Vocation

The Setting for Human Flourishing

Michael Berg

• Publisher: 1517 Publishing
• Year: 2021
• eBook ISBN: 9781948969307
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Religion

How shall we live? What is the good life? What is the value of a person? What is my place in this world? Is God active in this world? These are questions that have been asked in every culture and in every era. From the Hebrew concept of Shalom (wholeness/well-being) to the Greek concept of Eudaimonia (happiness) and even to the American notion that all people have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, great thinkers have pondered what it means for humans to flourish. 
 
The doctrine of vocation uniquely answers these questions. A certain level of security, prosperity, and freedom are essential components of human flourishing. God provides these components by working through humans in their stations in life such as parents and police (security), farmers and bankers (prosperity), and soldiers and governments (freedom).
 
And yet there is more for which we humans strive. We are the types of beings whose wonderment drives us to the pursuit of knowledge, justice, and achievement. In short, we desire to be justified. We want to be valued. We want to be right or just. We strive for epic-ness. But no mere human adulation will satisfy. Nor can we justify ourselves before God with our broken lives. God justifies Christians through Christ and then uses them. God adds another component to human flourishing: purpose. He uses Christians in his economy of love to take care of the world. He lifts us from the ordinary to accomplish the extraordinary even as we carry ordinary tasks. For the Christian these stations become callings or vocations. 
 
This can only fully be appreciated if the Christian knows that he or she is free from pleasing God through works. Once the Christian is freed from this burden the whole of the Christian life is reoriented to the free exercise of love towards neighbor. It is the highest calling, the truly good, flourishing, and happy life.
 

Chapter 1

Freed to Love

Human Potential

We tend to assume that the Bible here is using human institutions and relationships—marriage, fatherhood—as figures of speech to help us understand something about God and spiritual reality. The human relationships are the primary reality, which can help us understand by analogy, certain spiritual truths. The doctrine of vocation, however, encourages us to reverse the analogy. The primary reality is in God. Our Father in heaven is the true father, of which earthly fathers are pale reflections. Christ is the true son. Christ’s relationship with the church is the true marriage. It isn’t like Christ is like a bridegroom; he is the bridegroom. Earthly bridegrooms are like Christ. The spiritual realities can help us understand something about human relationships.

—Gene Edward Veith and Mary Moerbre, Family Vocation

My father never told me that he was proud of me. I am sure he did; I just don’t remember it. To be honest, I didn’t do much to earn those words. I was a lazy student, a subpar athlete, and an awful musician. There wasn’t much I accomplished that would inspire my father to point and declare, “That’s my boy!” Of course, as typical of American males, he didn’t have to say it anyway. Some things are just understood. But I don’t think that’s the reason he never said it (or that I don’t remember it). He didn’t say it because it would have been weird. Only in certain circumstances would you say that you are proud of an equal, like your spouse or a friend. You may be proud to know someone who has accomplished something great, but you are not proud of him or her. I wouldn’t approach a colleague, pat him on the head, and say, “Proud of you, buddy!” It would be more than weird; it would be demeaning. As if he was looking for my approval in the first place.

Whether he did it consciously or not, I think this was why my father never said that he was proud of me. He treated me as an equal. He respected me. He respected me before I earned it or deserved it. We are both pastors (now I teach at a college), so we have a lot in common. When we talked theology when I was younger, he never berated me or belittled me for saying something stupid or even wrong, even though I did. He respected me as an intellectual equal far before I was. It would have been weird for him to say “Proud of you, buddy” to an equal. So he never did. Or, probably more accurately, I don’t remember him saying it because it didn’t matter to me. He had already shown me respect even though I didn’t deserve it.

Perhaps there is an insight into the Father in heaven, of whom my father and all fathers are a picture. Can we say that God respects us? Considering that he makes us his coworkers in vocation, I think he does on some level. We are certainly not his equals. Before the fall into sin, Adam and Eve would have never claimed equality with God. In fact, the desire to be like him was the impetus of their fall into sin. At the same time, we are created in the image of God. This is deserving of respect and rights as well. Even better, he redeemed us and treats us like sons who inherit the family estate (Gal. 3:26–28).1 This is pure grace because we most certainly do not deserve this love or respect.

