On Discernment Season

I'll give you a picture of my decision-making process. First, let's get things straight. Here is how I feel in the hands of my God at times like these:

Being a missionary isn't as easy as you thought, eh, Batman?

This month in particular I have faced questions about the future. I don't think I'm alone when I write that every instance I attempt to face a big decision as an emerging adult, I find the inner noise violently thrust upon me. Today, at the grocery store checkout, I could hardly mutter a response to the friendly gentleman next to me in the checkout line; the thoughts are that deafening.

As the questions run amok, as I attempt to reflect on past, present, and future, my body experiences the response. My temples feel the heat of the blood flowing and tension begins creeping up my neck to settle conveniently in my jaws. My shoulders tense and I experience lingering pain from a back injury from a few years ago. This link between our bodies, minds, and spirits is confirmed in others around me. A friend who experienced this often talked about waking up with a sore jaw from all the grinding of her teeth the night before. I finally hear myself ask in these moments (with more than a bit of indignant sarcasm), "Is this what I signed up for? Didn't Jesus promise me I wouldn't be the one weeping and gnashing my teeth in the dark?"

Look at that parable. The above is a favorite expression of Jesus, used to explain the condition of those excluded from the banquet in the kingdom of God. I think the enemy would like to tempt me to make me prove that I am worthy by spending every waking moment trying desperately to avoid the most minor pitfall. In the process, I would push my brothers and sisters over. I would try, then, to be first, and therefore exempt myself from the place at the bridegroom's table. I become the Pharisee.

To linger on the past and dread over the future can be a dreadful experience. Listen to Johnny Cash's version of "Hurt" if you don't believe me. But this process can also reveal the riches of the Father's love for us. We thrust out our hands in hope, even if they quake in uncertainty.  In the meantime, Jesus reminds us that he is there all along, inviting me to the feast which was prepared beforehand for me to freely enjoy.  This is one of the joys that I get to experience in campus ministry: the beauty of conversion. It is often a journey I see alongside the pain of loss, the misunderstanding of family, friends, but also the fiery birth of faith that illuminates corners deep within, so often left untouched. The question "Is it worth the risk?" fades to embrace the moment of love, eternally present here, now. It has nothing to do with speed, only quiet attention. True conversion, true journey towards Christ, what Paul calls the ministry of reconciliation, is a process of unlearning what our culture tells us is okay: speed, distance, and innocence*.

See, our confidence is not measured by results. This is the difficult journey for me as I discern my future, which I always wanted to give for God's glory, but also for my own assurance that I spent my time doing something worthwhile. This is ego, and this is not the gospel promise. Jesus himself didn't accomplish a whole lot during his time on earth. I get to see a little more now that there is no cheating of this process. Jesus calls for transformation, but he calls us to follow him. Indeed, we lose to win. It is a fragile process, and it takes everything I am to keep going. Now, the message becomes real. We need to be questioned, even broken, in order to be transformed*. Thus I can give myself away, and the inner noise dissolves again; I wait for the symphony that accompanies the table of the Lord.

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*Emmanuel Katongole and Chris Rice, Reconciling All Things: A Christian Vision for Justice, Peace, and Healing. InterVarsity Press, 2008.