On Commitment

Ordination ceremony, St. Peter's Basilica, Vatican City.


I've been on staff with InterVarsity for four years, doing a total of four jobs during this relatively short span of time. I've held part time positions throughout the whole time, and have never had a consistent forty hours of work that has directed my focus to one particular community or even campus. Scattered among the responsibilities are seminars, lessons, camps, conferences, and even planning team meetings that reach into the future of our emerging leaders. I've staffed projects that range from six weeks of intensive urban training, to ten months of urban leadership. Along the way I've met colleagues who have bravely faced campus de-recognition, racism, marching in Ferguson, and signing petitions to catch the attention of the most influential folks in our spheres. All of it is an immense privilege.

Here's the thing though. There is a great inconsistency and a growing tension within me because all of this great organizational power, collective wisdom, and brainpower gets channeled towards people who, despite being the future's leaders, are among the flakiest people I've ever met. From my very first experience leading a Bible study in the dorms at Cal Poly I've encountered the very worst excuses as to why not to attend, even lured by the promises of free pizza, cookies, and honest-to-goodness human interaction. As YouTube replaces conversation as the preferred pastime of our college students, I groan over a disconnect from the resources we offer to the time that we squander just getting people in the room.

This tension is evident this week as I track down students over calls and text messages to finalize their participation in one of our most significant opportunities. We get to spend spring break on the beautiful Santa Catalina Island, where InterVarsity owns a camp off the coast of Los Angeles. We spend nearly eight hours a day studying the Gospel of Mark, where students come alive as if they're meeting Jesus for the first time. There's something about the peace of being disconnected from internet, from cell phone coverage, and from the worries of their studies that is profoundly affecting. I've seen people fall in love with this itinerant preacher from Nazareth, who dares to heal, forgive sins, and stare into the depths of what makes us human. I have led students through this experience four times, and this will be my third time leading them through the first half of Mark in particular.

But this week is marred by the realities of working with students. Today, as I tried to enjoy my retreat day, time set aside once a month to care for my own soul amidst the constant demands of this work, I was assaulted by a flurry of text messages by my colleague. Four of our most dependable students decided last minute that they don't want to go to camp. One appeared not even to make the effort to take time off from work. Another complains of feeling the strain of "burnout" despite not altering his own work schedule. How can you recover at work? I asked myself silently. The past few weeks the staff have eagerly prepared the way to allow more students than ever to attend camp. I've called my supporters personally to support the students. Some stayed up late to make pupusas to sell to their friends and families. When a student says no, they say no to all the hard work that we've put into getting them there. They say no to a community that believes in them, that puts financial and prayer resources to work on their behalf. It's sorely difficult trying to convince a prospective donor of our ministry's effectiveness when they treat our work as disposable or secondary.

And here I run into the tension again, for there is always another side. I need to check my pride when I consider where this frustration comes from. Am I merely hurt that they reject my hard work, as if I need the recognition for all that I do? Surely I didn't sign up for this for the attention. The thing is, the more I look at Jesus, the more we learn about the real kind of love that God leaves for us. Hard-wired into our consciousness is an awareness, a desire, even a need for the transcendent, for meaning, and for connection. Quantum mechanics teaches us that even at the subatomic level, matter and energy are intimately relational. Since all of us come from the same building blocks that evolved over the course of thirteen plus billion years, the stars and their fingerprints are left in our DNA. We are not coerced into belief or relationship. The narrative of scripture teaches us that only when we decided we wanted to create our own destiny did this all go wrong. Only in cooperation with God's life do we find our wholeness. It is the well that doesn't run out, as Jesus told the Samaritan woman. More than religious ritual, more than geography or genealogy, it is found in "Spirit and Truth." Our Christian tradition calls this response our worship. Jesus shows us that the core of all reality is love. Paul expands on this in his poem that he inserts into his letter to the Corinthians. Love, it seems, is not coercive, it is not boastful or proud, it is not violent and retributive. I run into this dilemma when I do evangelism on campus. If somebody is genuinely closed to the idea of a loving God, I cannot do anything to convince them otherwise. Only experience can teach them otherwise. Reason cannot melt the hardened heart, as the Pharisees learned when their protests muted the voice of Jesus on the cross. Jesus stands at the door of our existence knocking, calling, and sending us love letters in the form of creation itself. He does not speak from the thunder or lightning, fire or earthquakes, plagues or wars. It is the creative energy in fire, the electric spark of nature, and the energy released by a supernova. It is something to spark wonder in us.

Sin has the effect of turning us in on ourselves. Sure, my students are sinful in their responses to the opportunities provided for them, but ultimately we all say no to God's open hand every day. In my church we say "Lord, have mercy" at the beginning of our worship to recognize that we need His healing before anything else can happen. Even before we partake in the Eucharist, our most intimate way of relating to Jesus, we say "Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed." I need to be reminded of this when I consider the lapses in commitment and frustrations that I run into on campus.

Next year I won't be involved in full time campus ministry directly. I'll still be on staff with InterVarsity, but in a different role working with our long-term urban ministry projects. One reason I'm attracted to the role is that our participants have to commit to a full ten months, taking considerable risks and making sacrifices for the sake of their development and the greater glory of God. Of course, no program is perfect, and this year we've seen our shortfalls. One student had to move out of the house because he couldn't make rent. Another was dismissed because of a relapse into substance abuse and was committed to a recovery center. But the principles remain, and I know that this type of commitment enriches their experience.

If I had my way, I'd include a set of temporary vows to our community. We would be then linked to the great monastic traditions, even though we are not restricted to the enclosure. We would vow to stand by our community, to love our city, and to represent Christ to all that we meet.

I think we've lost the scope of commitment these days. I have a friend who was recently ordained as a priest, taking the traditional vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. He's a normal dude, intelligent, and warm, and embodies the kind of hope for the church that reminds me that such a sacrifice is made in the trust that God will provide all our needs. Can we embody that kind of trust? Can we say yes to Christ even while forsaking what many others would consider a given, even entitled to? Yes, I face many inquiries into my relationship status. I have to say, I'd be thrilled to get married and raise a family. It would be a testament to God's grace on my life as well as a profound act of healing for me considering my own broken history. Yet what if God's call lies in something more radical? We can only wait and see.

Comments

  1. Natalie and I have been having recurring conversations on commitment with our students. Grateful for your perspective, friend.

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