A Sermon on Calling

Even though I studiously take notes on most sermons, I’m honestly not that good at revisiting them, and I want to make sure I remember parts of today’s—possibly they’ll be useful for someone else, too.

Our guest preacher’s text was 1 Corinthians 7:17-24, and he taught about work and calling. I would really encourage you to listen to the sermon itself, once it is posted, rather than hearing it filtered through me. However, here were some of the major points, as I heard them:

• God calls us first to Himself and secondly to particular places and roles. (See, e.g., Romans 1:6, “called to belong to Jesus Christ.”) And we all have multiple callings in our lives; "calling" is not reducible to our employment.


• The meaning of our work is often hidden from us. Not being able to see the significance of our work can drive us to despair. But God sees it, and He knows why He puts us in a particular place of service. It’s our job to strive to be faithful in that place.


• We struggle with this because we get stuck in a place we don’t like or that doesn’t feel quite right and are tempted to think, “If I could just escape, then I’d be happy.” But as v. 17 shows, there is in Scripture a bias toward staying in the place where God has placed you.


• This is not fatalistic; it does not mean, for instance, that if you are in a bad or unhealthy situation, it wouldn’t be right for you to look for opportunities to get out of it. Like anything, situations like this call for much wisdom and discernment. (An example might be my husband’s decision last year to change careers rather than trying to salvage a career in academia/ministry.)


• However, it does mean that you aren’t always looking for “the next thing” or for advancement or change for its own sake. This ties into a challenge many of us experience, where Christian and secular ideas about calling are banging around in our heads, to the point that what we’re espousing is really a secular idea baptized: namely, that “my work should be fulfilling.” We are prone to exaggerate the range of options we have and to act like there’s a perfect situation out there for us, if only we could find it, or set ourselves up for it in just the right way. (And, realistically, it’s a relatively privileged few who have this kind of flexibility open to them, much less the ability to take advantage of it.) Biblically speaking, though, we’re called instead to serve God based on the abilities He has given us.


• So, in other words, try not to think of life as a series of choices; ask yourself instead, “How can I find myself within the web of relationships and circumstances in which God has placed me?” Instead of, “What do you want to do?” or “What will make me happy?”, ask “Where has God put me?” Trust Him with the gifts, experiences, opportunities, and relationships He’s given you, and don’t worry about the tangible results, which are not up to you and not even, necessarily, the point.

[To be clear, the rest are my own extrapolations/reflections.]

One thing I like about this is that it’s affirming of the goodness of ordinary pursuits. I know I’ve heard a lot of messages, whether explicit or implicit, trying to stir up Christians to make a big impact in the world for Jesus; but I’ve wondered lately how much this might be shaped by worldly thinking, or, dare I say it, a “theologian of glory” mindset. It presumes a lot, both about the uniqueness of our gifts and about God’s intentions in using them. It certainly seems to rest on me knowing what I’m doing, which is a potentially crushing thought—because what if I miss that one thing I’m apparently uniquely equipped to do? And who is to say that the more obviously visible impacts are the most important or most pleasing to God?

I also think this is an especially challenging word to my generation. I’m probably not alone in having grown up imbibing the message that I have a unique calling and a very specific niche I’m called to carve out, and not only that, I can expect to be "fulfilled" in the pursuit of my passion. Talk about soul-crushing—and how discouraging to reach a point where you’ve followed all the “right” steps and discover that you’ve “failed” because you just don’t love it enough! Again, how much of this is a function of privilege, of the illusion that our choices are unlimited and that we really can be anything we want to be? I know for a fact this isn’t how Christians have thought about vocation and calling for the vast majority of history; and I doubt it’s a mindset that would even make sense to most Christians in the broader world.

Looking at calling this way can be liberating when the purpose and impact of my work is not transparent to me and might never be in this life. It lifts the burden of needing to have things figured out, and to be constantly in pursuit of the next goal instead of learning contentment here and now—which, let’s face it, is a hard enough task.