I am fascinated with the Tower of Babel account in Genesis. God respects human potential even though he has the power to squash any human endeavor. After seeing the people of earth building a tower to reach into the heavens, God said, “Nothing will be impossible for them.” An exaggeration for sure, but the respect God has for the potential of humanity fascinates me. It was almost as if God was scared of his creation: “If as one people speaking the same language they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them. Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other” (Gen. 11:6–7).

Human potential is extraordinary. This potential is finite, certainly, for we are finite creatures. Yet the ceiling is higher than we can perceive. From our point of view, our potential seems infinite. This is terrifying. The potential for evil I possess is chilling. It was not the tyrants who carried out the infamous genocides of our history; it was regular people who did the dirty work. Ordinary people like me. We are fools to underestimate our potential for evil. The opposite is true as well. It is true that our potential for good is limited by our finitude and is severely hampered by our sinfulness.2 Still, we underestimate the potential of God to work good through us.

I experienced this when my wife was pregnant with our first child. As the eldest of six children, I knew what was coming when it came time for me to be a parent. I was not the young father who didn’t know how to hold an infant or change a diaper. Nothing surprised me as a new parent. This did not make me, however, a confident new parent. I was terrified because I knew what kind of patience and love it would take, and I didn’t have it. I thought I had a ceiling for love, and that limit had been met. Then I held that baby girl in my arms for the first time, and my ceiling was shattered. I had a greater potential for love than I thought. When my wife was pregnant with our second child, I literally thought I wouldn’t love the second child. How could I? I couldn’t take one ounce of love away from my first child—I was tapped out. Then I held that second baby girl in my arms. My ceiling was shattered again. By the time the third baby girl came along, I knew what would happen. I could have a dozen children, and I would have enough love for them all. I wouldn’t have the time, energy, patience, or money for all of them, but I would have the love (as sinfully watered down as that love might be).

This tremendous human potential originates from God. We who are created in the image of God are very different from the lifeless rock. We move on our own. We possess this mysterious thing called life. We are different from plants—we have consciousness—we can think and love and play. We are different from animals that think, play, and maybe even love. We are made in the image of God with all the beauty, complexity, and rationality that comes along with this divine imprint. We have lost original righteousness; that is, we have lost the perfect image of God, but there remains something about us that separates us from all the rest of creation. We have wonderment. We were made for greatness. Above all, we are loved by the creator so much that he desires to redeem us. We are ones for whom Christ died. We are justifiable in the sense that God justifies us and not the rocks.

There is an innate value we possess. We instinctively know that we were made for something great, certainly greater than this fallen world. We generally see someone who does not live up to their potential as tragic and not admirable. “What a waste,” we might comment. There is a desire for perfection, a desire for heaven, a desire for wholeness. We are told to be content and rightly so (1 Tim. 6:6), and yet how could we ever be content? How could we ever settle for a life that ends in death? We were made for life, not death. We should never settle for mediocrity. Our discontent is sinful (everything we do is), but it is also righteous. It is part and parcel of being simultaneously a sinner-saint. The sinner is discontent and selfishly whines, but the saint is discontent with eager anticipation of what is to come (Gal. 5:5). Either way, we are people of drama. We know there is more. I am convinced that if we don’t have drama in our lives, we will make it up. Such is our innate desire for greatness.

We tend to put drama in the wrong place, which hampers our freedom. We get worked up about unimportant matters and are flippant about important ones. We free ourselves where we should be bound and imprison ourselves where we are free. I am perplexed by Hollywood stars. On the one hand, they hate the paparazzi. I understand. Who wants their whole life plastered across cheap magazines or trashy websites? Yet, nothing promotes itself like Hollywood. There seems to be an endless parade of award shows. “Another one?” I think to myself as I hear about the red carpet at the Oscars, Golden Globes, Emmy’s, and so on and so forth. My immediate self-righteousness criticizes the whole spectacle: “What a bunch of self-absorbed narcissists!” But perhaps there is a tragic lesson for us all. We will never be satisfied. Part of that is sinful pride (sinner), but a part of this is truly righteous discontent (saint). I was made for perfection, and nothing this side of perfection will ever satisfy. Nothing. The sinful self will never be satisfied, but neither will the saint created in the image of God. The sinner is bound to other’s praise. It’s another form of self-justification. When we seek drama, importance, and value in the wrong places, freedom is hampered. We strive for validation and not flourishing. The saint is never satisfied either, not because she is seeking justification but rather a world that flourishes—the way it was always intended to be.

