On Vocation, Gifts, and Calling: Part 1

Recently I've been thinking a lot about vocation, the deepest invitation to participate in God's mission in the world in meaningful and faithful ways.

The pursuit of vocational clarity has actually been lifelong. From the first inklings of a call to ministry while portraying the prodigal son in a fourth grade musical through a change in college major to more recent retooling for nonprofit and nursing home administration, I've sought to align my employment with God's blessing of who I am (vocation). 

Vocation still remains somewhat elusive, and I was compelled to explore the question further during the recent five year ordination renewal process in our denomination. Ordination in our tradition is understood as vocation tied to employment; to be ordained one must be personally called by God, affirmed by the church, and have a functional position through which to live out that call.

For some ministers the requirement to link vocation with employment can prove distressing. At this point in my life, my call to ministry is inherent in my work, but not explicitly linked to ordination. As a development and fundraising officer in a Christian retirement community, my work is about raising money. As a minister, that same work is about tending people's soul journey. It always is. 

The need to once again affirm my calling to ministry, show my continuing education, demonstrate vocation linked to employment, and renew the covenants which I originally made with the church over 27 years ago might have seemed like a no-brainer to many. In fact, many pastors and ministers treat the renewal process as just one more hoop to jump through in order to maintain their status. I know, because in the past I have, too.

This renewal period, however, led to harder discernment on my part. What is my vocation? How is God calling me to be of use in this world? What are the deeper passions of my life? Where might I best live out my faith, and under what circumstances?

In addition to those somewhat esoteric questions, I also was confronted with some more specific, contextual dilemmas. Is the Church of the Brethren as it's currently focused a tradition that I can continue to align with? Given my experiences in and treatment by leadership in the church, is this a body that I can safely continue to be accountable to? Have I failed God and the church in ways which would preclude the continuation of my leadership?

These questions, coupled with ongoing efforts to expand my skill set and employability, compelled me to reflect intensely on the ordination review process. The unsettledness in my spirit needed to be addressed before responding to the rote inquiries of the renewal process. It would have been easier to simply check the boxes, but it wouldn't have been faithful.

After a long period of procrastination and discernment, I did complete the required documents. I also included an unsolicited letter detailing some of my wrestling. Over the next few blog posts, I will share the essence of that letter and further explore questions of vocation, gifts, and calling. 

Faith for me is about surrender and alignment. I surrender to the will of God and seek, to the best of my ability, to align my life with that will. Sometimes I fail completely, or fall short in part. Sometimes those shortcomings are a result of sin. Sometimes those shortcomings are a lack of adequate discernment. Sometimes those shortcomings are simply the hidden mysteries of God, into which I move even without absolute clarity, so not shortcomings as much as faithful stumbles. 

In the end, however, I constantly strive to know the call of God on my life, to recognize and cultivate the gifts God has blessed me with, and to pursue meaningful activities of work and ministry. Whether I can see clearly or not, God remains constant and clear. And so God gives me the faith, courage, and hope to carry on.

Where love is

Our son Ben is 21. He is a joy-filled, loving, social young man. His heart is as big as an ocean. He wants to help people. He wants to serve.

For the last two years he has been looking forward to a week-long volunteer workcamp. In 2015 he registered to attend, but the camp was cancelled due to low enrollment. This year he and I and my dad spent a week at Camp Mardela in Maryland, working alongside other participants in this intergenerational activity to get the camp ready for its summer ministry to kids.

Three generations working together

Ben was in his glory. He helped us split wood.

Ben and his grandpa!

He raked leaves.

Ben loves to rake leaves!

He helped clear trails, paint buildings, and deep clean the kitchen. He participated in food preparation and cleanup. He prayed for a meal and read scripture for devotions one evening.

And Ben did what he does best: he made new friends. Ben is more than just outgoing. He is socially uninhibited, a trait consistent with his genetic makeup known as Williams Syndrome.

Ben also got tired and somewhat ornery. By Friday afternoon, the fifth full day of the camp, his self-control was out the window, and my relatively small attempt at setting healthy limits and redirecting Ben quickly devolved into an angry tirade by our usually joy-filled Ben.

Ben's outbursts are not unprecedented. Because the area affected by his genetic deletion typically provides self-regulation, he doesn't have all the tools he needs to use good judgement, make logical decisions, and connect behavior to consequences, especially future outcomes. When he encounters such a situation, sometimes his frustration boils over, and it's not pretty. While not frequent, such violent scenes repeat with periodic regularity.

When his anger peaks, Ben reveals a very colorful and hurtful vocabulary, no doubt picked up in high school hallways. He becomes physically aggressive, kicking, punching, scratching, and throwing anything he can get his hands on. He is strong and persistent. These are scary moments.

As Ben's parent, these tirades can be extremely disconcerting and threatening. The amount of energy required to stick with Ben through one of these instances is immense. On the last day of a physically strenuous workcamp, my energy was already depleted. Since we were at a camp, my strategy to deal with Ben's rising anger was to get him outside and move safely away from him until he could escalate to his breaking point and ultimately return to what typically follows - a contrite, compassionate young man.

There were six other youth ages 13-17 attending the workcamp, five from one youth group and the youngest from another church. At the beginning of the week I had briefly introduced them to Ben's tendencies and spoke about Williams Syndrome. They were friendly and welcoming to Ben, and Ben has never met a human being he didn't want to be friends with!

I was unprepared, however, for the level of maturity and caring from these young people. I know good kids; my wife and I have a teenage son and daughter in addition to Ben. But I also know that kids can be unpredictable. These kids were both those things: good and unpredictable.

As Ben sat alone at a picnic table working through his anger, first one, then another, and then finally the whole group of youth gathered around him and "loved on" him.

I was overcome by tears. These amazing youth surrounded Ben with patient support and caring. In those ten or so beautiful minutes, they demonstrated everything anyone ever needs to know about Christ-like love and compassion. Their simple act of friendship lifted Ben, and broke me.

This is what welcome looks like. This is inclusion. These are simple acts of kindness done toward the least of these. This moment is a human triumph. Here there are no "special needs," only a friend in need.

Thanks, kids, for relieving a weary dad, and for being a friend to Ben! Thanks for sharing the love.

Maybe the rest of us can go and do likewise.