A Living the Faith reflection from the USCCB by Edward P. Hahnenberg

The best homily I ever heard was at a baccalaureate Mass at my old high school. All the seniors wore their caps and gowns. They processed in at the start of Mass. They filled the pews in front. Several of them served as lectors, gift bearers and eucharistic ministers.

When it was time for the homily, the priest came down from the altar and stood before the seniors. They sat there, proud as peacocks, with all of us family and friends smiling behind them.

He began, “What a beautiful day! What a happy day! There is so much to celebrate today.”

He continued, “But as your pastor, I feel that it is my responsibility to remind you graduates — on this day — of an important truth. Your parents never wanted you.”

We all sat up.

“Your parents never wanted you. Now, don’t get me wrong,” he went on, having gotten our attention. “I imagine your parents wanted a baby. I am sure they wanted a healthy baby. Maybe they wanted a boy or they wanted a girl. But your parents never wanted … you.”

After a pause, he said, “Only God wanted … you.” He said it again and again, pointing to each individual graduate in the front row, “Only God wanted … you.”

I feel like I’ve spent almost 20 years now trying to take those words seriously.

What does it mean to believe that God wanted … me?

Not me without all my faults and imperfections. Not me without all my insecurities and inner doubts. God wanted me — just as I am.

For starters, believing that God wanted me means that I ought to spend some time getting to know the “me” that God wanted. Discernment is the process of finding God’s will in our lives. It is the process of listening for and responding to God’s call. It is the process of discovering one’s vocation.

We get ourselves into trouble, however, when we imagine that God’s will is “out there” and apart from us.

We run into problems when we see our vocation as some kind of riddle that we have to decipher or some secret message that we have to decode. Such an approach transforms God’s plan into a set of arbitrary instructions — directions for life that we cannot seem to find.

Under such a view, discernment becomes scary. We don’t know what God wants. And so we search frantically for some sign telling us what to do. Or we just give up.

Discernment is difficult, but it is not difficult because it is a puzzle that we can’t figure out. It is difficult because it involves the coming together of two infinite mysteries: God and me.

This realization helps us to see that whenever we learn something true about God, we learn something true about ourselves. And whenever we learn something true about ourselves, we learn something true of God.

The theologian Father Michael Himes boils down the difficult work of vocational discernment to three simple questions.

First, what gives me joy?

Joy is not the same thing as happiness. Happiness comes and goes. It depends on many factors external to us and beyond our control. Joy speaks to a deeper reality, an abiding sense of consolation and peace. It is not what “feels good.” It is what “feels right” when I stand openly and honestly before God.

Second, what am I good at?

Vocational discernment involves coming to know not only the God who made me, but also the “me” whom God has made: What are my interests and abilities? What are my strengths and limitations? Here other people can help. We rely on friends to hold us accountable. They help us to grow. Often they see those gifts in us that we don’t see ourselves, challenging us to put them to use.

Finally, what is the need? How might my particular talents help the people around me and serve society at large?

Theologian and author Frederick Buechner called vocation the place where our “deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger
meet.”

Made in the image and likeness of a loving God, we were created to love. And each of us was created to love in our own way. There is no question that the world needs us. Suffering is great. Sin is real. We are always tempted to turn away from our neighbors in need. But doing so is to deny what we were born to do: love.

The great spiritual writer Thomas Merton once wrote, “For me to be a saint means to be myself.” To be a saint is not to imitate someone else’s ideal. Rather, it is to throw off what Merton called the “false self” of sin and strive to love others in a way that no
one else can. To do so is to embrace one’s true self, that beautiful “me” that God always wanted.

The process begins and ends in prayer.

Edward P. Hahnenberg is associate professor of theology at Xavier University, Cincinnati. These reflections are developed in his book, “Awakening Vocation: A Theology of Christian Call”; Liturgical Press, 2010.

 

Copyright © 2010 United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, Washington, D.C. Used with permission. All rights reserved.