We should talk about freedom for a moment. At first glance, it seems that freedom should be defined as “To do whatever I want, whenever I want, however I want, and as often as I want.” But is this true freedom? The addict says the same thing: “It’s my body and my life. I can do what I want.” We all understand that this is not freedom but the worst kind of prison, one of his own making. I am no freer than the addict when I sin. I am a slave to sin (Rom. 6, 7). My “freedom” to do what I want is no freedom at all. It’s the worst kind of prison.

Freedom is found in Christ. First, I know that I do not need to work for the approval of the Father. In Christ, I am made righteous. I can’t please God, and I don’t have to. Christ already did that for me. I am free from the burdensome question, “Am I good enough for God?” The answer is no, but Christ makes it yes (2 Cor. 1:19–20). Second, I am free from finding justification for my existence and value from the world. A created-in-the-image-of-God human is never going to be satisfied with such accolades anyway. And what could ever be greater than being made one in Christ? A promotion, an award, a raise, a Noble Peace Prize, an Emmy, an Oscar? I am free from finding value in all the wrong places because I have value in Christ.

The builders of the Tower of Babel were never going to reach the heavens. How could they? The height of the building was not what concerned God; it was the desire to do so in the first place. The builders of the tower wanted to make a name for themselves. Why? Who were they trying to impress? Themselves? God? Since they were created in the image of God, they had an inborn desire for greatness. What could be greater than reaching into the heavens? What could be greater than to play God? The irony is that our desire to be like God is what gets us into trouble. We only make matters worse. The tragedy is that God actually provides divine deeds for us to accomplish. We have it upside down. We consider making a name for ourselves a thing of glory, but the glory is never attained. Christ tells us differently. His glory is in the cross—no red carpet for him. Our glory is first in the cross as well. Here is where our sins are forgiven, and we are made righteous. Second are our lives of serving others in vocation. God prepares divine works in advance for us to accomplish (Eph. 2:10). To be like God is not to make a name for ourselves; it is to love.

Humanity has not stopped building towers of Babel despite the confusion of our languages. List your towers of Babel. Maybe it is a perfect house or a perfect family. Perhaps a high-paying job, fancy letters behind your name, or a corner office. The problem is that there is always one more story that can be built upon the tower. Another promotion, one more zero on the end of the paycheck, one more championship, one more accolade. I could win thirty Nobel Peace prizes and would still want one more. It’s a prison of the worst kind because we made it for ourselves. If we would only stop trying to make a name for ourselves and look around, we would see great and glorious tasks laid at our feet. They would just appear differently. They would look like crosses.

Two Kinds of Righteousness

From this you will see that monasticizing and making spiritual regulations is all wrong in our time. For these people bind themselves before God to outward things from which God has made them free thus working against the freedom of faith and God’s order. On the other hand, where these people should be bound, namely, in their relations with other men and in serving every man in love, there they make themselves free, serving no one and being of no use to anyone but themselves, thus working against love.

—Martin Luther

I have never been able to shake this desire for self-justification, and I won’t this side of heaven. This desire for self-justification plays out in my life every single day, even in the simplest of situations. When I drive to work in the morning and find myself behind a slow driver, I think to myself, “Must be nice to take a leisurely Sunday drive, but it’s Tuesday morning, and I have places to be!” What I am really saying is, “Don’t these people know how important I am?” On the way home from work, I notice a driver tailgating me. Now I think, “Slow down, buddy. What’s the rush? I have places to be too.” What I am really saying is, “I am just as important as you.” In each situation, I attempt to justify my worth. But to whom am I justifying myself? Am I trying to justify my value to another driver who can’t even hear my inner monologue? Am I trying to justify myself to myself? Am I God? Even within myself, all alone in a car, I am still trying to find value for myself. I end up playing God like the Babel architects. It’s the ultimate idolatry. It is God alone who justifies, not me.

