"The man without a purpose is like a ship without a rudder—a waif, a nothing, a no man." --Thomas Carlyle
"You, Lord, give perfect peace to those who keep their purpose firm and put their trust in You." --Isaiah 26:3
I believe that every man's purpose is to know and love God, most evidently through God the Son, Jesus Christ. Along these lines, JH Ranch teaches the G.O.D Purpose: a Heart of Gratitude, a Soul of Obedience, and a Mind of Dependence. And I agree with this; in my 4 summers of involvement with the Ranch, I haven't heard any better acrostic, no better summary to teach about one's God-gifted purpose. I do not argue with the truth of Ranch wisdom, but the reality is that a child of God's purpose is not merely an insightful acrostic or well-phrased summary. It is more than that; infinitely individual as well as ultimately universal. Stating that our purpose is to know and love God is blessedly accurate, but is simplified. One's call, one's purpose, is intimate, personal, and individual; the basic, general, and unshakeable truth of the G.O.D. Purpose is a frame in which the Father builds each masterpiece, the clay on which God breathes His animating breath, the lens through which God focuses an individual beam of light. I think Oswald Chambers says this more vividly than I can: "the call of God can never be stated explicitly; it is implicit. The call of God is like the call of the sea, no one hears it but the one who has the nature of the sea in him. It cannot be stated definitely what the call of God is to, because His call is to be in comradeship with Himself for His own purposes." Like the call of the sea, God's call on a life is specific to that life.
I think most everyone mulls long hours about what his or her purpose is. With my brooding Celtic streak, I've probably done this more than most…too much, in some regards. For to some degree we are not meant to illuminate clearly our purpose through careful introspection, but rather trust that God will reveal it in and through us as we grow closer in our walk with Him. We are meant to follow, not to understand. However, I think God places desires (and abilities) in our hearts for very specific reasons, and discovering their purpose is somewhere between a quest, an adventure, and a lesson.
So what clues are there to the purposes God has crafted for me? What sort of man does He want me to be? I feel that career is only a small part of this, but a good enough place to start. I've never been sold on any career; as a small boy, I wanted to be a zoologist, but only because of my love for animals, not due to any specifics of what a zoologist does. I've been drawn to literature, international relations, history, biology, physics, and considered careers in law, teaching, ministry, missions, writing, and several other potential callings. But the problem is, I don't think I'm made for any clear-cut occupation. I see this by looking at individuals I admire; take CS Lewis for example. He's a professor and a writer, two things I could imagine myself pursuing, and what he does is clearly for the glory of God. Nonetheless…there are things missing from his life that would be felt keenly by my heart. The sailing of Lewis's friend Sheldon Vanauken, for example; weeks and months out on the open waves, with wind a lifeline and a threat. That quasi-nomadic existence, wandering and yet always at home with his soul-mate, bound by no schedule but God's…Lewis's scholarly life would restrict me beyond expression. Steve Irwin—what a perfect avatar of my love for animals. Traveling to places near and distant, teaching while learning, working side by side with his wife—and for a short time, his daughter—and taking seriously the stewardship of Creation. And yet, for all my empathetic appreciation for the natural world, I am not quite a tree-hugger (not to imply Steve Irwin was): though I cannot refute the value of animals and plants alike, I have no desire to ignore the superior value of God's image-bearers and sub-creators. I could not ignore the desperate plights of the poverty-stricken and affluent both; the need for God and human love throughout every land. I could not give my life almost exclusively to animals, and would not seek to. Purpose is never found in career, but it must be mentioned that career should never impede purpose. My purpose is something that takes advantage of the diverse values and affinities God built into my heart; this is of course true for anyone.
There are other individuals whose lives I admire, both living and dead, but I know that the only life I should model myself after is Christ's. And yet, that is mostly on a spiritual, moral, emotional, and relational level: we are not called to all express Christ by fitting into a specific practical mold. Still, following Christ is the key, as always. We discover our purpose by surrendering completely to God, giving up even our desires and hopes for the future, and find that those desires and hopes were only very rough drafts for the fulfilled purpose of one's life. I think that is part of what is meant by: "Whoever tries to keep his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life will preserve it." Still, I think that the desires within our hearts are at least a good hint of what God wants us to do with our lives—the signposts on the path of our personal walk with the Heavenly Father. After all, the Christian has this truth: "I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws." (Ezekiel 36:26-27) Once freed from the bondage to sin, he is freed to follow his heart. What remains is to discern what that entails.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Thoughts Outloud
What was it that CS Lewis said? Pain is God's megaphone to the human race? That is so true, but God does not use simple pain to make us hear; it's through disturbing our well-fashioned self-assurances that God directs us onward. Every jolt and defeat on the roads we try to walk on our own bring us closer to that surrender of self that sets us on the freshly laid yet well planned path the Lord has for us. An easy life is no blessing, for truly living is about standing, walking, pushing forward desperately and defiantly; in defiance not to God's sovereign Good Will, but to our own independence. A life with no crisis is a novel with no climax, a story without a point. Our childhoods are often carefree; or at least, that is the ideal that is all too often unmet in these days. It is typically in adolescence that we seek to break free and 'define' ourselves, though it seems that usually we only end up fitting more readily into the mold that society shapes for us. But somewhere along the way, we hopefully come to a point where our resources are not enough, our assumptions about the world and ultimately ourselves fall short, a valley where we forget or cast aside our identity. Maybe we lose that identity, so that we can find it again in Christ, but key is the fact that we are no longer sure who we are. It is an uncomplicated affair to then bolster our confidence with other believers, to let them tell us who we are. With those who are naturally prone to rely heavily upon others, this is done without much hesitation. Those who can't escape the notion that they knew themselves at a young age as individuals, though, sometimes have a lingering doubt as to what is expected of them. Does growing closer to God mean becoming an image of other Christians? Does crucifying yourself with Christ mean losing the kid in you that dreamed? Such questions can plague the mind that wants to seek after the Lord, that wants to know Him, but is besieged by the un-reconciled thought that he can do this best in the guise God fashioned for him in his innocent childhood. Are his dreams and passions, lost somewhere in the unapproachable battlefield of his half-hearted struggle for maturity, included in the beckoning call, "When you seek me with all your heart, I will be found by you?"
