Career and Calling
John Wilkinson Third
Presbyterian Church January 23, 2005
Matthew 4:12-22
An essay I read this past week suggested that “it is
difficult to speak theologically about the … tsunami without
being banal or obscene.” (Christian Century, January 25,
2005, page 5) Perhaps that is the case. Our tradition has claimed
God who is almighty and provident – yet to seek to be
articulate at the moment about that God falls perilously close
to platitude. We believe in a God who “neither wills evil
nor is powerless against it,” and whose power is made
real in the incarnation of love, in Jesus.
So what to do? We have prayed and shared information, and the
world peacemaking team of the Outreach Committee continues to
monitor denominational and global response. And we have given.
Our children, and others, brought in over 250 health kits to
be sent to Church World Service. We have received nearly $8000
to send to Presbyterian Disaster Assistance, and you may still
give to that effort. And on February 4, a night when there will
be no snow, our own Kevin Park and friends will offer a recital,
a portion of the proceeds to go to tsunami relief. We can do
many things, to be sure, including giving of ourselves to make
love incarnate. Thank you for your generosity.
Lent is upon us. You have heard about Mardi Gras. Don’t
miss it. And don’t miss a wonderful opportunity on February
12, when Frances Taylor Gench, professor of New Testament at
Union Theological Seminary in Richmond will be our theologian-in-residence
and will lead a women’s retreat based on her new book,
which considers the encounters of women with Jesus in the Gospels.
Details are in the bulletin. You do not need to read the book
to participate in the retreat.
Frances will preach here at Third Church at both services the
next day, and she and I will lead a presbytery forum that afternoon
in Gates to which you are all encouraged to attend. Over the
course of the theological task force’s work, Frances has
become a good friend, and her biblical insight and engaging
style promises to make the retreat a wonderful experience. With
that invitation in mind, and with gratitude to God whose presence
led us here this morning, let us pray.
***
Raise your hand if you know the answer to this question: “Who
lives in a pineapple under the sea?” If you do know the
answer, you have my deepest sympathies and admiration. The answer,
of course, is SpongeBob SquarePants.
Sponge Bob, as he is known, is a cartoon character, a sponge,
literally, who along with his friend Patrick Starfish (plus
Squidward and Sandy and others) enjoys a never-ending series
of adventures and high jinks under the sea.
If you don’t know about SpongeBob, ask your child, or
grandchild, or a subversive adult in a particular demographic
category, who may watch SpongeBob every once in awhile even
when his children do not.
At any rate, I mention SpongeBob because he was the star of
one of three movies we saw over the winter holiday. SpongeBob
is immature and a bit dim and prone to disaster. But I like
him in part because he is not rude, when much of television
programming for kids is, and better than that, he is a lover
of life and a dedicated worker and a fiercely loyal friend.
Who could ask for more? (Note: After the preaching of this sermon,
a SpongeBob controversy has emerged. I maintain my SpongeBob
opinion!)
A second movie we saw depicted another larger than life character,
a real life character, misunderstood as well who eventually
became nearly a cartoon caricature – Howard Hughes. Martin
Scorcese’s “The Aviator” depicted Hughes’
earlier life, filling out a biography of which I knew little
except the last years of strange and hermit-like seclusion.
A full rehearsal is not important now, except for one line,
which will tie-in, I hope, to a larger conversation. Hughes
spent lots of money, much of it his own, to build and fly airplanes.
At one point in the movie, which is historic if not historical,
Hughes gets in an argument with his controller, whom he mostly
orders to find more money so that he could spend more money
on his airplanes. “You can’t do it, Howard, you
can’t afford to lose all that money.” “But
I love aviation,” Hughes responded. “I love aviation,”
and for a moment, anyway, joy emerges on his face that transcends
his need for women and profit and his already-emerging behavior
disorder.
But it was a third movie, an incredible movie, which most fully
set the table for this morning’s conversation. Like most
of the movies we see, it was aimed at children, but like the
really good movies that aim at children, it was aimed at us
as well. “The Incredibles,” the latest computer-generated
gem from Pixar and Disney.
“The Incredibles” tells the story of two super-heroes,
Mr. Incredible and Elasti-girl, who fall in love and who marry
and produce three children, each of whom has super powers. At
some point the government forcibly retires the super-heroes
for liability reasons. Without being able to claim their super
identity, they are lost. They do not know what to do with themselves,
and life, especially for Mr. Incredible, whose real-life name
is Mr. Bob Parr, loses meaning.
It is a very mature tale of relationships and meaning and identity
and fidelity, all wrapped up in clever animation. We saw it
twice, we liked it so much, and the central question persists.
It is, strangely enough, a theological question. Who are we?
What are we to do? How do we find meaning in life? What is the
meaning of our work, and how does our work give meaning to who
we are? And what happened at the point of disconnect between
what we do and who we are, and where do we find anchor and support
when we are lost?
These are big questions, perhaps the most profound questions
that we ask ourselves each morning when we look at ourselves
in the mirror and wonder who we will be today.
Perhaps we will ask the question this way: what kind of lawyer
will I be today, or doctor, or business person, or teacher?
But perhaps not.
Perhaps we will ask the question this way: what kind of person
will I be today, what kind of friend, or neighbor, or partner
or spouse?
