The word discernment, in recent decades, has jumped in popularity. Part of that can be traced to a revitalization of traditional Ignatian spirituality. Presbyteral culture has become decidedly more Ignatian, through the influence of seminaries and groups like the Institute of Priestly Formation. At the same time, broader American Catholic discipleship has also seen a return to the thoughts of the Jesuit founder, most notably through the works of Fr. Timothy Gallagher and other like-minded authors.
Among Catholic youth, a natural trickle-down effect has resulted in more and more use of the term discernment. Or, perhaps more accurately, more and more attempts to “discern.” But in many cases, discernment has become a spiritualization of simply overthinking a choice. Those afflicted by this misunderstanding would do well to heed the words of St. Francis de Sales: “we do not weigh small change.”1 A night out is not a matter of discernment. Nor, really, is a summer job. These are decisions to be made, using prudent judgement. Prayed about, yes. Discerned, probably not.
Nowhere is discernment more on display than in the modern consideration of a vocation to the priesthood or religious life. Here, an entire subculture of “the discerning” has formed. They read the same books, like the same bands, and appropriate the same spiritual language.
Certainly, something as significant as a vocation deserves discernment. However, many moderns use discernment, albeit not consciously, less as a way to make a choice and more as a way to put off a choice. It becomes a spiritual hand-wringing that can consume years. These young disciples are unable to give a decisive yes to something, because they cannot decisively say no to other things, and thus they continue “discerning.” Though common today, it is hard to find such “discernment” in early Christianity.
In the early stages of present-day priestly and religious vocational discernment, many are looking for a Damascene moment. They know well enough not to expect to be knocked off a horse, blinded, and hear the voice of Jesus. They convince themselves they are not asking for anything like that. Yet, these neophyte discerners are looking for signs, nonetheless. More externally nuanced signs, but signs that contain no less certainty than a heavenly lightning bolt. A rose of a particular color is a popular request. They want the clarity that comes from being explicitly told. But that is not discernment.
With time and sincere prayer, most move on from this phase, though vestiges of it often remain. Those traces are not entirely out of place. The echoes that reverberate should see a shift from a need for a sign to an openness to a sign. After all, God can in fact work through signs. The goal should be as St. Ignatius describes, to “seek only to will and not will as God our Lord inspires them, and as seems better for the service and praise of the Divine Majesty.”2
The next iteration of vocational discernment is characterized by a deeper look at the question, is God asking me to do this? In and of itself, it is a good question. Yet the way in which those considering seminary or religious life examine it commonly leads to a subtle, yet still erroneous way of discernment. They no longer look for signs of an external nature, but rather, signs of an internal nature. They still want proof. The sign they search for is that within their own heart, “every valley shall be filled, every mountain and hill shall be made low. The winding roads shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth.” (Is 40:4)
The confirmation they seek in order to take that next step toward priesthood or religious life is that their desires for another way of life disappear. There is an expectation that prayer be continuous consolation. A whispering lie that each and every holy hour be felt as a refreshing spring. A belief that their heart will be healed of any division that points away from God. Unfortunately, such a condition has not been known in mankind since before the fall (with the exception of the Blessed Mother). Thus, their search is for a proof that will not be found this side of Heaven.
This Quixotic quest or “discernment” plays out in two dominant expressions. The first, a search for “peace.” The second, in the question, “can I be happy in this vocation?”
Interestingly, when searching for peace, the ones who have entered into a formation program are apt to discard all previous experiences of “peace.” Moments they have known since saying an initial yes to the Lord are forgotten. Consolations of the past are treated as flukes when laid against the desolation or dryness of the present.
Their vision becomes myopic. Only the hardships ahead are visible alongside the pleasures they are currently sacrificing. They are confronted by their own sinfulness, the real struggle that it is to overcome, and the reality of how poorly they understand the Father’s love. These are all necessary parts of growing in sanctity, especially in the early days classically referred to as the purgative stage. It is possible, maybe likely, that the entire period of formation before ministry falls into the purgative stage, in which the primary feeling is seldom one of a longstanding peace.
This discomfort, natural and necessary, is interpreted as a sign that they are not called to live priesthood or religious life. Too often a discerner, stepping out of a formation program speaks of “knowing it to be the right choice” because they felt “peace.” Frequently, what is being experienced is not the peace of God. It is a peace that comes from a struggle being laid aside. The peace born of a decision being made. The peace gained from perceived non-opposition. It is not the peace that comes through faith and hope of an Easter victory, having passed through the path of the cross.
