The Chance of Birth
I often talk in my classes about the “chance of birth”. We do not choose the earthly circumstances of our own births any more than we choose the circumstances of our own deaths. We spend much time during the days of our lives talking about the external things of our lives; we speak of choosing our own destinies, controlling our own directions, choosing our own paths. But, in reality, the most fundamental experiences that impact our lives are not chosen or directed by us, nor do they define who we really are. We are born on the day and in the geographical location that chance has provided us. Our spirits and hearts are housed in earthen vessels (I Cor 4:7) that have an outward appearance that we may like or not like, that have elements of beauty, characteristics, and attributes distinctive to us but not changed by our own wishes or desires, as Jesus reminds us in Matthew 6:27, “Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?” Our experiences and circumstances of life are mostly determined by opportunities afforded to us due to these fundamental beginnings. We speak languages, pursue courses of education, work in places, and even marry people that are part of our earthly experiences and situations.
My father used to tell a story in one of his sermons about how from time to time, one of his five children would object to some household rule or correction with the emphatic statement “Well, I did not ask to be born into this family” to which he would reply “No, and we didn’t ask for what we got when you were born into this family!” Of course, this recollection was retold with much more humor than I feel sure the actual course of events displayed, but you get the point. We do not control the chance of birth, and much of the time, we do not control the course of events that become the external circumstances of our lives. We are born into the homes we get, and we get the children we get, we get the year we get, we get the country we get.
How I have longed throughout my life that I had been the one called to lead armies to battle and judge matters of law and state to save my nation as Deborah did. I have yearned to be asked to demonstrate my faith as Esther, in the palace of a Gentile king – resolved in my commitment to God above all else. I realized early on that I would never be asked to carry deity within my womb, to bear the one who would be born to bring light to a dark world. I will not be able to offer an invitation to serve a meal to my Lord as the two sisters in Bethany. And just as added cubits to my stature are not gained by worry - my desire and craving for such “dramatic service” does not change the abiding circumstances of my life.
So, what do we do with this understanding? What if I am not called to “great feats”? What if I am never asked to demonstrate my faith surrounded by armies of another nation? What if I am not instructed to leave my home in Ur to follow a promise given to my husband? What if the circumstances of my life do not require the actions of faith that I read of?
Well, of course, the answer is simple…the circumstances to which we are born, the external characteristics and experiences of our life that we spent so much time thinking of and contemplating, can never define the expectation for great faith. I remind myself that Deborah did not lead battles every day, that Esther was not required to appear before the King repeatedly. Mary’s expectation and experiences eluded her for much of her days as she pondered all she saw concerning her son, while raising Him in the reality of the day to day demands. Faith was not just demonstrated in one hour, one day, or one event. Faith was the core that allowed a devotion to a calling, and the calling was to simply “do all in the name of the Lord”. It was not Deborah’s courage in battle or her wisdom under a palm that made her service great, it was her unwavering devotion and faith in her God, to do all she could. It was not the giving birth to a child that saved Mary, but her deep and abiding belief that God’s promises were sure and certain.
And so, on any given day, we must be willing. Willing to serve in whatever way we are called; when inconvenient, when uncomfortable, when we are weary, when it does not seem rational. We must be willing, in our own lands, in this particular year, to put our entire selves into the service. To be willing to make this the concentration and purpose of our activities, our love, and our devotion. Mordecai reminded Esther that God’s plan would go on without her, but that perhaps she was there to be given the opportunity to serve in such a way: “Do not think in your heart that you will escape in the king’s palace any more than all the other Jews. For if you remain completely silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father’s house will perish. Yet who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?” (Esther 4:13-14)
And when I am inclined to think that I have been cheated in the greatness of my service, I must remind myself of the many parables that Jesus told of the faithful servants who toiled in the fields, kept the household, and treasured the master’s many blessings. Day by day, they remained faithful, they continued to love the work - because their gracious master had been so good to them. Day by day, week by week, year by year, they did not forget what a privilege it was to do whatever was asked no matter what the circumstances. When we do not see the greatness of what we have been called to do, it is simply that we have forgotten the greatness of the glorious kingdom, the marvelous God, and the loving Shepherd that we serve: “But you are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, His own special people, that you may proclaim the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light; who once were not a people but are now the people of God, who had not obtained mercy but now have obtained mercy” (I Peter 2:9-10). May we answer such a call with all the resilient faith of our sisters of old.