We Presbyterians adopted a new teaching document a while ago,
a new catechism. It commences with the question “who am
I?” And the answer is “I am a child of God.”
Perhaps that is the question we ask ourselves each morning as
we look in the mirror: “What kind of child of God will
I be today, or what kind of child of God am I called to be today?”
Now there’s a question! To answer it, in fact, even to
ask it at all, changes everything and will make all the difference.
The world is asking the question differently these days, and
we sense that, I imagine. The differences are driven by all
types of factors – economic, social, political, cultural.
The line between vocation – the sense of what we are called
to do – and career – the manner in which we pursue
our work – is blurring. That’s all to the good,
I would submit.
We have coupled the two for far too long, and in many ways
it is our Protestant heritage that is to blame. We have equated
what we do with who we are, and, in fact, have attached value
– spiritual and emotional value, along with financial
value – to the work that we do. Certainly the work we
do has value, and certainly we believe that God gives us work
to do in order to serve one another and build a society for
the common good.
But we have failed to make the distinction and have become
caught in the trap that associates meaning with activity, or
credential, or earning-power. We have eased onto the slippery
slope of work as worth, and therefore have embraced a kind of
works righteousness and have not waned to trust grace. Fortunately,
some of that feels to be changing, but not entirely, and I wonder
if the changing feeling is rather our way of coping with new
cultural realities.
As we have said, the order goes something like this: whose
we are – God’s; who we are – children of God;
and now, what we do – serve God, serve God with joy and
delight. Today the rubber meets the road, as it does in our
gospel lesson. God calls. We answer. And life is never the same
again.
It is a simple, straightforward story, at least in the way
that Matthew tells it. Jesus has begun his ministry, preaching
repentance. Walking along the Sea of Galilee, he sees two brothers,
Simon Peter and Andrew. They are at work, another day on the
job in the fishing industry. And Jesus calls out to them to
follow him, making a little play on words about the task of
fishing for fish and fishing for people.
I wonder sometimes at the prospect of him calling any other
kind of person – drop your spreadsheets and I will make
you accountants for people or drop your needle and thread and
I will make you tailors for people. I joke, but only a little
bit.
I always have wondered what was going on with those two, the
ones who did hear the voice and did drop everything and did
follow him. There was no interview process – no phone
interview followed up by an on-site interview. No obvious credentials
or certification process. And for Simon Peter and Andrew, no
position description, no 401 K or 403 B, no parachute of any
color in case it didn’t all work out.
Drop everything and follow me. And they did. What I sense is
that even up to the end, when their association with this humiliated
and death-sentenced one would call their own identity into question,
that not once did they regret it. Certainly there were moments
of doubt and soul-searching. But they indeed took the road less
traveled by and it indeed did make all the difference. Jesus
saw something in them that they did not, could not, see in themselves,
and they dropped everything and followed.
How do we respond? How do we respond when the voice calls to
us? And how do we live with the answer?
We live in a changing world. A recent memorial service was
held here for a long-time Kodak employee. There were many long-time
Kodak employees in attendance, and family members. And one could
replace Kodak with any company. Both of my grandfathers retired
from the Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company, each working nearly
40 years. Those days seem to be over. Rarely will anyone work
for the same company for 30 or 40 years, let alone work in the
same field their whole lives.
That may be a difficult thing, this new reality. But it may
mean that no longer will we blur the line quite so easily between
work and identity. I am not so sure. I would invite all of us
to think about that together.
Who we are is not what we do. That is a jarring reminder, perhaps,
but it may also be a theologically helpful one. The gospel we
claim is a gospel of grace, not works. What we do, what we earn,
does not guarantee salvation, and in fact may be a barrier to
our acceptance of God’s grace. What we do – professionally
or otherwise – should always seek to be a grateful response
to God’s graciousness. What we do should glorify God and
serve the community. Sometimes that will produce a paycheck.
Sometimes a paycheck is a means to the end of serving God.
The real question, always, is where God is calling you, to
what is God calling you. The real task is to distinguish career
from calling. “Career,” from the old French, has
something to do with a race course, ironically enough. “Vocation,”
from the Latin, has something to do with voice, with a call.
We should remember that.
Perhaps we need to run a race, have a profession, do work,
get a job. Bur perhaps we can remember that our vocation, the
voice that calls us, is never about what we do and always about
who we are. The answer will look differently for each one of
us, thank God, and perhaps our vocation will even take us into
the world of business, at which point the real question becomes
what we do with the resources we earn and the power we have.
But it is more likely that the voice will call with little
specificity, but rather will include a set of characteristics.
What you are called to do will bring usefulness to the world
and happiness to you. It will allow you to do it with integrity
and authenticity. And that may be found in many places: collecting
trash or cutting a deal or arguing a case or catching a fish
or teaching a kindergartner or even, and this is a good one,
preaching a sermon.
The real barometer for what we do and the way we listen to
the voice is the face you see in the morning and the voice you
hear every day.
Will you come and follow me?
Will you say, “Here I am, Lord?”
Will you drop your nets and follow?
Will you? Will I? Will we? How can we not, when our deep bliss
awaits and God’s great need? How can we not? Amen.