The second expression of modern discernment when considering priesthood or religious life, “can I be happy in this vocation,” is also misguided. It plays to a vaguely narcissistic belief (which all can fall into) that God exists to make me happy. The reality is that we exist to know, love, and serve Him. Within that privileged role we will find the fullness of happiness, though it is not guaranteed in this life. The Blessed Mother told St. Bernadette as much: “I do not promise to make you happy in this world, but in the next.”
It is the author’s belief that by living out our vocation, we possess the best chance at happiness in this life. Yet happiness is an elusive thing. Like pleasure, those who pursue it directly are often the least likely to find it in a sustaining way. And if a priestly or religious life has a foundation largely laid upon a quest for happiness in this life, those unfortunate persons will find themselves like the house in scripture that was built upon sand. That vocation is not likely to stand against the rains and winds that are part of any life, but especially a life dedicated to the imitation of a Master who died on a cross.
This question of “will this vocation make me happy” leaves the discerner in a prolonged state of anxiety. Who at twenty years of age can confidently predict what will make them happy in life? Meanwhile these earnest youth are acutely aware of the happiness their peers are experiencing — entering relationships, marriages, and children while the discerner trudges through the outer castles of purgation, left in dryness to watch the blooming of their friends’ lives conveniently and deceptively curated on social media. Then they sit in silence and ask, “Will this make me happy?”
To seek peace or a life that provides a reasonable amount of happiness from a loving Father, are not bad or sinful things to desire. They are not however, the essence of what the early Christians or the great saints sought out. They were not the goals of discernment.
The saints’ discernment was imminently more pragmatic. Those holy souls were looking for a way of life that would allow them to devote themselves most completely to the Lord. Questing for a life that eschewed compromise. Yearning for a path that allowed them the space and time to pray incessantly and proclaim the good news far and wide, in season and out. The saints were looking for a narrow path.
This model of discernment should not be beyond modern man.
In that light, a better first question might be, “Has the Lord placed a desire on my heart to serve Him unreservedly?” Admittedly, a person may not know fully what that means, like a child promising unending love. But if that desire exists, even in natal form, is it strong enough to take that next step into a formal path of discernment? In taking that next step, the serious discerner will then better understand what sort of sacrifices such a promise calls for. They will experience an inkling of the joys of that way of life but also feel the pain of purgation. Again and again, they will be forced to ask themselves, “Am I willing to go further in my commitment to this particular path to serve the Lord?” Or as St. Bernard often put it to himself while walking about the Abbey of Clairvaux, “Why have you come here, Bernard?”
During this time, naturally, other questions will need to be confronted. For example, where does this initial desire come from? Is it of the Lord? Or does it have a lesser generation: to please parents, to escape a bad situation, to seek honor and respect, a lack of confidence in dating and/or finding meaningful work. If the answer is yes to any of these, it must be changed, or one must find a new path.
Simultaneously during this time, there will be an ongoing evaluation of whether the one in formation has the abilities, the maturity, the perseverance to live the life they are embarking upon. This portion of discernment is largely left to the Church and those who are responsible for the discerner’s formation.
These are the hard questions of true discernment. Discernment is not trying to look into a spiritual crystal ball to predict the most perfect path for happiness. Nor is it seeking to grasp hold of a convoluted specter of peace. In the end, discernment toward religious life and priesthood can be far simpler than the way it is currently being practiced. Within that simpler path, more room is afforded to one’s personal choice. Choosing to respond to the Lord, through faith and prayer, and seeking Him in a way of intimacy that is not as readily available through the married vocation. In this way, free will, one of the ways we are crafted in the Divine Image, is returned to a place of prominence. True vocational discernment should always be more about choice than calculation.
And what if the wrong choice is made? Is that something that needs to be feared? Surely it should not be doubted that God will bless a person who enters sincerely into a marriage lived in faith and devotion. And what of one who chooses priesthood or religious life, who the Lord has not called? So long as that person did not enter for patently false reasons, one should be just as assured that God will bless it when sincerely lived in faith and devotion. In the words, indeed, some of the last words of Sir Thomas More in the movie A Man for All Seasons: “He will not refuse one who is so blithe to go to him.”
About Fr. Chad Arnold
What a beautiful article! The new question proposed here is spiritually speaking, a less-loaded way of processing the Lord’s call at the early stages, but also so rich for mining over and over throughout formation. A worthy article indeed!