Your call.

William Booth, the founder of the Salvation Army, once turned to a young man who claimed that he had never had a call from God. “What?” he bellowed. “You’ve never had a call? You mean you’ve never heard the call!”
The truth of this made me smile because I know that it is rarely the case that God is silent, it is more often the case that I don’t listen because what I hear is not always what I want to hear (it’s as if God is not actually listening to me!). This reminded me of something that I had read in Pete Greig’s book ‘The Vision and the Vow.’

I was giving a friend a lift in my car, and we got talking about life. “I don’t know what God’s calling me to do,” he confessed, and asked me to pray about what it might be.
“Why?” I asked. “I already know what Jesus wants you to do!”
“You do?” he gasped with excitement. “So, what is it? What’s my call?”
I paused, enjoying the suspense. Drums rolled. String quartets tuned up. My friend held his breath…
“Your call,” I said slowly, “is to be a worship leader…”
He looked pleased, really pleased, so I continued:”… but not necessarily with a guitar in your hand.”
“Okayyy,” he murmured.
“Your call is to befriend that funny little lady at the end of your street…”
He seemed less pleased with this prospect.
“Your call is to feed the hungry and to spend yourself on behalf of the poor…”
By now he was looking distinctly troubled.
“… and to offer hospitality to strangers who just turn up in town needing a place to crash.”
Consternation.
“And it’s to fast.”
He was starting to look furious.
“And it’s to pray so long and hard that you run out of words and tears.”
There was no going back:
“Your call,” I continued, “is to preach the good news of Jesus to every person who will listen and to a few who won’t. Your call is to go somewhere, anywhere, wherever, whenever, for Jesus, and never stop. Your call is to love people no one else loves and to forgive them when they treat you like dirt – or worse. Do your job to the very best of your ability without grumbling about your boss or whining about your colleagues. Your call is to pray for the sick, and when they are healed, to dance all night. And when they aren’t, to weep with them and love them even more.”
I glanced across at him and was relieved to see that his expression was beginning to mellow.
“Your call is to honour your parents, pray for your leaders, study the Scriptures, and attend plenty of parties. Be a peacemaker in every situation: when the fight breaks out on the bus home late at night and when the gossip starts to circulate at church. Your call is to pick up litter when no one else is looking, to wipe the toilet seat, to pull the gum off from under the desk. It’s to get to meetings early and put out the chairs.”
By now he was smiling.
“Your call is to make disciples and to teach them to obey everything Jesus commanded. And don’t forget to minister grace to them when they sin. Which they will. Your mission is to baptize and to cast out evil spirits. Your call is to bind up the broken hearts wherever you find them, and you will find them wherever you look. It’s to visit prisons. And hospitals. And to…”
“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted good naturedly, trying to shut me up, but I was on a roll – and I knew he couldn’t leave, because I was driving the car.
“Your call,” I continued resolutely, “is to listen more than you talk and to listen with your eyes as well as your ears.”
He was shaking his head in mock despair. I carried on: “It’s to do the chores again and again without grumbling. It’s to buy ethical coffee and to recycle your bottles. And while you are at it, don’t forget to leave anonymous gifts on people’s doorsteps.”
By now we were both laughing, and I was finally running out of steam: “And when you’ve done all that,” I grinned, jabbing him in the ribs at each syllable, “come back and see me, and we can spend a little time praying about Phase Two!”