Calling of a Pilgrim

This whole reality of being a pilgrim is beginning to sink in more than ever before. Yesterday afternoon I was talking with a friend about how this whole growing up thing is happening way too quickly. It’s true. I’m supposed to be a responsible individual, it seems, and this no longer means washing the bathroom mirror and copying spelling words, but changing the car oil and staying alive through college. The bathroom doesn’t clean itself, and I suppose I’ll have to study for that test since it won’t take itself. There are also perks—drinking coffee like a grownup (is that what I am?? Since when??) whenever I like, taking an impromptu bike trip to a lakeside dock for an evening study session, or eating frozen mango and laughing irresponsibly over Calvin and Hobbes in my hammock at one o’clock in the morning.

This semester has sped by, and it seems like just yesterday that I arrived. So many blessings overflowing, and my heart is full. It’s been a hard run, these last several months, and my utter dependence on His grace has been proven and re-proven a dozen times. Yes, this is a merciful God we serve. All through the prophets He pursued His wayward people, and over and over He draws my heart back to Him when my gaze has lingered on lesser things. Be Thou My Vision remains my favorite hymn, and that’s more because it speaks to this desperate longing for Christ than anything else. It’s the prayer of my heart, that I might be continually captivated with Christ, in awe at the wonders of the gospel, and utterly dedicated to the glory of my King. I fail often, but He’s given me Himself, and the Jesus who lived, died, was resurrected, and ascended to heaven has called me, loved me, redeemed me.

The stakes are higher, and the goal is nearer than it was a year ago. It’s not me creating a new reality but waking up more and more to one that’s already here—one that has existed through centuries. God redeems His people, He runs after them with a boundless, matchless love, and my years, days, minutes ought to reflect this. Because of the Word of this God, His people have hope. He will one day return, but till then we press on, laying everything aside for the goal of the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

This doesn’t exclude, of course, the actions, words, and attitudes in which we so carelessly engage. We exist as part of a covenant body, and every member participates in the joy and sorrow, blessing or cursing. The Spirit within us is our only hope, and when a situation looks hopeless, He’s behind the scenes—has been from all eternity past—plotting for our good and for His glory in the midst of quiet moments, hectic days, long conversations with roomies, laughter, babysitting little children. Despite my sin and pride and frailty it’s a wonder that He uses me at all. Yet He chooses to do so, and it humbles me and undoes me, causes me to fall on my knees in amazement at what this God does.

In the airport this morning I opened up Colossians, and lectures and conversations and events of the past months came rushing back. The richness flooded over me, and that’s not something I can conjure up like a little Arabian genie. That’s the Spirit at work making new what has been twisted and perverted and what would be eternally lost apart from His saving purposes.

All along He’s chosen me as an object of His saving love. That’s a crazy thing to realize, let alone in the middle of an airport amid the flow of people and eccentricities of humanity all around. It makes me want to share the good news, to tell people about the reconciliation that’s been made possible through the shed blood of the Son of God.

Really, this is what it’s all about. This is why I’ve moved across the continent to a flat state and a city with no stars; this is why I stay up till all hours of the night and do thousands of pages of reading per semester. This may, perhaps, be what leads me overseas for a year away from a single person I know. Because it matters in the scheme of eternity. There are those who have never heard, those who don’t care, perhaps those who will call me mother. I want to be equipped in this dangerous world and to know how to use and apply the Word effectively in my own life and in the lives of others.

The sun has risen and there’s a line of blue horizon above the outlines of trees and water and roads and civilization winding below. The piled up thoughts of the past weeks finally find themselves time for expression (in however rough and poor a form). Increasingly, I find myself growing smaller in this big world and the truths of the gospel becoming more magnificent. These are things far beyond me, outside me, transcending full comprehension.

Yet I’ve found this is also place of great security. When my own self appears insignificant and the holiness of God causes me to fear and tremble—that’s when life makes the most sense, when my energies are directed as they ought to be, when my heart is fixed on the celestial city. As Andrew Peterson just got done reminding me, I ain’t setting my headings for no change in course.

Home is still home, but the more years that go by, with semesters coming and going, and plans in the making for after college, home seems all the more beautiful and less permanent. It’s like Jon Foreman is right when he sings, I’m not so sure home is a place I can still get to by train. The idea of moving halfway around the world for a year simply highlights the reality that this world isn’t really home at all, and every taste of security and contentment and belonging are really meant to point us toward our heavenly home. Life isn’t is about predictable or tame or comfortable—whatever normal people mean by those terms.

The greatest thing God promises His people is Himself. When Moses hesitated, God said I will be with you. When Joshua set out in conquest—Be strong and courageous, for I am with you. When Isaiah trembled at the vision given him—I will be with you to strengthen you. In the Great Commission: I will be with you, even to the end of the age. When the risen and ascended Jesus poured out His Spirit on His followers, He gave them His abiding presence to equip them to bear witness. So we find ourselves here in this struggle and strife of the world, the flesh, and the devil, and out ahead lies the prize. Our Lord, for the joy set before Him endured the cross. Should this motivate us any less in our pursuit of holiness and faithfulness in our callings? He who enjoyed fellowship with the Father from the beginning of the world knew what was about to happen to Him, and went willingly forward to agony and torture in obedience to His Father.

If Christ is really our all, and if Colossians is right (or the entire Bible, for that matter), we have every reason to do daring, dangerous things; to faithfully fulfill our daily responsibilities; to strive against our flesh and kill sin; to pour ourselves out in costly, sacrificial ways for brothers and sisters around us. Friendships grow sweet and deepen in pursuit of a common goal, for really, we’re all learning to be pilgrims together. Despite its beauty and joy and very real delights, this world is fleeting, which challenges us to set our minds on things above, where Christ, our Head, the Firstborn from the dead, is seated at the right hand of God.

I suppose all this is why I identified with that blonde, curly-haired little girl that just ran past in brown boots and a striped dress—no a clue where she was going and not a worry for how she’d get there—just enjoying the adventure and making sure not to step outside the tiles (cause we all know that’s a terrible thing to do).