It’s not easy to figure out how this translates into specific circumstances, or to unlearn a lifetime’s worth of false messages about one’s purpose and value, but, as Kevin put it, it’s about gradually habituating oneself to a different (biblical) way of thinking.

Things I've reflected on this summer, or ambition and discipleship (again)

Yesterday the Timehop app on my iPhone reminded me that I had published this blog post exactly three years ago. I almost didn't read it again, but when I did, I had to smile, and maybe tear up a little. It was both humbling and comforting to see how I keep circling back to the same questions, doubts, and struggles -- and how, having survived four years of graduate school, my overall longings and goals haven't altered much from what they were in 2011, or 2009.

For much of those four years (especially the past two, as this blog well attests), I've struggled to conform to specific expectations of what the patterns of my academic life should look like. The result was that I've spent most of the past two years feeling like a complete failure, and doubting the wisdom of pressing on with a task for which I could muster so little enthusiasm. I felt so much more useful, thus happier, when I was working on things I knew had a point -- as counter-intuitive as it might sound, even something as mundane as folding laundry. At least then I was achieving something concrete, contributing to the overall functioning of our home. I'll wait for you to roll your eyes if you need to -- it's just the truth.

What changed this summer is that I decided to just own the fact that, especially now that Kevin has a full-time job, taking care of things like dishes and laundry is a legitimate part of my daily work. That way, instead of using those things to procrastinate from my "real work" (and feeling half guilty and resentful all the while), I was finding ways to fit them into the natural pattern of my days. Acknowledging the existence of complementary callings -- academics and taking care of things at home (which is a privilege!) -- has helped me move from a rebellious attitude to a more contented and fulfilled one. Even if it means that my routine looks much different from that of most of my grad student peers, it's what finally seems to be working.

Again, it might sound backwards, but it's helping me be more productive, too. I miss the days when I could sit still and concentrate on studies for hours at a time, but that's just not where I am anymore (and why in the world would I expect the same study methods that worked for me at 15 to work at 31?!). I focus better on my writing when there are breaks throughout my day to focus wholeheartedly on very different activities. And, if I'm being honest, this approach better reflects the relative importance of academics at this stage of my life. It just can't have the same prominence in my daily life that it had when I was 23 and single, and that's okay. The dissertation will still get done.

So it's great that I'm finally realizing a perspective and working-from-home rhythm that are effective for me. But are you asking yourself what all this means for my long-term fitness for academia?  Because I sure am. And I don't have an easy answer right now. I think, for a long time, I couldn't countenance the possibility of giving up a traditional academic career, because it would mean that all my years of training, all that people had invested in me, had gone to waste. Kevin's new job has freed me up to think differently about that. I don't think for a moment that Kevin's historical training was a waste of time -- anyone who's acquainted with him knows that "historian" will always be a big part of who he is -- or that his new career in IT is any less worthy than a career in seminary teaching and ministry might have been. So why would I feel that there's shame in my not pursuing work as a professor (if indeed I decide not to)?  I guess there's still a lingering sense that, somehow, theologically-oriented "callings" are more special somehow, and that I need a formal title and position to justify the past decade of my life. But I don't think any of that is really logical, much less biblical.

There might also be guilt about the fact that we relocated to St. Louis so that I could have a shot at an academic career, so if I jettison that at this point, I'm afraid I'll be letting "everyone" down. But I don't think that's a right perspective, either. I am beginning to doubt that it's God's. At any rate, I don't think He planted us here for the sake of prioritizing one person's career over the other's (though I would honestly be more than thrilled if Kevin's career ends up being the bigger takeaway from our time here). Early on, I remember praying that whatever happened with our careers, we would be able to build a life in St. Louis, and that it could be home for us. I still pray for that -- and it seems to me that, for all the uncertainties remaining, the Lord has clearly been answering that prayer.

