VOCATION

Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question.

E. E. Cummings

Decisions big and small are portions of our life of pilgrimage, but they are not the destination. Life with God is the destination.

J. Brent Bill, Sacred Compass

Give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe.

Abraham Lincoln

What are your twenties for? That's a good question. Why? Because it leads to other deep and beautiful questions worthy of your time and energy.

To answer this question, a good place to start searching for an answer may be to heed the wisdom of Blaise Pascal. A French mathematician, philosopher, and inventor, Pascal was an eccentric genius, the kind Hollywood producers profile in biopics. He was an early innovator of what we now know as the calculator. He also pioneered mathematical work on the binomial triangle and invented the hydraulic press and the syringe. And, on the side, he wrote works on Christian theology and philosophy. His stunning intellect certainly contributed to his successes in such a short time (he died before turning forty) and in such a diverse number of areas.

But that's only half the story. Pascal was no run-of-the-mill genius. His success as a scientist and philosopher hinged upon his unwavering devotion to exploring the meaning and purpose behind everything, and to do so by asking great questions. Anchoring his experimental work in mathematics, physics, theology, and philosophy was an undying quest to explore the meaning of his own life.

Playwright and politician Václav Havel once suggested that the tragedy of modernity is "not that [we know] less and less about the meaning of ... life, but that it bothers [us] less and less."

When we fail to bother, we fail to ask. When we don't care, we don't question. So this chapter is devoted to exploring the purpose and meaning of your twenties and encouraging you to embrace some good and beautiful questions in hopes that you'll arrive at some good and beautiful answers. This is a journey of inquiry not unlike Pascal's seventeenth-century quest for meaning. Yet more than 350 years after Pascal's life and work, humankind still doesn't grasp the power of questions. Think about it. We live in an age where nearly every question imaginable can be asked, and responded to, through the power of Google on our phones. Untold amounts of information are literally at our fingertips (or, more precisely, thumb tips). Yet for all the technological power and innovation available to us, we still struggle to understand the most complex and most beautiful questions of life.

Journalist Warren Berger, who authored an entire book on the power of good questions, wrote, "A journey of inquiry that (hopefully) culminates in change can be a long road, with pitfalls and detours and often nary an answer in sight. ... The best innovators are able to live with not having the answer right away because they're focused on just trying to get to the next question."

This is the power of good and beautiful questions. They don't always provide easy answers, but they challenge and stretch our thinking. They help us change in important ways. They lead to epiphanies, lightbulb moments that inspire new questions and new ideas. Questions open our minds in ways that answers don't. They lead to divergent thinking, adventures in our minds that allow us to consider new angles and ideas with courage. Asking questions is also a great equalizer. When we need answers on a particular issue, there's typically a rigid hierarchy that dispenses knowledge (pastors, scholars, politicians, etc.). But who is barred from asking questions? No one. Anyone can ask questions.

Still, as Berger argued, being able to ask a question and asking a good question are two different things. My (Drew's) kids illustrate this perpetually. Having five children is to be subjected to a constant barrage of questions about everything, from the mundane to the profound, the holy to the profane. Some of the questions are beautiful. Some make absolutely no sense. Scientists tell us that children hit their peak of question asking at about four years of age. It's how they make sense of their world. When she was four, my oldest daughter, Isa, once tugged on my sleeve and asked, "How did the thing go to?"

Try saying that aloud and not laughing! It was a terrible question, so terrible it was funny and kind of adorable. I had no idea what she was talking about.

Isa is ten now and asks much better questions. But she is also asking fewer questions. Something happens after age four. We start relying on the answers we've already received more than the questions we might ask. Answers are certainly helpful, but we risk missing something significant when we fail to ask. We journey through life with a false sense of certitude. Or to put it bluntly, we live like self-conscious middle schoolers, shying away from asking questions that make us feel vulnerable, stupid, or silly.

Live the Questions

The poet Rainer Maria Rilke implores us to "live the questions now." But to do so is more than an intellectual pursuit. It's an embodied exploration that requires our entire being, here and now. This is how you should approach your twenties.

Good and beautiful questions lived well are lived with others. It's important to surround yourself with people you know and trust to treat your hopes and fears with the best of intentions.

