Books

God's Call to Be
When Being Precedes Doing

Introduction: Who in the World Are We, Anyway!?

Who are we? More important to me, who am I? This question is far more than a philosophical curiosity. There is no sense of triviality when I “square off” with this concern. Instead, the question goes right to the core of a major struggle for me these days. At the time of this writing, I am fifty-seven years of age. For most of these years, I have been defined by what I do, specifically what I do for a living. The continuing rhythm of the ticking clock is forcing me to face realities that are inevitable for every one of us.

Reality stares back at me every morning when I look in the mirror, and I am reminded that time is doing strange things to me, both internally and externally. Among those realities is knowing that I will not be able to do what I “do for a living” indefinitely. Either due to health, time, or circumstance, there will come a day when how I earn my living will have to change. You may think such an issue is not worth my concern. Yet, my guess is that this issue involves many more than just those who have lived out their lives as ministers.

For thirty-six years of professional life, I have focused on some form of ministry, mostly pastoral. Ministry has and continues to be more than a way of providing for my needs and the needs of my family. Ministry is a way of life. The issue becomes more intense when we consider what we refer to as “the call.” My response to the call of ministry has been my world. The cap on my head has always proclaimed Pastor, Preacher, Counselor, or Chaplain.

I am a long way from filing for my Social Security, and I cannot even think about annuitizing my retirement fund. If I did that today, I would have to go ahead and file for food stamps. Still, even though I am not walking away from my professional world immediately, I am getting closer, and it seems to be happening much faster than I ever anticipated. The result is that I find myself in the midst of a struggle.

As much as I fear what the final figures of my retirement fund might be, another apprehension looms just as large on the horizon. Stated in one word, the issue has to do with identity. When I step out of the pulpit for the last time, give my library away, and turn in my clergy parking pass at the hospital, who will I be at that moment? What will define me when that moment comes?

When you have spent your entire adult life in a particular profession, that profession becomes your primary definition. When I can no longer officially carry the business card of a pastor, what will be printed beside my name? Two issues emerge and etch their way into my mind these days. I confess that for good or bad, I have willingly allowed my role to define me. Yet, I also want to believe there is more to being me than only that role.

Stated another way, when I peel this familiar, comfortable layer back, will there be anything underneath? In the deep corners of my soul, I believe there is more. But there is mystery to that dimension of my life at this point. Ask me who I am, and I will tell you what I do. I wonder if I am any different from most other people. I can only assume that others must struggle with this same issue.

A Time for Honesty

This issue is so important that I repeat the drill again. If you peel back the professional layer, what is underneath? I feel certain that I will find a layer that points to my role within my family. My family role is certainly not a bad thing, and it adds to my life in huge and dramatic ways. At the same time, I must confess that this role has changed as well. Who I am in regard to my family today is significantly different than it was fifteen years ago.

More than a decade ago, my family depended on me for the majority of their physical needs. Their housing, food, and transportation were provided by what I, in partnership with my wife, did each day professionally. Through our jobs we made provisions for our needs. Things are different now. While I continue to contribute to my family’s physical needs, what I do is not nearly as critical. My children are married and have lives of their own. They have jobs and provide well for themselves. If needed, my wife is more than capable of providing a means to live. Therefore, even though an important layer of who I am involves my family, I believe there must be more to me than my role as father and husband. I peel back that layer and once again ask, “What is underneath?”

I am sure I would find a layer that shows my tendency to act in slightly obsessive, compulsive ways. I prefer to think of it as being energetic and taking initiative. That sounds nobler than being called hyperactive. Regardless of the label, I have a bit of all these characteristics. To use the language of someone I heard recently, the truth is that I like “doing stuff.” I find it challenging. If it is broken, I can fix it. Don’t even imply that a service person should be contacted. I find that implication offensive. My wife would accuse me of being too cheap to call for help. I like to think of myself as being resourceful.

Nevertheless, I like doing. Giving myself to the activity of doing is one way I express myself. I find great satisfaction in accomplishing a task. However, is my need to fix and repair an indication of my eagerness to correct problems, or is it a sign that I depend on that dimension of my life for affirmation and identification? One of my silent, critical concerns is that I might develop health issues that eventually limit my physical activity. When I can no longer fix and repair, I will face a major identity crisis. It is no laughing matter with me.

The problem, you see, is that when I peel that layer back, like the other layers, I still wonder, “Who is underneath?” Who am I when I am not doing? Is there a point in my life when I can find contentment simply in being?

If I am honest about this struggle, I believe I will find it is far more than an issue of habits and lifestyle. Somewhere in the mix, I think I must come face to face with who I am in my relationship with God. I have spent most of my life working to please Him. That is a healthy desire, but does my fate with God depend on whether I succeed in pleasing Him? My hunch is that I will discover that He first calls me to be His child before He calls me to do the work of His child.

