When I was a young boy, only one book on my parents’ two expansive bookshelves drew me like a magnet: “The Lives of the Saints.” The book seemed to offer a new story for every day. That so many saints heard and accepted a call seized my imagination. And because each call came with risk, their motivations also fascinated me: loyalty, obligation, unswerving faith, conversion. Even longing.
I was growing up then in a largely Catholic east coast neighborhood, where daily Mass in Advent and Lent was a school attendance requirement. In that setting, with those reading habits, and two aunts who were Sisters of St. Joseph and my older sister soon to join them, I saw before me my own path to service and adventure — the priesthood.
A sixth-grade crush changed my life’s direction. But I’ve never sated the urge to ask the foundational questions of life that many of us have. As a young adult, I searched biblical accounts of calls put to some of God’s people whose responses and adventures have placed them in the canon of biblical literature. Almost every imaginable response is found there.
When Yahweh calls to Moses from a burning bush, Moses answers with a series of counterarguments: Who am I to go to the Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt? What am I to tell them? What if they don’t believe me? Finally: But I’m not eloquent. Enter Aaron, Moses’ brother, the smooth talker. (Exodus 3:14-17)
Isaiah, on the other hand, has enough bravado for Moses and himself. His response to Yahweh’s question “Whom shall I send?” is immediate, spontaneous, maybe overeager: “Send me, Lord.” Blind courage is still courage. (Isaiah 6:8)
Samuel, a boy at the time, had Eli as a mentor. (1 Samuel 3:21) God calls the boy three times in the night. Each time Samuel goes to Eli, thinking it’s his voice. Finally Eli realizes the voice must be God’s. Next time, Eli tells Samuel, say, “‘Speak, Yahweh, for your servant is listening.’”
Rather than deliver God’s message to Nineveh, Jonah flees. He escapes to a ship, is thrown overboard by the crew, and is swallowed by a whale. That three-day “retreat” changes Jonah’s thinking. (Jonah 1:1-3:10)
Perhaps no story is more gripping than that of Saul-turned-Paul. (Paul 9: 1-9) A persecutor and enemy of God’s people, he converts, and his life turns 180°. With help from Barnabas and others, Paul is rehabilitated, then sets out on a new mission.
I sometimes think of Ignatius, who after a battlefield injury renounced the warrior’s life. After an extended period of prayer, reflection, and penance, he perceived a new vision for his life. He didn’t run from it or deny it.
There isn’t a burning bush, or a voice in the night, for most of us. In an interview with LMU Magazine, actor Martin Sheen said that the longer he lives, the more he embraces his questions: “What is my mission here? Do I have a mission? Is it important that I have one?” Questions, as well as visions, may lead us.
I’m heartened that Ignatius saw his life’s purpose not by instantaneous epiphany but through a thorough, reflective process, one reflected today in his Spiritual Exercises. Sometimes remaining on the long path to purpose, the journey, is evidence of the right path.
Joseph Wakelee-Lynch is editor of LMU Magazine.