Why do I hesitate when I know the will of God? No, actually, the question should be, why do I hesitate to seek the will of God? Me, a man of faith who has known nothing but God since I was born, who made a decision for Jesus at age 7 and never looked back. (OK, so I’ve often doubted the very existence of God and the whole spiritual story, I’ll admit that, but I’ve never doubted the sincerity or sticking power or theology of that young 7-year-old decision.)
But I got off track.
The question is, why do I balk at wanting to know God’s will when I have so many stories of how he’s taken care of us all these years? It’s because I want to know what that will is before I commit to it. It’s because I want choices; because I hope God will give me a list of options from which I can choose. Like the old Sears catalogue used to do (maybe it still does … I haven’t looked at one in decades), listing a good, better, or best suggestion for each product. I would be more comfortable if God’s will came at me in menu form.
Another reason I hesitate is because I know an encounter with God will affect me physically and emotionally and intellectually, and that’s too unpredictable. I hesitate because I’m not sure I can handle whatever comes next.
I remember when a close friend of mine attended a Walk to Emmaus spiritual weekend. It had such a profound effect on his life and his faith and his view of God that his wife told me she wanted to attend a Walk to Emmaus herself, but not until she was ready. She saw the impact on him – all of it good – and she was afraid to go. She had nothing but good things to say about her “new” husband, but she was afraid of the changes she might experience and wondered if she could handle it. Like her, I sometimes stop at wanting to know God’s will because I’m not sure I am equipped to handle it.
One of my favorite writers, Anne Lamott, wrote about how she first came to God. She would stand on the threshold of an inner-city church and listen to the singing, afraid to come further into the building, because she was drunk or stoned and because she was afraid of what might happen to her or where she might end up if she went inside. It took a long time, Sunday after Sunday, before her need for God overcame her fear of the future and she crossed the threshold and went inside to join the others.
I was reading a story in the Bible from Mark 5 about a crowd of people who witnessed a miracle – Jesus healed a wild, uncontrollable, demon-possessed man. Instead of rejoicing over the man’s new life, and instead of bringing other sick and crazy people to Jesus so he could heal them, the crowd begged Jesus to leave their region. They were afraid of Jesus. If he could heal this uncontrollable man, who knew what else he would do. It was way too scary to think about, and they didn’t want to live with uncertainty, so they begged Jesus to leave. “Please, no more miracles, no more magic,” they might’ve said, as if Jesus was Gandalf. The crowd didn’t know if he was a good wizard or an evil wizard, and it was better to take no chances and just ask him to leave. They played it safe, preferring to be left alone rather than having to worry about what Jesus might change next.
Maybe that’s my condition as well – I mean, I don’t want Jesus to leave, but I’m much more comfortable with his small incremental changes – just a tweak here and there on a long campaign to perfect my life – than I am with possible catastrophic shifts that leave me short-of-breath and reeling off-balance.
However, the longer I know Jesus, the more comfortable I am with the uncertainty he brings. The more willing I am to step over the threshold into the big room. The more likely I am to ask him to stay and keep working on me even when I’m afraid of what he might do next.