The following pages are an attempt to share a bit of my own journey. I want to be more than just what I do. If you struggle with that desire in any way, I invite you to join me. We will see where the road leads.

Al Cadenhead

Chapter 1: Being: What Is Underneath?

What is man that you are mindful of him…? —Psalm 8:4a

This book represents a journey that began long before the writing was initiated. I hasten to add that the journey does not end when the final pages are printed. It will continue for the rest of my earthly days. I write because I want a better understanding of some of these issues now, long before the final events occur. The issues to which I refer can best be summarized in a simple question with which I have struggled for a long time. This is the short version: “What is underneath all the usual and routine labels we use as self-identification?” Here’s a more detailed version: “Is there more to us than what we do to make provision for ourselves, where we live, what we own, or our family name?” For many of you, this question may seem rhetorical. Let me assure you that it is far more than rhetoric for me. For some time, it has remained in the core of my soul.

A part of my challenge as we begin this journey together is to convey my struggle, including what I think and what I believe, without it sounding like religious rhetoric or overused, “christianized” language. Some of the words may sound routine, but much of the language has taken on new meaning for me. The result is that my struggle and the resulting journey have impacted every dimension of my existence.

I begin by claiming that I am convinced that at the center of my soul is life—not life determined by my heartbeat, but life that comes to me by the Creator God who gives each of us a small but important piece of His divine image. We may be created out of clay, but through that clay runs just enough of the divine image to make us always long for our Creator. We have a connection with God that we seldom acknowledge or celebrate as much as we should.

The Reality of Solitude

We become aware of this divine connection in ways that are predictable and in ways that are filled with mystery. One of the most dramatic ways to become aware of the divine connection is by being alone. The vast majority of our days and nights cover our divine connection with layers of labels and attempts to satisfy our deepest need. It all sounds so simple, maybe even trivial at first. Yet, if it is so trivial, why are we so unaware of it? Why does the meaning so many of us desire always seem just out of the reach? Once we claim the divine dimension of our existence, we perceive everything differently.

The Genesis story provides a powerful and dramatic image of our basic connection. In the earlier of the two creation stories, God is depicted as stooping over like a potter and shaping the human form out of the clay. The most important part of the image is of God breathing His divine life into the human form. That is our beginning. Somewhere along the way, we have forgotten this basic truth.

No question is closer to the center of our human existence than that of our identity. My question—“Who am I?”—is no different from the question raised by person after person through the ages. Through the years of time, we seem to have forgotten who we are and where we come from. We will explore this more later. For the moment, I simply say that this sense of being that comes from the Father supercedes everything else in our lives. Understanding life this way does not make other things unimportant. Those things simply take on a different role. We can claim them as gifts, but we should not depend on them. Only the Eternal can truly satisfy.

As I discussed the issue of self-identity with a colleague, he raised a good question: “Do you think that deep within us is a desire to return to Eden?” Whether you determine Eden historically or metaphorically, the question is intriguing. Do we not long for the intimacy of Eden, where there is constant communion with God? Is that not what the Celtic Saints longed for when they prayed and begged for the monastic life? Do we not recognize that underneath all the layers we place on our existence, a sense of being connects us to the Origin of all life? Do we not often long for it and not understand hunger of our souls? Is claiming this sense of being that connects us to God the answer to the need of so many people today? These questions and more form the basis of the journey I am about to share.

Claiming this sense of being, this spark of the Creator God, addresses another question and dilemma of life. When it is all done on this earth for us as individuals, what do we fall back on? When we leave behind what we do and where we live and what we own and to whom we are related, only one thing remains: this sense of life that has been granted us as a child of the Father. At the end of life as we know it here, that is all we have left, and that is all that we need. As Dr. John Claypool has said, “When death comes, we have to trust God, for we have no other option.”

If we have never thought of ourselves apart from these external labels, death can be frightening. Once we discover the sense of being underneath all the layers, we lose our biggest reason to be afraid. What we were granted at the moment of our creation will carry us through to the next stage of the journey. We brought that spark of life into the present stage of the journey. That same spark of life and the One who granted it will be the sacred midwife for whatever comes next.

So, you see, this book is not about rhetoric. It is about life that supercedes everything around us. Claiming that life does not make our labels unimportant. Instead, we can then claim them and celebrate them as they were meant to be. They are gifts that pass. None of them last indefinitely. Only one thing remains. It is the life that God gives us and the sense of being to which He calls us. One fact is clear—being precedes doing. Life’s most important discovery hangs on that fact.

Defined By What We Do

I am among the fortunate people who are privileged to wake up each morning and go to a job that is exactly what they want to do. Since my teen years, all I have wanted is to be involved in some type of ministry. It is the only professional aspiration I have ever known. Because of this mysterious, inner sense of call to ministry, my work is truly what I enjoy doing.

