Pursuing the Call

This is a small part of a chapter of a small book that I have considered writing. I don't know that it will ever get done ... but I'd like your thoughts anyway. I may post more in the days to come ... or I may not.



After feeding the crowds, Jesus sends the disciples out on the sea while he goes up to pray, alone, as he has become accustomed to do. Suddenly the winds become contrary, and the fishing boat is tossed about on the now restless water. The account in Matthew tells us it was the “fourth watch” meaning it is somewhere between three and six o’clock in the morning. Assuming Jesus fed the crowds even as late as eight or nine o’clock the previous evening, these committed followers had been rowing for five, six, even seven hours.

They must have been getting tired. Their arms were starting to get weary; the rain had left them soaking wet; the wind was cutting, stinging their face; and the water was splashing up into the boat. To say this was not an ideal boating experience would be a gross understatement. However, they knew that Christ had sent them. Their Lord, their rabbi, had told them to get into the boat and go to the other side before him, and that was precisely what they were going to do.
I have heard too many well meaning Christians say, “The door opened so it must have been God’s will.” Conversely, most of us, myself included, have said, “The door closed, so it must not have been God’s will for me.” These disciples were battered, wet, and tired, but they were answering the command that Christ had put upon them, closed doors and all.

I am reminded of a time when a bird got loose in my church. I was walking through the darkened sanctuary early one morning. I had finished praying for individuals in the church, and my friends who were still back at college, and I was just calling one of them to see how he was doing. It was dark and peaceful, just how I like my mornings. When suddenly from the ceiling flew down a dark mysterious creature. It was coming right at my head. Now I am not too masculine to admit I screamed. Perhaps screamed is not the right word … I shrieked. I shrieked like a pre-adolescent girl whose older brothers were torturing her favorite doll.
Now I was hoping that this shrill eardrum busting sound would somehow deter or at least distract my new adversary. Unfortunately, this was not the case. This suicidal kamikaze-ing dive-bomber was preparing for his next attack. He swooped once more and disappeared out of one of the side doors.
At precisely this moment, the church secretary walked calmly into the sanctuary. I laid down the hymnal that I had picked up, my weapon of choice, picked up my cell phone, which I had dropped during battle, and adjusted my clothing, which had been wrinkled during my drop to the floor, mid-shriek.
“Aaron,” she proclaimed with a slight hint of indignation in her voice, “there is a bird in the church!”
“NO?!” I replied with mock shock, “well thank you for that wonderful news update.”
After that lovely exchange I stormed off, hymnal in hand, looking for my arch nemesis. And I found him, oh yes I found him, perched upon one of the doors to the outside. However, in the light he did not look nearly as menacing or dangerous. You see, he had been slamming himself against the glass doors for what appeared to be a long time. He was battered, bloody, and tired. When he saw me coming, with my hymnal of mass destruction, he started banging again, almost tirelessly against the clear pane.
I got the key walked to the door, and opened it. Then I looked to find the bird had disappeared. I did not see him fly out of the door, nor did I see him fly down the hallway, whatever the case may be he was gone. Throughout the next few days, we searched for the bird. We even brought in a black lab to try to sniff him out. Nonetheless, all of our searches were in vain; we never did find the bird. Somehow, my rival had gotten out.

You see the bird knew his goal. He was not supposed to be in the church, he was supposed to be outside, and he was not going to let anything, be it windows, glass doors, or crazy hymnal wielding pastors, stop him fro getting out.
That, my friends, that is how one ought to respond to the directions of God. If I am called to do something, I do it, and I do it with reckless abandon. If a door shuts, yet I know I am led that direction, I slam against it until it opens, or I merely find another way out. Giving up is never an option. Whether like the bird I am battered and bloody, or like the disciples, I am wet and exhausted I must press on towards the call that Christ had laid upon me.