions we make. We avoid making decisions (even though to not make a decision is to make one). And even when we do exercise our freedom we sometimes assign the responsibility for it to God, luck, or blind fate.

Abraham Maslow, the great Jewish psychologist, called it “the Jonah syndrome.” Late in life, he wrote, “We fear our highest possibility (as well as our lowest ones). We are generally afraid to become that we can glimpse in our most perfect moments….We enjoy and even thrill to the godlike possibilities we see in ourselves in such peak moments. And yet we simultaneously shiver with weakness, awe and fear before the very same possibilities.” I think he is right. I think Hilda is right.

But freedom is one of God’s great gifts to us. So why should it be scary?

Some thoughts about that tomorrow. For now, this question: Where and how do I run from the freedom God has given me?

Much of what we see or expect in life is shaped in the first place by our horizons.

I’ve lived much of my life in the northeast. When I moved to Texas I was struck by the change in horizons. There is a lot of sky out here. Neither the terrain, nor the trees do as much to limit the horizon as they do in Pennsylvania or Washington. Changes in the weather are visible from a long way off.

The differences have less to do with what is actually there in the way of sky and more to do with where you stand.

The same could be said of the spiritual life. What we can see in the way of potential for our relationship with God is shaped not by what God is willing to give us, but by the place where we stand. If the horizons of our relationship with God are limited by guilt, anger, or resentment, then we will see less, expect less, and believe that less is possible.

One of the most striking summaries of the Christian message is this:

“God loves you more than you love yourself and you are meant for glory.” What a difference in horizons when you stand there. You can see so much more of what God wants for your life.

Mitchell Sviridoff died at the age of 81. In over three decades, Sviridoff worked in the area of social policy and philanthropy. He worked on strategies for lifting people out of poverty and rebuilding neighborhoods. According to an obituary in The New York Times, in 1985 at a party held to celebrate his life’s work he recited these lines from a poem from William Butler Yeats:

God guard from those thoughts
Men think in the mind alone.
He that sings a lasting song
Thinks in a marrow bone.

Asked why he quoted Yeats, Sviridoff responded: “That is the way I function. I do things that do not seem logical at the beginning and sometimes fail. But when they succeed, they tend to be lasting songs.”

Have you found your song? That one thing you are, no matter what you are doing. It is perverse to think that the one thing God wants is what you are not. Our lives are God’s gift to the world in the making.

One of the most helpful works of a general nature on the subject of transitions is the work of David Bridges — not a bad name for someone writing about transition. In it Bridges argues that those who navigate transition take one of two approaches to the challenges that they face. Some are disillusioned, others are disenchanted.

Bridges is not a theologian and he does not take a theological approach to his subject, he argues that in the transitions in life we experience we confront the difference between our expectations and the nature of reality. To one degree or another, he argues, we are all “enchanted.” That is, we have magical or unrealistic notions of what our jobs and relationships — or the future in genral — can hold for us.

The disillusioned, he notes, are people who never realistically examine this difference to determine the extent to which this enchantment has shaped their expectations. So, when they confront the difference, they are “disillusioned” by it; and immediately begin looking for a new experience that will match their expectations. These, are the people who, Bridges argues, go through multiple relationships and jobs, looking for the optimal experience and, never quite have it. Others are always to blame, they are forever the victims.

By contrast, he notes, those who are mature go through a process of “disenchantment.” The disenchanted experience the same dissonance that the disillusioned experience, but before initiating change, they also confront the degree to which their expectations are shaped by magical and unrealistic assumptions. Having taken that difference into account, the disenchanted then weigh the wisdom of making further changes. As a result, they are able to make realistic changes, hold themselves and others accountable, and avoid the perils of a life dominated by unrealistic desires and the inevitable disappointment that shadows it.

One could argue, I think, that a moment’s reflection would reveal that Bridges’ analysis, as psychologically astute as it is, might benefit further still from theological reflection. What is at stake here, I believe, is not just our ability to confront the distortions in our perceptions and expectations — or the ability to recognize the way in which our life experiences can plunge us into transitions that are calculated to mask the greater inward, psychological transition needed. What is at stake is, at a fundamental level, is our ability to confront the deeper transition that is repentance.

