On Vocation

The first question in the catechism of the Book of Common Prayer is this: What is your Name? This name that our parents call us is our first vocation, a vocation to human life. Indeed much of our subsequent vocation may be determined right here: by genetics, by upbringing, and by example. Very commonly, one’s working life was decided by the family trade or business: James and John fishing with their father are recapitulated through the ages in all kinds of situations.

            There have also been many who broke out to follow the inspirations of the day: from Crusaders seeking adventure on the way to the Holy Land to miners from all over the world piling into California (the Chinese called it the Gold Mountain) and Australia (the New Gold Mountain). The city of Melbourne that I photograph was built on the wealth of the Gold Rush by some who felt they had a vocation to get rich.

            In the Bible, a certain group of individuals meet with a vocation they would rather do without: these are the prophets. They don’t welcome the call to go tell the king what the Lord thinks of him; they realise the king is in denial and likely to punish the messenger. Prophets may take quite a few calls before they do what they’re told: Jonah would rather be eaten by a sea monster.

            So vocation isn’t always a comfortable or joyful experience.

            A vocation is different from a gift. Composer Benjamin Britten ‘loved numbers’ and his gift was such that his school wanted to send him to Cambridge as a mathematician, while his father hoped he’d become a nice accountant. But Britten knew his vocation was to write music, and he used his gift for numbers to fill his works, like J. S. Bach before him, with mathematical delights and puzzles, including the famous’ turning of the screw’ through the musical keys in the opera of the same name.

            Still many persons, including myself, have times of dismay when we feel we have no real vocation of our own. This affects us, whatever our gifts. But today’s values around performance and work don’t apply in all times and places. Mozart’s sister Anna Maria was more respected for marrying into the aristocracy than for being one of the great keyboard virtuosos of the age, and Sofonisba Anguissola, 16^th century court painter to the Queen of Spain, had a noble father who trained his daughters as painters to elevate the status of the art because these noblewomen excelled in it.

            There’s also a difference between vocation and something you just want to do.

Many things bring interest and happiness, and these are often driven by love. Love predicates attachment: it may be familial, filial, romantic, idealistic, altruistic, aesthetic, and more. To have something you love to do is both a gift and an achievement. It’s often separate from the destiny of humankind, which is both to make a living and to nurture the living, and it’s also often separate from vocation.

            We belong to God, and this is the basis of our vocation. The first letter of John states that the sensual understanding of the word of life (understood through all the senses) is the fulfilment of joy: that God is light, and not darkness. This is not understood through work or performance, but through fellowship with others.

            Evagrius of Pontus advised monks discouraged with daily work to seek the desert: the desert cell with its attendant poverty and solitude was the way to clarify this discontent. Even in the desert, though, we will discover than vocation is different from salvation. ‘What must I do to be saved?’ asked the rich man. Sell up, give it all away, and follow me, said Jesus. ‘Work out your salvation with diligence,’ said Buddha. The important thing to realise is that vocation is not the real question. If God has something to say to you, you will know it. Let’s hope it doesn’t involve being swallowed by a sea monster.