How certain are you?

Erwin Raphael McManus' book Chasing Daylight continues to be a stimulating read. In his chapter "uncertainty," he has a pertinent section titled "How certain are you?" (pp. 66-69). Because of its power, here is the entire section:

Several years ago I was lecturing at a seminary, and when I was finished, a young student shared with me that she had planned to go to the Northwest to help start a new church. She continued to explain that in the process she had discovered it was not the will of God. I asked her how she determined that, and she said, "The money never came through." I asked her who told her that lack of finances was proof that God was not in it. She said her pastor and her parents. They said that if God wanted her to go, everything would be provided before she left.

Our wealth and abundance of human resources have positioned us to accept a paradigm that provision precedes vision. This has been the foundation of building no-risk faith. This is a tragedy when a part of the adventure is the discovery that vision always precedes provision. I know this may be a real stretch, but it is always right to do what's right, even if it turns out wrong. There are times God calls us to do the right thing, knowing that others will respond in the wrong way. Jesus did the right thing when He left Gethsemane where He struggled to embrace the Father's will and began a journey that would lead to the Cross. The consequence to Him was severe. Our response toward His coming was to crucify Him. We should not be surprised that a lifelong journey with God might bring us suffering and hardship. If the Cross teaches us anything, it teaches us that sometimes God comes through after we've been killed.

Though Jonathan did not die when he engaged the Philistines, there is no principle that says everyone who does God's will lies--at least not on this earth. And if you're like me, when I imagine Jonathan at war with the Philistines, he barely broke a sweat. How many of us imagine his battle and find him wounded and perhaps even near death? Yet this is not unlikely. What would be surprising is to engage in this kind of primal warfare and leave unscarred. All this is to say, even when we live, it doesn't mean the victory comes without suffering.

If we are going to seize divine moments, we must accept the reality that we have no control over many things. We have no control over when we die or how we die. We must instead take responsibility for what we do have control over--how we choose to live.

Jonathan wasn't choosing to die, but he was choosing how he would live. He left the consequence of his actions in the hands of God. He chose to do what he knew was right. Again, God was doing something in history, and Jonathan gave his life to it. This realm of uncertainty is the place of miracles. Sometimes the miracle is wrapped around the person we become, the courage and nobility expressed through a life well lived.

Funerals may be the context where the most is said about us that we never hear. Over time you come to realize that it's not so much what is said about you, but who shows up. I have stood in the midst of funerals where no more than a handful of people came to pay respects, and even those seemed to be there mostly out of obligation or duty. Every now and again you step into a funeral that is really more of a celebration. I've had the privilege to step into moments like that. When I attended the service of Maxine Marie Papazian, out of respect for her brother, Dave Mushegan, I was struck by the scene. Although the auditorium was quite large, there was standing room only. I stood in the back and watched as the memorial progressed, and I was caught by surprise at what I saw: both genuine celebration and heartfelt loss. But what really struck me was the response of the people sitting in the back. You expect the people in the front to be intimately engaged in the experience. Those who are family and close friends usually fill the seats and rows closest to the ceremony. Often the back is filled with the polite, but distant, acquaintances. Yet that wasn's the case. Several of us who were standing against the back wall later expressed how deeply we were moved to see virtually the entire chapel equally grieved at the loss of a dear friend. I left wondering who would be at my funeral: Would people care even all the way to the back?

A person's life does not require some extraordinary event to distinguish it. A life well lived can be equally inspiring and its contribution also great. Sometimes that transformation is best seen through failure, defeat, and even death. Other times the miracle is wrapped around how God comes through in the midst of all that uncertainty.

When you move with God, He always shows up. It's just difficult to predict what He will do or how He will do it. If you wait for guarantees, the only thing that will be guaranteed is that you will miss endless divine opportunities--that you can know for certain.