Spiritually, the disillusioned are not simply dogged by the dissonance between their expectations and their experiences — they are dogged by the spiritual presumption that their views are the measure of the way in which the world around them should perform and they pridefully resist the need to examine that — idolatrous — presumption.

This is not to suggest that the spiritually mature preacher blithely accepts the status quo as somehow ordained and appropriate. To do that is to lapse back into a baptized fatalism and to cut the engine of spiritual and moral critique. But it is to suggest that until we take ourselves out of the equation in ways that are presumptuous, we privilege our own views with a preeminence that only God’s perspective rightly deserves.

I once participated in a mentoring program in which the rector of a large, complex parish graciously took the time to discuss the challenges he faced where he was ministering. Looking back on the demands that the transition had brought his way, he observed, “You know, like my peers who now serve as bishops, going in I was convinced that I could remain a priest and do this job, but that isn’t possible.”

At the time I remember thinking I was not quite sure what shocked me most — the fact that he could say something like that in public, that he took obvious pride in having reached an impasse of that kind, or that he thought it was a helpful observation to make in front of younger priests. But, of course, the truly stunning dimension of his remarks was the absence of awareness — awareness of the peril that anyone is in, no matter how complex the transition he or she faces, in which she makes a deal with the devil, trading his vocation as a bearer of sacramental presence for the mantle of CEO.

That lack of awareness is, of course, perennial among clergy. Years ago I sat between two pastors who were twenty years my senior, anxious to get some insight into the way in which they balancing the challenge of listening for God’s guidance in pursuing their vocation, while navigating the exigencies of church communities that had a seemingly tin ear for such considerations. Both men — who presented on the face of it as satisfied practitioners of their vocation, spilled over with anger at the ways in which they had felt thwarted, ignored, and abused by the church. And, yet, there they were.

Not all of the demands that institutions and places of employment make upon us should be embraced. Living into our vocation — as a calling from God to be a particular person — is deepened and refined in navigating the changes are forced upon us, the ones we choose, and those we refuse to make. To name those choices — and the places where there are none we can make —- is to live in full awareness of their significance.

Welcome and unwelcome, we live more fully in God’s presence when we live aware.

Years ago while cutting the grass, my three year old daughter shouted out to me while standing on the porch. “Look, Daddy, bug, bug!” The urgency in her voice prompted me to stop what I was doing and run to her aid. But before I could get very far at all, she put her foot down hard and announced, “Dead bug!”

Parenting can be like the cowboy in the old western who is asked to boil water because someone is having a baby. It isn’t that you need boiling water to deliver the baby, but the cowboy needs to have something to do while the baby comes.

As important as nurture can be and is, there are times when what our children most need is our support and presence. They will do the rest.

A friend of mine observes in the introduction to one of his books, “Growing up it was never my ambition to be married to a priest.” I can understand the sentiment.

But I am — and it turns out that it has wonderful benefits. Not the least of which is the fact that when she preaches I can count on hearing a good sermon. That’s not a foregone conclusion otherwise!

Today she was celebrating Eucharist for a small provincial gathering of lay women and I was invited to join them. Natalie talked about the beatitudes and, in particular, the beatitude that declares, “Blessed are the merciful…”

The merciful, she noted, are lumped together with the “meek” who — though the Greek means “obedient” — are labeled “milk toast” by most people who read an English translation. The merciful are — like them — willing to forgive anything, spiritual door mats — well, milk toast.

In fact, the church has always understood acts of mercy very differently. There are two kinds, corporal and spiritual.

Corporal acts of mercy include:

Feed the Hungry
Give Drink to the Thirsty
Clothe the Naked
Shelter the Homeless
Visit the Sick
Visit the Imprisoned
Bury the Dead

Spiritual acts of mercy are:

Instruct the ignorant
Counsel the doubtful
Admonish sinners
Bear wrongs patiently
Forgive offences willingly
Comfort the afflicted

The stories she told were of two women who devote themselves to just such acts of mercy. One, who in Canada, acted as power of attorney and guardian to disabled people who were without relatives to safe guard their interests and provide for their the own care. The other a woman who does volunteer work teaching dancing in a prison.

Pretty impressive and not the work of milk toast. She asked them, “What act of mercy can you perform?”

It’s a question worth pondering….from a fabulous preacher.