I remind myself, too, that maybe it isn't my business what God's intentions are, anyway! It's so easy to get myself tied up in knots over questions of vocation and identity, but that's a burden I've taken on myself, not something He has asked of me. It's my job to love Him and obey, one step at a time. Many times that's the hardest calling to hang onto, but it's the only one that promises peace.

Book Review: Contentment, Prosperity, and God's Glory by Jeremiah Burroughs

Contentment, Prosperity, and God's Glory (Puritan Treasures for Today), by Jeremiah Burroughs; edited by Phillip L. Simpson
Reformation Heritage Books (2013); 119 pp.
Cross Focused Reviews Blog Tour

If you know me personally and/or academically, you can probably guess how excited I was to have the chance to review an edition of a work by Jeremiah Burroughs (1600–1646), a Puritan Congregationalist minister and Westminster divine. I have scarcely waded into the vast body of Puritan literature so far, but I have enjoyed everything I have had the opportunity to read from this era. About two years ago I read Burrough's lovely (and better-known) work, The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment, so when I saw that the contents of Contentment, Prosperity, and God's Glory had been intended as an appendix to the former book, I was eager for more.

This book is part of Reformation Heritage Books' "Puritan Treasures for Today" series, which is meant to remove barriers to modern readers by smoothing out difficult seventeenth-century language and presenting works in a less intimidating (shorter!) format. After reading this book, I think the editors are onto something great. First, I didn't feel that the "updating" of the language was at all clunky or distracting; it was readable and still felt true to the style of other (decidedly not updated!) Puritan works I've read. Second, though this isn't the type of thing I would usually dwell on, the book is quite pretty! The paperback is attractively designed and the perfect size to stick in my bag to read at spare moments.

I don't want to belabor the details of this book, because I think the best way to entice you to read it is to offer a sampling of rich quotations. But I'll preface that by noting that Burroughs' theme is a simple one: based on Paul's statement in Philippians 4:12, he wants his readers to "learn how to be full." While he wants Christians to know how to suffer affliction faithfully, Burroughs' concern here is the difficult, in some ways more subtle, calling of stewarding abundance with a contented heart. It's also important to note that, while he refers to those who administer vast estates and own prosperous businesses, he classifies as "full" anyone whose daily needs are amply supplied.

• "A man knows how to be full when he can keep under his command everything he enjoys, and he can retain command over his own spirit in what he enjoys. Therefore, he is not a slave to what he has, but he makes what he has a slave to himself." (21)
• "You do not know how to abound when you cannot take into account the good of mercy when you consider an affliction. Even when God afflicts you in something, He still gives you an abundance of occasions to bless Him and praise Him. But when you can bless God for all mercies and be humbled for all afflictions at the same time, then you are a man who knows how to abound." (32)
• "Fullness will . . . feed self-love to the extreme. When a man perceives himself to be self-sufficient, he sees no need for God or Christ or mercy or the Word and its promises. [. . .] This is the reason the Word rarely ever does any good to those who are full." (43)
• "A godly man learns how to be full by regularly surrendering up his estate, his comforts, and his possessions to God . . . This is a way that a natural man understands little of--to know how to enjoy his comforts by surrendering them up--yet that is the way of a gracious heart. [. . .] A man who can just as easily resign everything up to God as he can receive anything from God . . . is the only man who is blessed in what he enjoys in this world." (77)
• "God has set this time of your life as the time to provide for eternity . . . This would make you cautious of spending so much time in the use and enjoyment of the things of this world if they hinder you in the least in fulfilling the great work for which you live: the advancement of the gospel and your own spiritual good. Learning this lesson would move you to use all that you own, to the utmost of your ability, for these great purposes. In doing this, you will learn how to truly abound." (100–101)

If you have never read Puritan writings before, don't be intimidated by the thought of a book that's going on 400 years old. I think you'll find this book to be as timely, inviting, yet challenging as I did.