We are who God says we are.  That is great news!  We must seek to live out this identity, rather than the ones we would self-create.  And this the main point of  the whole series. 

I want to talk today about what I would consider an extreme basic of Christian Faith—an extreme basic.  An extreme basic is Providence—the Providence of God.  We are not defined by what we think of ourselves.  Rather, we are whose we are.   We are who God has called us to be—and that is good news.  We are who we are because we belong to God.  Hence: Providence.  Providence needs some definition:  Divine guidance or care; God conceived as the power sustaining and guiding human destiny.  That’s right out of the dictionary.   Providence—we don’t use the word that much.   Usually in proper writing it’s capitalized, because it is the Providence of God—God provides, God is over all, God is really in control of the whole thing.   And this raises some big questions for us.  As an absolute basic—do we really believe it?  Do we really trust in it?  Or, are there areas where we assume to ourselves responsibilities that are properly the Providence of God?  I think this is the story of the Church in the last 200 years.  What is God’s responsibility?   What is God’s responsibility for His people?  For your and my salvation?   Theologically and biblically I’d have to say 100 percent.

What are we responsible for—to make happen in this world?  Short answer:  absolutely nothing!  God is responsible for it all.  God is Provident.  God’s Providence is perfect, as God is perfect.  And man, this is troubling territory.  Is God in control or is God not in control?  If He’s in control, why do bad things happen?  Do we trust that God is in control?  I’m going to say we pretty much have to because then we ask the question: “Is Providence perfect?”  It’s like, “Well, I’d like to say yes, but some hard things have happened that I can’t blame God for.”  And that’s part of the problem when something bad happens to us—to me—I want to blame God.  Why did God let this happen? 

When I worked as a chaplain in the hospital—on-call in the Emergency Room on summer nights in Omaha, Nebraska—again and again I ran into families who in great grief, looked at me, the chaplain, and said, “Why would God do this to him?  Why would God do this to us?  Why would God do this to me?”  And I’m sorry, but I had a cynical streak as a college student and a seminarian.  And I just had to bite my lip and nod, but what I wanted to say was, “Why not you?  What makes you think you’re special?   Okay, five men have died tonight in this emergency room—why not you?  Who do you think you are that the God of the Universe is expected to dance at the tune of your comfort?  These could be people with a very small God. These are people that don’t know that God is Provident, big—overseeing the whole thing.  

There’s a great Greek word in Philippians is epichoresis (where we get the word choreography).  God is working all things together like a choreographer in a dance.  But we don’t really believe it, do we?   Can we really trust that God is in control?  The people who say “God helps he who helps himself,” don’t get it. That’s essentially disbelief in God.  “God helps him who helps himself?”  No, you don’t need God at all in that scheme.  On the other hand, you have people that would simply say, “Hey, it’s all good! God’s in control and we don’t have to do anything.”   This is the voice of the deadly sin of sloth.  For our lives we must seek to be somewhere else—other than that.  It is right that as Christians we should say God is sovereign, God is Provident and God’s Providence is perfect.  And by the way, people who believe that are the happiest people walking this earth. 

Well, to answer, Is Providence trustworthy and what do we do to become more trusting?  I can’t give you a mechanical pathway to walk or say, “Here’s how you go from doing it your way to doing it God’s way. Here’s how you go from trusting in yourself and in your own mechanisms and in your own devices and own resources—to really trusting in God.” It’s not that simple. 

But I can tell you the story from my life, of how I entered ministry.  And in 8 ½ years I haven’t told this story from the pulpit.  So I’m going to tell you now.  This is how I came to accept God’s call.  Are you ready? 

I grew up in a Christian family. My dad grew up in a Fundamentalist Swedish family and then went to Gonzaga and the Jesuits tried to turn him into a Catholic and they failed, so he spent the rest of his life arguing theology with his two sons.  So from the time I was young I remembered every mealtime was a theological argument.  And it didn’t matter what we were talking about, it could have been baseball or Vietnam, every subject under the sun had its logical, moral conclusion in theology. 