Achievement, too, figures prominently in American adult life. It may, in fact, be the quintessential American life narrative.

But then, again, that may be my own demon. As a first child — the child who grew up with the motto, “second is the first loser” — I’ve always struggled to balance life’s true priorities with the drive to achieve. It’s bad enough that my brother has declared his house a “no Scrabble zone;” my father quit playing chess with me; and I’ve had racquetball opponents complain, “I thought you were a nice guy.”

The “arc of ambition” (the title of a book) is not just a phrase used to describe our work-world, but is now used to describe the character of life itself.

The problem, of course, is there is always someone stronger, smarter, faster, or just younger. A life shaped exclusively by achievement is bound to disappoint.

So, what is a healthy organizing center for a life narrative? At the risk of sounding trite — love. Fundamental to the character of God and fundamental to the fabric of life is the longing for relationship. And the love of God does not exclude other passions, it orders them and gives balance.

Acquisition, exchange, and achievement are dimensions of life that are natural and, in the right balance, can enrich life. But is love and the relationships that it nurtures, that gives life meaning and depth. Find time to nurture it today.

Life as exchange is not entirely distinguishable from life as acquisition, but it has it’s own rhythm and energy. We trade up, we swap, we bargain.

Having lived in the Middle East where bartering dominates, I could be convinced that there are cultures in the world that are dominated by the habit of exchange.

Just as owning things is indispensable and unavoidable, trading up and swapping is as well. Some of life’s exchanges are, in fact, imbedded in the life experience itself. If we are fortunate, we trade youth for experience — strength for wisdom (one can hope!).

But we can also force exchanges or rely on them in unhealthy ways as a means of resolving life’s challenges.

The forced exchanges I have in mind are, for example, the way in which we drive our children to “grow up.” I am not thinking here of the necessary process of maturation. I have in mind the process of “Growing up too fast,” in which our children are introduced to the demands of adult life long before they are spiritually, emotionally, or intellectually prepared for them. The sexualization of childhood is a good example.

The unhealthy habit of exchange that I have in mind is the way in which we confuse changes in geography or relationships with solutions to our problems. To be sure, we can find ourselves in untenable jobs and destructive relationships. But some people resort to an endless cycle of exchange, avoiding the tough challenges of growth and maturation.

It is worth asking ourselves whether our life narrative is dominated or shaped by forced or unhealthy patterns of exchange.

What is your life all about? I’m not talking about jobs or families, as important as those can be. What drives the way you live, shapes the choices you make, fills your waking moments, and occupies your dreams?
The individual narratives are each a bit different, but many American stories are shaped by one of three leitmotifs or themes:

• Acquisition

• Exchange

• Achievement

The more prominent one, on display almost everywhere, is the acquisitive vision.

Sometime ago now a colleague of mine went shopping at the grocery and noticed a mother and her small child shopping together. The little girl pushed her own diminutive grocery cart, proudly displaying a flag, announcing “consumer in training.” And in cyberspace the socialization of yet another generation is well under way.

Advertisers talk with regularity about the “lucrative cybertot” market and are quickly developing new methods of gathering information on a generation of children who do not yet get an allowance to spend. Marketers offer free t-shirts and chances on CD players to children in exchange for completing on-line surveys. One children’s web-site called Batman Forever declares that ”Good citizens of the Web, help Commissioner Gordon with the Gotham Census,” using loyalty rather than t-shirts as the ploy.

As if part of some science fiction plot, we are cultivated as customers, consumers, and acquisitive machines destined to feed the economy. General Motors used to remind its workers, we take you from cradle to grave. You grow up in a Chevrolet and you’re buried in a Cadillac. But as we begin to develop market profiles on 4 year olds, even that declaration seems benign by comparison.

Indeed one could argue I suppose, that given the assumptions that govern our economy and the assumptions about one that looks healthy (i.e., one in which people buy and sell a lot, all the time) that we have been co-opted in our own enslavement to the “I am what I own” model of adult existence.

Owning things is not bad in and of itself. Those who argue that it is are typically people who were educated by parents who acquired enough money to pay their tuition bills and/or hold endowed chairs at universities that are paid for by rich folk.

The more important question is this: Is your life narrative all about getting stuff?

Tomorrow…life as exchange.