Some acquired habits and characteristics obviously need casting aside for a boy to become a man after God's own heart. The character flaws, of course, are readily pointed to as unwelcome. But when a boy makes a monument to his own integrity, that too has to be abandoned. The pride deeply engrained in his sense of honesty, honor, courage, trustworthiness, it is still pride--the most dangerous kind, perhaps. It deceives him as to his own independence, blinds him to his essential need for others. Not only a need for God, though that is paramount, but he has also to accept a reliance on others, let it humble him, and eventually come to embrace that reliance. I've heard it said that love isn't about needing people, but that can't be true. We need God, and love Him. We need others, and so we can love them, too. God certainly doesn't need us, strictly, but His love for us does create a certain desperation for our fellowship, a need that was highlighted sublimely by His Son's Death.
And so, difficulties, defeats, disappointments, and even disasters in our life break down the walls of our fortress of security and self-reliance. Situations that bring us to the point of total loss, even after our salvation, are not necessarily trials; they can be God's desperate attempt to guide us away from the harmful obsolete habits of our old nature. Habits of turning inward, not upward. Habits of shutting down our hearts, rather than bleeding them out before the Father. Habits of thinking our own strength is enough. And yet, all that said there is still, I believe, a need to recapture something of the child in us. Not in the obvious way of coming to the Lord as a child; I think that has to do with childlike trust and an uncomplicated viewpoint. I mean recapturing the vision of who we wanted to be as children, and not the vision influenced by worldliness and culture, but the one that came from Deep Within. The man glimpsed half-knowingly in that best sort of dream, and the man undeveloped that yearned to be the heroes and adventurers in the stories that appealed for some unfathomed reason. God's call comes threaded uniquely to us, Oswald Chambers says, speaking of the private relationship between our soul and Him. That uniqueness goes beyond talents and vocation and personality. There is a unity among believers in our Spirit-encompassed rebirthed lives, but the Creator made individuals. I think, ideally, we find that perfect balance encompassing individuality and dependence. God, I must believe, wants us to experience those same dreams and passions we had as children (the true dreams, not the worldly distractions), but ever so more richly for being attached to Him.
When I reread 'The Voyage of the Dawn Treader' for the first time since junior high, I found a dog-eared page marking a quote that resonated strongly back then, strongly enough to cause me to fold a corner before I grew comfortable with that book-lover's guilty pleasure. It was when the children met Ramandu, and found out he was a star. Eustace pointed out that in our world, stars were huge, flaming balls of gas. I love Ramandu's response now as much as I remember loving it then: "Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is but only what it is made of." I tend to think that the desperate, final surrender to God—that point that goes beyond casual phrases like "born again," that can happen long after salvation—the true alignment of our only hope with Him, this reveals what we are made of. Perhaps it remakes us after a manner, for of course we are new creatures in Christ. But after that spiritual high point—sometimes paired with an emotional low point—there is still a search to discover what we are.
I can think of no clear Scripture to support or disprove this idea, honestly I'm not trying too hard to, but I think that there are hints in our childhood of what we are meant to become. This is no imperative to recapture the essence of our innocence; still, I think it brings joy to God's heart when we reconcile the little kid that dreamt of an unimpeachable honor, and the man who confronts the reality that he is less worthy than the worst fairy tale villain without the Light of this world. The first step in that reconciliation, that catharsis of sorts, is the acceptance that God was in complete and loving control at the season of his breaking. The man must abandon the bitterness that accompanies the awareness of his own insufficiency, and relish the All-inclusive Sufficiency of the Cross. He must not trod forward with forlorn resignation, but spring after the certain hope of marching from victory to victory with joy, peace, love, and all that good stuff. Utterly important, though, is that he avoid simply recapturing the status quo of his childhood. We are not made for nostalgia. But to regain those characteristics that were unwillingly torn away to make us fit for crucifixion, the ones that spark humble, honest flames within us, this is good. God may have torn down the walls of our pride when we refused Him entry to our inner sanctum, but those same walls newly fashioned can become the expression of His dwelling place in our hearts. We must enjoy Him having the key to our hearts; more than that, he has utter possession of our hearts, which only find life through His Death. However, the Father Creator knit us together a certain way, and I believe He wants to decorate His dwelling as a grace-centered image of His original blueprint. So dream old dreams, do not shy away from the unchecked passion of a child's pure heart, and live as you are meant to live.