Maybe it is guilt that pushes me into this insanity. I should have accomplished more by now. I should be the one with important places to be. So I overcompensate by convincing myself that if I don’t arrive at my destination soon, everything will fall apart. I am so important. Maybe it is competitiveness. “You’re not better than me. I am just as important as you,” I say to imaginary critics. Either way, I am trying to raise my profile while lowering the profile of someone else—someone that I will never meet in the example above.

I am willing to bet that you put yourself under impossible laws all the time too. Always in a competition. Always judging others not necessarily because you care so much about them but because you care so much about yourself. You attempt to decrease others so that you might increase yourself—a reversal of John the Baptist’s famous line (John 3:30). I am willing to bet that it does not end well for you either. It accomplishes nothing in the end but bitterness toward an unfair system or self-pity: “I have it so rough, rougher than anybody else.”

This is all a symptom of a theological misunderstanding. St. Paul tells us that there are two kinds of righteousness. We might think of them as two systems. The first is a righteousness by law, and the second is a righteousness by faith. In system one, we build righteous towers of Babel. In system two, we do nothing. In the first system, righteousness is earned. A person follows laws and is rewarded. In the second system, righteousness is given. Christ is righteous, and his righteousness is given to the sinner. The sinner believes, and it is credited to him as righteousness (Gen. 15:6). If we put ourselves into the first system, we are asking God to judge us by our deeds according to the law. This is a victory for the devil. He loves to play the prosecutor who says to the judge (God), “These are your laws, and this person has not kept them. You must punish him.” In the second system, our lawyer (Christ) says, “Take my righteous life and credit it to my client.” Refusing the advocate’s advice is akin to being your own lawyer: “I can make a case for my life.”3 And you know what they say about a person who serves as his own lawyer: “He has a fool for a client.”

The first system, a righteousness by law, is generally how the world works. This is a good thing. People are (usually) judged by what they do. There are rules (law), and those who follow the rules do well. Those who break the rules do not. This is, however, a terrible system for love. Love becomes an earned wage and not a gift. It is no longer love; it is an obligation. God no longer loves us but is obligated to pay us the correct wage for our actions. He is no longer Father to us but rather a business partner—and a merciless one at that. How could a sinner ever do well in a system like this?

The second system, a righteousness by faith, is how God deals with his people. This is a very good thing. People are not judged by what they do. There are rules (law), but they are not what makes a person righteous (how could a sinner ever do that?). Instead, Christ is righteous in the sinner’s place. It is a gift. It is love. The sinner is made righteous.

The second system is contrary to standard advice like the following: “If you want to be good at something, practice.” A person is not born as a good woodworker. Rather, he works at it and becomes a good woodworker. A person becomes patient by practicing patience. This is a righteousness by law. While this is generally good advice for life in a sinful world, Jesus teaches the opposite when it comes to the Christian himself. On one occasion, he used an analogy of a tree. A bad tree cannot produce good fruit. Only a good tree produces good fruit (Matt. 7:17–18). The person is made righteous and then performs righteous acts. Justification (being declared righteous) proceeds sanctification (performing righteous deeds). Our towers of Babel, even the “righteous” ones, are attempts at self-justification, to make a name for ourselves, to be judged by our actions according to law. It’s a dead end. It’s the wrong...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Foreword
• Introduction: Two Lessons Learned
• Chapter 1: Freed to Love
• Chapter 2: Vocation as the Setting for God’s Work
• Chapter 3: Vocation as the Setting for Spiritual Warfare
• Chapter 4: Vocation as the Setting for Human Flourishing
• Conclusion: Venture All Things
• Epilogue 1: Vocation as the Setting for Evangelism
• Epilogue 2: Choosing a Vocation
• Notes