All Saints’, Dorval
June 13, 2021
Icon of St. Ignatius of Loyola
Last week, speaking about the “sin against the Holy Spirit,” I said this:
But the key is discernment. We must never get so comfortable in our certainties that we forget to pay attention to where the Spirit is moving, and that we forget that God’s habit is to show up in the strangest of places and among the unlikeliest of people.
I wanted to expand upon the concept of discernment at the time, but there wasn’t space in that sermon. So I was delighted to discover that this week’s readings could practically have been selected with that theme in mind.
In the reading from the Hebrew Scriptures, Samuel is commanded to choose a king from among the sons of Jesse. He is tempted to select one of the older ones, full-grown men who have been proven in battle, but God instructs him instead to anoint the youngest, a mere boy who has to be summoned in from keeping the sheep in order to be selected. “The LORD does not see as mortals see,” God tells Samuel; “they look on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart.” Or, as Paul says in the Epistle: “we walk by faith, not by sight … we regard no one from a human point of view.”
This is, in many ways, the essence of discernment: figuring out how to see as God sees, with and in the heart, rather than based on external factors such as appearance, status, age, or wealth.
For many lay Christians, I suspect that “discernment” is one of those catchwords like “vocation”: a word that you hear floating around, sounding vaguely churchy and impressive, but that in practice seems only to apply to people who are ordained or considering ordination. But in both cases, that is not true. Discernment – and vocation – are for everybody. We are all called to be constantly alert for the movement of the Spirit in our lives and in the world, and to think, pray and consider deeply when making major life decisions.
So how, in practical terms, does that work?
Samuel and Paul were both people who had face-to-face encounters with God and literally heard God’s voice: Samuel in the tent as a child with the Ark of the Presence, Paul on the road to Damascus. And in today’s reading Samuel is depicted literally hearing God speak, in comprehensible words. Most of us don’t get that kind of clarity (and believe me, that includes those of us called to ordained ministry!). So what do we get? What does discernment look like for us mere mortals? You’re facing a major decision – a career change, a big move, a romantic commitment – how do you bring God into it?
It starts with paying attention. What are our real feelings, in our hearts? If we’re not listening to the voices telling us that status, power, sexiness, and wealth are important, what really makes us happy? What brings us peace and joy?
The Quakers are very good at discernment, often convening “clearness committees” to provide a structured group format for reflecting on one’s life and decisions. The usual method used by these committees is to pose a question to the group and then sit with it for an extended period of silence, with each group member observing what arises in their mind and heart, before beginning to discuss the question aloud.
Even if it’s not quite so formal, many people find that conversation with trusted friends and family members plays an essential role in discernment. That said, it is important to distinguish between being worried about “what people will think” – allowing others’ opinions and priorities to dictate our behaviour – and genuine engagement with people who will help you listen for your own inner voice and for that of God.
I asked a number of colleagues to describe for themselves what discernment looks and feels like, and got some really fascinating responses.
One said, “It looks like people around me knocking some sense into me … it’s trusted community helping me see what I don’t see, for any number of reasons.”
Writing things down can be important. One person said, “[I n]otice reactions. Write them down. Look back on them later after I have enough to notice what I haven’t been noticing consciously or on a broader level.”
Another wrote, “Prayer. Journaling. Talking with those closest to me. And if it’s right – I feel it strongly in my gut.”
Learning to trust your gut – observing what your gut tells you about a situation and then continuing to evaluate whether that feeling is borne out by an experience – is an essential part of discernment. And in mainstream western culture, which is so very disconnected from our bodies and intuition much of the time – it can be a real challenge. As another colleague observed, “I feel discernment in my body very strongly – it will not feel like I’m fighting to get there, or swimming upstream, it will feel like joints aligning in a way which allow me to move freely. Sometimes this comes quickly, and other times it takes a while to notice my body aligning or not aligning in this way, because I’ve taught myself not to pay attention to my body or take it seriously.”
A classic approach to discernment is that of St. Ignatius, who expresses the emotions associated with listening to God’s will for us as “consolation” and “desolation”. God’s will is not superficial, it may not make us feel bubbly and cheery all the time, but it’s not supposed to feel bad. It’s supposed to bring us deep joy and meaning, and the peace that passes all understanding – “consolation”. Consolation is what gives us life – even if it’s hard – and desolation is what robs us of life – even if it seems like it should be easy and fun. “Trusting that we are created for abundant life,” wrote one of my colleagues, “I move toward that which is life-giving.”
It’s all about finding a pattern – what your gut feels, what your closest and most trusted people observe, and what brings you life. The last colleague who replied remarked, “I think of discernment as looking for constellations. Like, check out as much information as I can and then see if a picture is being formed. I always make sure some of the star points are very practical: what does this mean for my family and finances, my time, my health?”
That said, of course, even our best discernment is necessarily partial and fallible. Things change, and often all that we can do is – as the movie “Frozen 2” puts it – the next right thing. After Samuel anointed David, he remained a shepherd, bandit, and mercenary for years before becoming king – and even when he was king, he was hardly a model of virtue and wisdom much of the time. Life is rarely if ever a straight line, and often we can only discern the hand of God in our decisions and our path, in hindsight.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus says: “The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how.”
In discernment, we choose the best seed we can, and think long and carefully about where, when and how to plant. But the growth is God’s: we plant a seed as small as a mustard seed, and yet it grows and takes over the garden.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
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