Some acquired habits and characteristics obviously need casting aside for a boy to become a man after God's own heart. The character flaws, of course, are readily pointed to as unwelcome. But when a boy makes a monument to his own integrity, that too has to be abandoned. The pride deeply engrained in his sense of honesty, honor, courage, trustworthiness, it is still pride--the most dangerous kind, perhaps. It deceives him as to his own independence, blinds him to his essential need for others. Not only a need for God, though that is paramount, but he has also to accept a reliance on others, let it humble him, and eventually come to embrace that reliance. I've heard it said that love isn't about needing people, but that can't be true. We need God, and love Him. We need others, and so we can love them, too. God certainly doesn't need us, strictly, but His love for us does create a certain desperation for our fellowship, a need that was highlighted sublimely by His Son's Death.
And so, difficulties, defeats, disappointments, and even disasters in our life break down the walls of our fortress of security and self-reliance. Situations that bring us to the point of total loss, even after our salvation, are not necessarily trials; they can be God's desperate attempt to guide us away from the harmful obsolete habits of our old nature. Habits of turning inward, not upward. Habits of shutting down our hearts, rather than bleeding them out before the Father. Habits of thinking our own strength is enough. And yet, all that said there is still, I believe, a need to recapture something of the child in us. Not in the obvious way of coming to the Lord as a child; I think that has to do with childlike trust and an uncomplicated viewpoint. I mean recapturing the vision of who we wanted to be as children, and not the vision influenced by worldliness and culture, but the one that came from Deep Within. The man glimpsed half-knowingly in that best sort of dream, and the man undeveloped that yearned to be the heroes and adventurers in the stories that appealed for some unfathomed reason. God's call comes threaded uniquely to us, Oswald Chambers says, speaking of the private relationship between our soul and Him. That uniqueness goes beyond talents and vocation and personality. There is a unity among believers in our Spirit-encompassed rebirthed lives, but the Creator made individuals. I think, ideally, we find that perfect balance encompassing individuality and dependence. God, I must believe, wants us to experience those same dreams and passions we had as children (the true dreams, not the worldly distractions), but ever so more richly for being attached to Him.
When I reread 'The Voyage of the Dawn Treader' for the first time since junior high, I found a dog-eared page marking a quote that resonated strongly back then, strongly enough to cause me to fold a corner before I grew comfortable with that book-lover's guilty pleasure. It was when the children met Ramandu, and found out he was a star. Eustace pointed out that in our world, stars were huge, flaming balls of gas. I love Ramandu's response now as much as I remember loving it then: "Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is but only what it is made of." I tend to think that the desperate, final surrender to God—that point that goes beyond casual phrases like "born again," that can happen long after salvation—the true alignment of our only hope with Him, this reveals what we are made of. Perhaps it remakes us after a manner, for of course we are new creatures in Christ. But after that spiritual high point—sometimes paired with an emotional low point—there is still a search to discover what we are.
I can think of no clear Scripture to support or disprove this idea, honestly I'm not trying too hard to, but I think that there are hints in our childhood of what we are meant to become. This is no imperative to recapture the essence of our innocence; still, I think it brings joy to God's heart when we reconcile the little kid that dreamt of an unimpeachable honor, and the man who confronts the reality that he is less worthy than the worst fairy tale villain without the Light of this world. The first step in that reconciliation, that catharsis of sorts, is the acceptance that God was in complete and loving control at the season of his breaking. The man must abandon the bitterness that accompanies the awareness of his own insufficiency, and relish the All-inclusive Sufficiency of the Cross. He must not trod forward with forlorn resignation, but spring after the certain hope of marching from victory to victory with joy, peace, love, and all that good stuff. Utterly important, though, is that he avoid simply recapturing the status quo of his childhood. We are not made for nostalgia. But to regain those characteristics that were unwillingly torn away to make us fit for crucifixion, the ones that spark humble, honest flames within us, this is good. God may have torn down the walls of our pride when we refused Him entry to our inner sanctum, but those same walls newly fashioned can become the expression of His dwelling place in our hearts. We must enjoy Him having the key to our hearts; more than that, he has utter possession of our hearts, which only find life through His Death. However, the Father Creator knit us together a certain way, and I believe He wants to decorate His dwelling as a grace-centered image of His original blueprint. So dream old dreams, do not shy away from the unchecked passion of a child's pure heart, and live as you are meant to live.
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