The down side is that when you combine inner call, profound satisfaction, and long tenure, the result is a too-defining profession. My job so characterizes my self-perception that it becomes difficult to separate myself from what I do professionally. Whenever I introduce myself, I tend to give my name and then almost automatically add that I am a minister. Why? I have many reasons, but the main one is that my self-perception is entirely too dependent upon what I do professionally.

Most of us tend to define each other by what we do. I recently traveled out of the country for several weeks. During that time, I had numerous opportunities to meet people. With rare exception, almost everyone I met asked, “And what do you do for a living?” We all do it. “Hello. What is your name? Where are you from? What do you do there?” With the exception of name and home, our profession becomes one of the primary ways we label each other.

To understand how and why this tendency has developed, we must understand how attitudes toward work have changed through the centuries, especially from the time just prior to the Reformation all the way to our attitudes today. The way culture perceives of work has an interesting history.

Punishment for Original Sin

Work has not always had such a respected reputation. Up to the time of the Reformation, people perceived labor as being forced upon one who was not blessed by God. Work was a part of the curse for sinful humanity. It was not simply a religious issue. For centuries, the elite class looked down on work. The sign of God’s blessing was to have work done for you, not by you.

Discoveries of well-preserved members of the monastic orders in Europe indicate that these individuals were high-ranking priests or bishops. Their hands are the clue because they give little indication of physical labor. Physical labor was beneath the ruling class. They figured God made servants to do the bidding of God’s chosen.

Protestant Work Ethic

Then comes Martin Luther in the fifteenth century. Luther strongly believed that poverty was not to be desired and was not a divine pronouncement of dissatisfaction. While human beings were in the world to serve God and others, labor was not a curse. The mark of a good person was not the absence of labor but labor used as a way of serving God and others.

Luther developed the unusual and sometimes unwelcome concept of a worldly calling. This calling was not to be confused with the calling of the monastic life of the Roman Catholic Church. The calling Luther had in mind stood in contrast with the old concept of work as a curse, which had been prevalent for centuries. According to Luther, one’s work was not merely atonement for original sin. It was a way in which to carry out one’s service to God.

John Calvin took the perception of labor one step further. He taught the principle of maximum effort. When a person produces more than is needed, the excess should not be spent on personal appetites. Interestingly, the excess should be reinvested to improve one’s work and, therefore, produce greater surpluses for the glory of God. In other words, a person should not selfishly indulge in the excess above what he or she actually needed.

At that point, a major shift occurred in the general attitude toward making profits. The perception prior to this time associated profit making with the role of the oppressor. However, wealth began to be understood as a sign of God’s favor and blessing. Not only was working approved, but making a profit was blessed as long as the person used it to the glory of God.

Work that was once understood as atonement was newly perceived as good. But people were to remember to work for the glory of God, since their calling to work came from God. People now proved their worth to themselves and to God by their dedicated labor. All restrictions went by the wayside. Working became a way of demonstrating moral character.

Another interesting by-product emerged within the framework of this new work ethic. A strong emphasis developed on thrift and specific discouragement of spending large amounts of money on personal pleasures. Profits were encouraged as a way of serving and honoring God, but unnecessary luxuries were seen as a distraction from duties to God. The assumption was that God would bless with success anyone dedicated to their work and willing to work hard. As a result, hard-working and thrifty people were considered good and virtuous. This new value of work was a long way from being understood as atonement for sin. Work became a positive value in life. Anyone who was lazy and/or wasteful was not affirmed. The ethic placed great emphasis on personal responsibility.

Although the Protestant Ethic eventually passed from the favor of the masses, remnants of that perception of life and work remain to this day. On the surface, it appears that the attitudes of our current builder generation (World War II generation) reflect much of the Protestant Ethic. While there are similarities, one important factor for the builder generation is the lingering impact of the Great Depression. While their attitudes would embrace many of the same components of the Protestant Ethic, fear and caution play a big role. Memories remain of being unprepared and destitute. Caution, therefore, demands similar attitudes of thrift and an unrelenting willingness to work hard. One guards against excessive living because such a lifestyle would use up what might be needed for another rainy day.

In 1904, German sociologist Max Weber wrote a famous essay, “The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism.” He proposed that the principles of the Protestant ethic contributed to the advancement of the economic system called capitalism. Capitalism maintains that the competition of individuals for wealth through work helps build a strong economy.

Success Became the End

Years later, a well-known theologian named John Wesley pointed out what he thought would be a negative result of the Protestant Ethic. According to Wesley, there was little question that such an expression of faith would produce industry and frugality, which would in turn produce wealth. Wesley believed that as riches increased, so would the temptation toward pride, anger, and desire. He believed the system would become its own worst enemy and lead to its own downfall. In theory, the Protestant Ethic worked well, but the human dimension would destroy it. Wesley’s solution to the dilemma was to encourage people to share their wealth so they would grow in grace.

