My Wonderings

Our understandings of vocation as individual and corporate response to and expression of relationship with the living God move beyond a matter of compulsive obedience to superior order or an acquiescence to preordained determinism. As in any creative partnership, communication is central to the relationship, and it is vital to vocation and discernment. Commitment to mutuality in relationship entails commitment to a conversational imperative, a free, open disclosure of self to the other, without which intimacy cannot be sustained.

When I was growing up, children who tried to have a conversation with adults were often accused of back talk. Children had conversations with other children; those of equal status. Necessarily, if it was considered rude to talk back to adults, it would have been blasphemous to talk back to God in conversation. When I came of age to have a mature relationship with God, I was heavily influenced by evangelical and fundamental movements that emphasized prayer as what one did to try to understand God’s will for one’s life; for understanding the preordained determinism. My vocational call, then, was interpreted under these filters. I didn’t approach the discernment as a conversation, as a place where my will was valid, respected or relevant. Little wonder, I came to resent God and my vocation when the circumstances surrounding both became painful and difficult.

This conversational imperative is in lively evidence in the stories and lives of Moses and the prophets, of Jesus and Paul. In theirs and countless stories related in the scriptures, in Hebrew midrash and Christian patristic writing, in the witnesses of saints, in sermons and songs ancient and modern we experience this lively, living conversation among partners intimately caught up in and bound to committed relationship. . . .

God and I have been in a lively, living conversation for a while now. Ironically, it would be fair to describe my tone and attitude in this conversation as back talk, even insolent. But I suppose that is a necessary corrective to my earlier compulsive obedience. During this time away from the church, there was never much doubt in my mind that my faith was alive and well; even though, to many, it appeared lost or dead. My spiritual friends who were well versed in the stormy faith journeys of the patriarchs and saints were less concerned for my spiritual welfare.

Jesus was at pains to insist that he neither wanted nor had followers, but friends. “I have called you friends,” he explains to his disciples, “because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father” (John 15:15). Those who sought to learn from him would not copy his attitudes and behaviors, but would undertake the more difficult business of plumbing their own depths, exploring and embracing their own selves, and shouldering full responsibility for their very being. Or, as he famously expressed it, they would take up their own cross—a cross that was distinct from his.

This was the paragraph that made me stop and pause. As I read it, I had an “ah-hah” moment. Is that what these last five years have been about? Is this a plausible meaning for the aridity I have experienced in the sanctuary lately and finding connectedness and understanding only on the therapeutic couch? Is this why finding sobriety through Alcoholics Anonymous felt wrong for me in spite of the profound respect I have for the program? Is this why I needed to find sobriety solely based on my own will and responsibility for my behavior — to declare that I have power over choosing alcohol or not? Is my greatest spiritual struggle not in knowing God’s embrace but in coming to embrace myself?

This learning process, this discipleship, is dynamic and subject to constant variation, consistent with any relationship between and among living beings. . . . The process of daily, constant learning about self and one’s world is a demanding discipleship and the central activity of discernment. Understood this way, we see that any so-called discipleship that obscures or escapes such learning is not worthy of the name; it is just evasion, denial, busyness, and distraction, and ultimately, destructive dishonesty. True discipleship not only dirties the hands, it breaks the heart, opens the mind, and stretches the nerves, as all good learning does. Yet, paradoxically, it is this very dangerous conversation that constitutes the core of discipleship and the intimate heart of relationship with God.

From Transforming Vocation by Sam Portaro, a volume in the series Transformations: The Episcopal Church of the 21st Century, edited by James Lemler. Copyright © 2008. Used by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated, New York, NY. www.churchpublishing.org

Sarah Bennett is an Episcopal priest in the Diocese of Texas. She is an avid evangelist of social media and honest, authentic conversations of the spiritual journey.  I’m an Episcopal priest in Austin, TX. I am working to develop a new ministry strategy that deepens community bonds, stimulates theological conversations, and reaches out to others through social networking. I have been energized by Clay Shirky’s book, Here Comes Everybody, and am fascinated by the power, good and bad, of novel collaborative efforts now made possible by the internet. Read more from this author