The Shame of Being Called

Well, it looks like my first "pastoral" post is coming to a close. It was much different then I expected. When God said "be a pastor," I suspected it would be hard, but I had no idea it would be this personal or painful. I had no idea I would do it this poorly. But that's okay.

I'm leaving for India on Wednesday and will stay in Varanasi for a month (probably) before making a brief pilgrimage back to Darjeeling. After that its UW in Andhra Pradesh, and then off to Kazakhstan, Kyrgystan, and perhaps China with Gina and David. I'll end my trip with a month of blessed aloneness in Kolkata.

I am uncertain about what will come after that. Currently I am registered to begin an MA program at Regent College in Vancouver, B.C., but I think I may switch over to the MDiv instead. It will be more versitile, and it will probably take the same amount of time as the MA would have. I keep asking myself why I don't just go to Andrews if I'm going to do the MDiv anyway-- its free there, after all! I argue back that I have chosen Regent for a number of reasons: 1. To be close to my family at this very critical time. 2. To be close to Natalie. 3. For a superior education. 4. So I can explore the larger Christian world.

I don't think I believe in sectarianism. I believe strongly that we Adventists must humbly find our place in the Christian church if we are to have any voice that matters at all. We have a great deal to offer and a great deal to learn, but neither of those things can happen if we continue to isolate ourselves.

Of course, going to Regent will likely limit my opportunities for ministry within the Adventist church (as if I needed any more strikes against me. I'm already a female, a first-generation Adventist, a graduate of an institution some people view with suspicion, and a person who thinks outside the box. I'm done for.) Perhaps I truly am destined to become a wandering, restless nomad.

It occured to me recently that maybe my expectations were all wrong about what God would call me to when I resolved to obey him. I thought pastoral ministry meant he would call me to a church and give me a little apartment with a little car and some stability. Perhaps I felt sorry for myself for the wandering I did as a child, and thought God did too. I fancied he would finally give me an earthly home. (How do we manage to convince ourselves that even GOD wants what we want?) Could it be that all my years of wandering were instead preperation for a life that will keep ON wandering? Maybe this IS my calling. Gulliver. Rachel the Vagabond. It makes sense.

I'm ashamed of myself over this whole pastoral business. I was so proud, thinking I finally "gave in" to God's calling. I see now that maybe the only thing I gave in to was the part I understood. All my life God has led me closely. Every unfolding event was ordained and directed, clear and sure. As early as five I knew who I was and where I was going. At nine it was "certain" I would be a cloistered nun (I already had the whole landscape of my convent mapped out in my mind.) But God is no longer allowing me to charge ahead in certainty. He is just saying "Wait. Notice this about yoursef? You're not ready yet, despite what you think. Stop playing guessing games-- your calling is me and you are only special in my love. " There are so many ways in which I still need to grow up. I feel very much like Bree, the talking horse from "The Horse and His Boy," who discovered that in Narnia he was really quite an average beast after all. Only in his small world of slavery was he braver and more clever than the other horses.

Perhaps the last word on this subject is that it is really not my right to set myself up anywhere. It isn't mine to refuse OR to demand a place in God's service. My only right, as Christian, is to belong to God and to do as he instructs regardless of the cost or glory. I wish my heart could understand this.