No country more clearly demonstrated the presence of the Protestant Ethic than early America. At the same time, no country more clearly demonstrated the opposite of John Wesley’s wisdom. Wealth did increase in America, and riches became the symbol of respectability. Wesley was right in that wealth became an end in itself rather than a way of glorifying God. It was no longer a means of growing in God’s grace but a goal for its own purposes. Material success became the ultimate aspiration. For most people, wealth had little or nothing to do with honoring God. Wealthy was the best defining adjective man or woman could hope for.

A sense of spiritual calling dissolved into the industrialized society that developed. Work as personal gain became the motivation for owner and operator. The people wedged into the industrialized environment found little meaning in their work. They rarely felt called by God to do a certain job. The job became simply a way to make a living, often with few if any other options.

For many workers, frustration was the result. They experienced little prestige, and their primary justification, if not the only one, for going in each day was a paycheck. Meaning was not to be found in one’s calling to a particular job. Compensation motivated people to work.

Major Shift Toward Consumption

During the twentieth century, a profound change occurred in the perception of work and profession, reaching its peak late as the century came to a close. The Protestant Ethic shifted to a consumer ethic. The difference between the two is significant. In the Protestant Ethic people were encouraged to work hard and save money. The basic philosophy of the consumption ethic, or consumerism, is to work as little as possible and spend the money as soon as possible since it will not be worth as much tomorrow. The focus of the Protestant Ethic is the future. The consumption ethic places more importance on the present, often at the expense of the future.

In most cases, honoring God with one’s labor gave way to the need to have all the things money can buy. The collection of things became people’s driving force. As the bumper sticker said, “The man who dies with the most toys wins.”

An Unexpected Shift

The path of consumerism has taken a surprising turn. Instead of work becoming less important since its inherent meaning has been reduced, work has taken on new importance. The importance is not a result of honoring God with one’s profession or of the inherent meaning found in working. Its value comes from the importance of the things one’s labor can produce. The desire to consume makes workers obsessed with the labor that will ultimately provide it.

Our insecurities force us to work harder and harder to provide the things we believe will ultimately provide the meaning we seek. Our consuming needs tie closer and closer to our professions. We work hard not to honor God’s calling or to share with the less fortunate. Instead, consumerism demands more from us, and the way we play the game is to work harder and make even more money to spend.

If our value is secured by our work, the temptation is to produce more to increase our worth. What appears to be adding to our net worth becomes an effort to add to our personal value as human beings. A logical spin-off is that we push ourselves beyond normal limits in an effort to feel better about ourselves.

We become identified with our work because it seems to be the best way to secure the meaning we seek in “things.” Is this issue not at the heart of so much struggle and frustration today? Many people have worked hard. They have acquired many things. Yet, when they assess what they have acquired, it does not seem to add up to the meaning they anticipated. Many people look around their possessions and ask, “Is this what I have struggled for?” Surely there is more to life than this!

Never Enough

The biggest weakness in today’s consumption ethic is that we can never buy enough to provide meaning for our lives. There is always something bigger than what we have. There is always more to acquire. We cling to our profession and our desire to buy because we always see someone who can out-buy us. If we let go and relax, we may loose our status symbols and our self-induced status-conscious ladder of success.

If in the Protestant Ethic we proved our worth to God by what we produced, in today’s consumption ethic we prove ourselves to ourselves, or so we think, by what we produce. Somewhere along the way we have begun to measure ourselves by productivity. It has little or nothing to do with honoring God. It has everything to do with measuring our worth to ourselves.

Once our worth is determined by productivity, we are set up for major problems. It is merely a question of time. For example, from where does our worth come if disability prevents physical labor? Or where is our value when retirement comes by choice or force? What happens to our worth when, unrelated to our performance, displacement occurs? The circumstances of loss may be out of our control, but being unemployed feels the same.

The Inevitable Result

If our sense of being depends on our profession and/or the ability to provide all the things that consumerism demands, then what lies underneath that role? Who are we when we no longer have a business card to define us? Our labor can have enormous value for us. It can, as Luther described, be a response to God’s call, even in the business world. And we can certainly find in our labors a way to honor God. Peel off the layer of “what we do for a living,” though, and what is underneath? Going through life with only a professional identity is risky business. We are much safer when we value our lives on a more permanent and predictable measure.

Our value cannot come from what we accumulate around us. He who dies with the most toys does not win. He still dies! Our worth has to come from the One in whose image we are created. The divine spark and sense of being we inherit from the Creator is a much more dependable basis on which to value our lives. Holy Scripture describes Jesus as having a “name above every name” (Phil 2:9). Our name may not be above every name, but it is, indeed, a name! Our value comes not from our business card or from the number of things we accumulate, but from the One who created us and lives within us.