So I was brought up in a family that fought [with, not against each other] theologically about everything.  All of theology.  And that was part of my formation, even up through high school.  I have to tell you about two people because they play into the story.  Two of my buddies, John and Charlie.  Now Charlie—he’s Jewish.  His father was a professor of biochemistry at Creighton med school and Charlie and I tended toward the very philosophical.  We were weird kids, but he was a great, great mind and a good friend.  Jonathan always knew he was going to be a minister.  He went to a different church but he always knew he was called to be in ministry from the time that he was young.   These two guys also went to the University of Chicago and were also good friends.  But they were two good friends of mine.  And they play into this story in this way:

When I went to Gonzaga and I was trying to figure out what I was going to do with my life, and the first year I took psychology, social psychology, political science, these electives, and I realized that all of the world’s disciplines were failures.  That psychology, sociology, political science tend to define the problems.  This is defining what’s wrong with humanity, what’s wrong with human psychology., what’s wrong with economic systems—but when it came to providing solutions, again and again I felt like saying Is that it? Is that the best you can do?  Where’s the solution?   And of course my background spoke to me, saying there is no real change in the world, or in society, without an inner spiritual transformation.  If God is not willing to change a heart there is no hope. 

And so coming to that conclusion afresh, I wrote to my friend, Jonathan, a letter saying “I see why you’re going into ministry. And I’m happy for you—for this direction and for the ability for you to change the world.”  And he wrote back to me, completely misunderstanding my letter, saying “Forget it, Noel.  You’re not right for it.  You don’t belong in ministry.”  I thought What? That wasn’t—I wasn’t asking you that!   But that’s what he heard and he made it clear I didn’t belong in ministry. 

My Jewish friend Charlie had a thing about Christianity where he was learning about it through me—from me and John.  Poor guy—two of his best friends both ended up ministers—you have to have some sympathy for him. These were two people who were not encouraging for me in the direction of ministry. 

Another part of my calling came right here in Upland, forty years ago in 1979. My brother’s bachelor party took place at a pub called The Midway, a little dive bar between here and Claremont. And this place was cherished by some up-and-comign theologians in the Claremont area.  And so we were there and I was having a beer between Vic Pence and Ben Patterson.  They were two of my brother’s heroes and people that I kind of admired as well. I was in my second year of college and I’m sitting with these guys and they ask, “So what are you studying?”  They are showing real interest ‘cause they’re nice pastors.  And I was like, “You’re not going to be interested in what I’m reading…”  And they said, “What are you reading?”   And I said “I’m really into the 17th century metaphysical poets, John Dunne, Herbert, Marvell, Crashaw—”   And Ben Patterson looks at me and he said, “ Really, I just spent 250 bucks on a rare collection of George Herbert poetry.”   I thought what in the world?   Vic Pence asked the same:  “What are you reading?”  As an English lit major I told him I was reading this and that, “Have you read Annie Dillard?”  “No.”   You  must read this person and this person.  And I’m surrounded by two men and I realize, O my Lord! The life of the mind is alive in ministry!   My brother’s across the table, and I know he wasn’t into any of this stuff.  But that was kind of a first inkling for me.  And it happened here in Upland 40 years ago.

Well, I went back to college and had no interest in ministry at all, except for my brother in ministry.  And by the way, because my big brother’s a minister that made it impossible for me.  In other words, No, I can’t do what my big brother does. That would be like not having an identity; I gotta do my own thing.  Besides, one of us has to be a lawyer so we can have a condo in Hawaii.

I continued on the English Lit/Philosophy track and I developed a reputation as a dream interpreter.  Yes, I was Daniel of Gonzaga.  And several mornings a week at breakfast people would come up to me and they would say, “Hey, you’re Noel, yeah I heard about you.  I had this weird dream and I want to talk about it.”  And they would sit down and talk to me about their dreams.  This happened three times a week, regularly.   And I would kind of work through the meaning of their dreams with them from a Jungian point of view and it was fun. 

And then my junior year I had a funny dream.  I dreamed that I was in a white-framed house that was a seminary.  And in the dream (it was one of those very lucid dreams where you’re wide awake) and some other people my age were kind of playing around—kind of play-wrestling.  I was with a girl and we playfully fall to the floor in front of the fireplace.  I don’t remember her name in the dream, but it was a girl.  And when I stood up I realized “I am in seminary.  I am in ministry.”  And in the dream I prayed, “God, do I belong here?”  And all I can say is in this dream I felt totally ecstasy, total confirmation—religious ecstasy as though I were lifted up on a cloud and I came back down filled of total conviction that this is what I was to do.  I woke up in the morning and I thought “what a stupid dream.”   Heh heh.   And I went to breakfast and somebody came and told me they had a dream and they said “Did you have a dream? What did you dream last night?”   And I said, “Well, I don’t really remember.”  Which was a lie.  I couldn’t shake it.  And this person, an underclassman, said, “Well, maybe you just forgot your dream.”   Which really offended me because I was really good at remembering my dreams and telling people I remember them. So I told him the dream.  I told him it was a dream I was at the seminary.