The Quaker tradition has a longstanding practice that illustrates this beautifully. It's called a clearness committee, a communal approach to discernment in which trusted members of the community gather around an individual who has a particular challenge, problem, or question. When gathered, members follow one rule: You are allowed to speak using only open, honest questions. Clearness committees don't employ interrogations or verbal suggestion boxes. They seek to honor the discovery-and-discernment process, free of personal agendas.

Why questions and not answers? Answers would be easier to give and more efficient, right?

To appreciate the true value of a question over an answer, consider Jesus of Nazareth, the most powerful teacher ever to walk this earth. His words, recorded in the Bible, are the most read words in the history of the world. And his preferred method of teaching? Asking questions, often to the annoyance and confusion of his disciples. In fact, Jesus asked more than three hundred questions in the Bible. Look it up and count if you like (or just trust us). The Bible also records more than one hundred times when individuals or groups asked Jesus a question. Can you guess how many times he responded with a direct answer?

Three.

That's it. Three.

Nearly every time, Jesus responded to a question with a better, deeper question. It's because questions, at their core, are an adventure. Consider the root word quest embedded at the beginning of the word question. Questions send us on a journey of discovery in ways that answers don't.

So when you authentically ask yourself, What are my twenties for, anyway? a good and beautiful question emerges.

What is my calling?

It's a loaded question, rife with presumption and pressure. But it's a very good one. As we ponder this question in the chapters that follow, we'll consider a particular lens through which to explore the depths and potential of your twenties. That lens is vocation — a familiar word that's often misunderstood.

Vocation is a concept with powerful theological roots, yet it's frequently used in very nontheological ways. Ask ten people to define it, and there's a good chance you'll receive ten different answers.

The word vocation is synonymous with calling. Derived from the Latin word vocare ("to call"), vocation assumes that there is a caller (God). Another closely related word is vox, Latin for "voice." God speaks to us, and we receive the call, allowing his words to guide us. Vocation is an active process of living faithfully in response to God's call for the whole of our lives.

Many familiar with the term might quote the American writer and theologian Frederick Buechner, who beautifully wrote that "vocation is the place where our deep gladness meets the world's deep need." A stunning statement, isn't it? Worthy of a good cup of coffee and some time to ponder. But where do gladness and need intersect? Is there some sort of grid where we can plot our gladness on one axis and world need on the other?

Or consider another articulation from Quaker writer and educator Parker Palmer: "Before I can tell my life what I want to do with it, ... I must listen for the truths and values at the heart of my own identity." Absolutely. We must understand who we are, and we must be listening. But how do we go about mining these truths and values at the heart of our being? How do we know we're listening to the true stuff, and not just the things we want to hear?

David Kinnaman, president of the Barna Group, offers a more pragmatic approach to vocation: "In Christian tradition, vocation is a biblically robust, directive sense of God's calling, both individually and collectively. Vocation is a clear mental picture of our role as Christ-followers in the world, of what we were put on earth to do as individuals and as a community." We come alive when we feel that the things we're doing are what we were destined to do. But often our mental images of our current roles in the world feel less clear, more foggy. How do we achieve clarity?

Jess and I love author Steven Garber's eloquent description of vocation, which seems to weave aspects of all these definitions into his own: "The word vocation is a rich one, having to address the wholeness of life, the range of relationships and responsibilities. Work, yes, but also families, and neighbors, and citizenship, locally and globally — all of this and more is seen as vocation, that to which I am called as a human being, living my life before the face of God." This is a stunning wall-sized-mural vision of vocation. Sweeping and holistic, it covers everything. But to someone in the thick of an important decision, questions remain. So where do we start? What's step one?

Informed by these bright minds, we want to offer our own definition for your twenties:

Vocation is the pursuit of a life lived faithfully with God that includes the many dimensions of the good life.

The temptation is to view our callings as far-off, idyllic destinations to arrive at, where we plant our flags, stake our claims, and live triumphantly and purposefully. But vocation, as Jess and I see it, is an on going process of faithful living.

J. Brent Bill wrote, "Decisions big and small are portions of our life of pilgrimage, but they are not the destination. Life with God is the destination." The richness of vocation is that it requires hearts and lives attuned and responsive to God in all dimensions of life. Vocation is life with God. Thus, a proper understanding of vocation requires us to be fully present and fully prepared — fully present to what God has called us to here and now, and fully prepared for what he may be calling us to next.