By this time there were two people sitting there.  And they said, “Really?  Are you going to be a priest?”  And I said, “No! I’m Presbyterian.”  And they said, “Well, are you going to go into ministry?  You should, that would be good for you.”   And I thought “What?  Wrong. Wrong.”

I had lunch across campus at the underclassman dining hall.  I was Speaker of the Senate of the student government so I made announcements at lunch time.  And as I was sitting with a bunch of underclassmen at their table, dreams came up.  And somebody said “What did you dream last night?”   And I said, “Naah.”  And they said, “No, maybe you did and you’ve just forgotten.”   “Well, I did have a dream, and I said I was at seminary.”   And these are guy-guys—they were like fraternity guys.  And they’re looking at me with total seriousness.  And they say, “You ought to do that. Maybe God’s talking to you.”  And I said, “Coud you guys go back to talking about baseball?”  And it felt weird and I was troubled. So troubled that I left campus for dinner and I went out to the Black Angus by myself.   While I’m there I run into another couple—an upperclassman and his girlfriend, whom I really liked and respected.  And they asked me to join them for dinner.  And wouldn’t you know it, they started talking about dreams.  And they said, “Any interesting dreams lately, Noel?”  And I told them about my dream.  And they said, in all seriousness, “You need to take this seriously.” And so I didn’t.  I did my best to forcibly forget about it.  I thought maybe at Christmas I’ll go home and I’ll talk with my brother about it.  I’ll bring it up.  And I’ll just say “Hey, what about dreams and all…”  

So I’m home at Christmas and looking forward to my brother coming home and talking with him and in the meantime there’s a party at my friend Charlie’s house (a white framed house, by the way) and I’m over there and we have dinner and I’m surrounded by people at really prestigious schools, not like Gonzaga.  University of Chicago, Northwestern, Princeton and Harvard and the God thing comes up.  They’re all kind of like “O God, yeah right”(really dismissive).   And I start defending the Faith. And something happens. It’s not an argument and I don’t remember what led up to this but at one point I’m sitting at the end of the table rather comfortably and I’ve got five or six people standing over me looking at me, firing questions at me.  And with every question that comes it just seems that as I answered it was just kind of dispelled…dispelled…dispelled.  And as I’m walking out my friends John and Charlie have already gone out of the living room to get their coats around the corner and they’re talking about something.

And one of my dear female friends, Holly, comes trotting up to me and out of the clear blue sky says, “So Noel, what are you going to do after you graduate? What are you going to be?”  And I put my foot in the water.  I said “Well, Holly, I’m going to go to Seminary and become a minister.”  And she starts laughing.   And I felt hurt!   And I’m surprised that I felt hurt.  But I went and I started wrestling with her and we kind of fell down on our knees right in front of the fireplace and suddenly all of that dream came flooding back—a white-frame house, wresting in front of a fireplace, and my jaw fell open and I was in a different world. I thought, What in the world is going on here?

And I go to leave Holly to find my friends, John and Charlie, and these two guys, around the corner from me, not part of this conversation at all, one of them says, “I think Noel would make a good minister.”  That’s from the guy that said I shouldn’t go into ministry.  And my Jewish friend says, “I think Noel would make a great minister.”  And then I felt really weird.  These are literally the last two people in the world I expected to say anything like that.   And I must have looked like I’d been hit in the heat with a brick. Too, too weird indeed.

So, you think this is pretty dramatic so far, the call probably should have sunk into my head by now.  But, not quite.  I make an appointment to meet with my senior pastor at Dundee Presbyterian Church.  I’m going to go see Gerry.  And I made the appointment and then immediately forgot that I made it.  And I’m over at one of my friend’s apartments trying not to think about all this weirdness going on.  I’m taping albums onto cassette, smoking and drinking and not being a good Christian, and trying to reject the idea.  The phone rings (this is my friend’s apartment and he isn’t there).  I pick up and it’s my sister.  She says, “Noel, don’t forget you have an appointment with Gerry in ten minutes.”  O yeah!—I had completely forgotten about it. 

So I get up, leave the apartment and it’s about a ten minute walk to the church from there.  And so I’m walking and walking.  And I’m thinking, “Oh, what am I doing? Does my breath smell like smoke?  What’s going on here?”   And I’m talking with God and it’s like, “What’s going on here?  What’s happening? What’s going on?”  And then I think, wait a minute, how did my sister know I had an appointment?  She had nothing to do with it. I didn’t tell anybody I made this appointment.   Okay, now this is all a bit too much for me.

As I’m walking I’m now rehearsing what I’m going to say to the pastor.  Like, “Gerry, tell me a little bit about how you got called.  How did you experience the call?” I felt like a coin that had been flipped up in the air.  I felt sure that after talking to Gerry I’ll come down head or tails.  I just want this anxiety and the weirdness to end.  And as I saw the church and came toward it I knew, “This is going to resolve something for me.”

I went in to see Gerry and said, “Gerry, I just want you to talk to me about how your call was experienced.” And he totally misunderstood me.  He said, “Noel, I’m so happy to hear this.  We’ve been praying for this for you.  I’m so glad you’re experiencing the call.”  Part of me was like, “Wait a minute!  Wait a minute!  That’s not what I said—Not what I said at all.  That wasn’t where I was going with this.”  But I’m sitting there and he’s talking about seminary and I realize the  decision’s been made!  I was pulled through the gate. I knew it was   allgoing to happen. Walking home I thought, “What was I resisting?  Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve studied, everything I’ve been from the time I was a little kid prepared me for this.  I’m like a fish that’s about to fall into the water.”

One more episode.  I was on a kind of a high for about an hour.  I told my dad who was overjoyed to have two sons whe were going to be pastors. My brother was excited. My mother just flatly said, “I’m not surprised.”  I don’t know what that means, to this day.  

I got back to school and went back into denial, thinking, I really don’t want to be a minister.  I’m going to have to become dull and boring and drive a brown Oldsmobile and I just don’t see myself changing into the kind of person people expect a pastor to be.  It was later that I learned that’s not how it works. 

But I fought it and I decided—not consciously—to test God. I would pick one seminary—I would pick the best seminary in the world—and I would submit one application. If I got in, good; if I didn’t, I would go to law school.  And so I researched and researched. I looked at Oxford, Yale, Harvard—those are Divinity schools, but it seems the clear choice was Princeton Theological Seminary, which was ultimately way above them all, so I sent them my one application. It was half-hearted.  It wasn’t a good application. I was still fighting it.

I got home that next Christmas, a year later, and my brother’s like, “Have you heard? Have you heard?”  He was so excited for me.  I said, “No, I  haven’t heard anything yet.”  But now, something had happened to me—I wanted it.  I realized I wanted this to happen and it took me just that long for me to accept the idea. I regretted giving Princeton my most mediocre self.

Now this is too cheesy for a movie.  The day after Christmas, the day after Christmas, after watching for the mail every day, nothing from Princeton.  I thought, well I’m not going t get in, I’m going to do something else.  The day after Christmas my brother and I are together and my parents come into the living room, and no kidding, no kidding—right there on the Christmas tree is a letter from Princeton Seminary.  Now I suspect my sister was somehow involved in this, as this wasn’t the first time she acted as an agent of God in my life, but there was the letter.“Hey, where’d that come from?”  I grabbed it, opened it up.

Not only was I accepted, but I had been given a scholarship through the first year and they were giving me room and board, my own room. It was a red carpet. I wonder today, that if it weren’t for such a dramatic story for me, when things were tough, would I have persevered?  When I hit hard times in ministry, when people are jerks(and by the way, sometimes people are!), when I’m undermined—I think if it hadn’t have been for the way God called me, I would have walked.  I would have walked ten times from ministry within the first ten years and done something else. 

Not everyone at seminary had to be so coerced.  I did.   And for me Providence means that God is above it all—above all my thoughts about what’s going on, above all the people that were put in place to sort of knock me in the head. God has called me every time I’ve moved from one church to another.  And this is what the final chapter is about.  We all experience a kind of conversion in going from doing things our way to accepting the calling of God. 

Now God has a calling for you and for me also.  First of all it’s the calling to follow—the calling to Faith—we are all called to Faith and to follow in Jesus’ Name.  But there might be another kind of call that you’re wrestling with.  Maybe it’s an inner feeling of discontent in your work that’s eating away at you.  Maybe you’re feeling that your life was meant for more than it is.  Those aren’t feelings to be brushed off.  Those are feelings to be embraced and prayerfully investigated.  God may be calling you to something far greater than your safety, security or knowledge of what you expect to happen.

All of the joy and fun in this life comes from that horrid-feeling thing that happens when you abandon your own devices and simply throw yourself with both feet into what you think God is calling you to do.  It’s dangerous.  It’s risky.  It is scary.  It feels like treading water.  What we all prefer is nice solid ground and an easy chair.  But all the joy of walking with God is where God is calling us.  If you feel God is distant or less than Provident it might be because you’re not following that closely.  He’s calling.  He calls us all.  Our role is to say “Yes, whatever.  Yes, wherever.  Yes, whoever.”

That’s an extreme basic of the faith.  And for many people it is experienced as a conversion.