When we consider the very things to which we feel a sense of calling in our lives, we can easily compile a substantial list. Garber is right. Vocation is work. But it's also so much more. The many dimensions of our lives include not only our work but our spirituality, our families, our churches, and our communities as well. Sometimes these dimensions of vocation overlap, and sometimes they don't. An understanding of vocation evokes a deep sense of responsibility to live faithfully in all sectors and seasons of our lives. Within the range of our relationships and responsibilities in this broken world, vocation is often not as clear as we would like it to be. And even when it is clear, it's often not as easy to live out as we had hoped.

Vocation, when understood within a proper theology of God, however, is a beautiful reminder of his work in the world through us, a connection of humans to God's larger story and the hope to which we have been called (see Ephesians 1:18). Vocation requires an active response on the part of the hearers (us) to God, but it's less about striving and more about a way of living. It encompasses not only a general call to know God and work toward restoration in all sectors of our world but also a specific call to know and use our individual gifts and talents within our differing contexts and experiences.

Vocation involves the living out of faith between Genesis 1–2 (what God intended) and Revelation 21–22 (what he has promised). It is the work of both the church and individuals, requiring our active participation in all dimensions of life (spirituality, work, family, church, and community). But we can easily get tripped up over the idea of being called. If it covers every dimension of life, the sheer magnitude of the concept can feel overwhelming. Anxiety can take over, leading to paralysis in decision making. We then embrace fear instead of freedom.

Another common response is to reduce vocation to a more manageable size — something we can easily wrap our minds around. The problem here is that we don't live compartmentalized lives (at least not well). Vocation cannot be reduced to simply work. What if your company goes bankrupt? Vocation cannot be reduced to simply family. What if, God forbid, tragedy strikes, and you lose your family? And what about other dimensions of life, such as church and community? Vocation is wide and deep enough to help us understand how we are implicated (responsible) in the dimensions of our lives.

We often view passion as the most important factor in discerning our calling. That is, if we're not passionate about something, it's not important. While passion can be helpful, over time it can be a tricky barometer. We know we're called to do some things, but we don't always feel passionate about them (such as flossing our teeth, helping kids with homework, eating our vegetables).

There are days when my (Drew's) mood affects my passion toward something. When thought of this way, passion begins to look a lot more like a fleeting, purely emotional response. Emotion is important but is best evaluated in concert with all our other faculties (motivation, cognition, etc.). Pure passion often leads to losing sight of the fact that we live in a fallen, broken world. Despite our passion, the toil of the mundane perpetually lurks around the corner of our lives, causing us to question why we're doing what we're doing at all and long for something else. I have a friend who is known for saying, "They call it work for a reason." Hyperbole perhaps, but also truth. Our lives can't always be full of the most amazing, rewarding, fulfilling, passionate experiences.

In short, discerning our calling is a messy endeavor. Fortunately, it truly is a step-by-step process, not a destination. It's to be lived in the present with a watchful eye on the future. There's an already-but-not-yet aspect to vocation in your twenties that can be liberating or stupefying. You're already called to many good things now, just as you're being called to many good things in the future.

The good life is to be had — and pursued — now. Vocation is about living out the Kingdom of God in the here and now. This kingdom is the ultimate already-but-not-yet force in our lives. When Jess and I talk about vocation throughout this book, this is what we mean. It's a perspective-driven approach, not a speed-driven approach. Rather than racing to figure out your life as quickly as you can, we encourage you to spend time deeply exploring how to live faithfully now so you can continue to do so later.

While it's true that vocation can often be overwhelming and messy, it can also be amazingly simple. Often, it means waking up each day and taking one restorative step forward in your relationships with others, as well as in your work, your church, your community, and, ultimately, your relationship with God. This restorative step moves you toward the overarching goal for vocation: shalom.

Shalom is an ancient, vibrant idea that is insufficiently translated "peace" in English. It is peace, but it's so much more. A better description would be the collective flourishing of God's creation. This includes flourishing in our relationships with one another, with God, and with his creation. It's something to practice now in hopeful anticipation of its complete fulfillment one day. Shalom is the essence of the good life in which each of us flourishes, and our flourishing contributes to the shalom of those around us. Step by step in our pursuit of shalom, we set faithful trajectories for the good and faithful life.

Vocation truly is an overwhelming pursuit, but in an arrestingly beautiful way. It covers everything, giving us a sense of what is and what could be. But it doesn't have to lead to despair, or frustration, or anxiety. It can fill you with hope, purpose, and meaning. Put another way, we want you to truly fathom shalom in and for your life.