Thoughts of the Practice of Discernment

by Natasha Hjerrild

In class, we analyzed the statistic that 90% of our thoughts are repetitive. My friend brought up when she was walking home, on rainy and windy day, and all she could think to herself was, “I’m cold…. I’m cold…. I’m cold.” Then she’d try and pry her brain off of the thought by thinking about something else, but her brain would always migrate back to the thought, “Ummm…. I’m still cold.” This statistic is even more prevalent when making a difficult decision. There seems to be a constant pros and cons list cycling through my mind, with the same arguments for one choice, and the same counter arguments fighting it off, a hundred times over.

              This constant cycle of repetitive arguments feeds off of one another. I find that over time, with hours and days pouring over the same information regarding the options, the arguments take place quicker, as a part of a routine, so that the cycle spins with an increasingly high velocity. I find this faster cycle of pros and cons only increases the unease and stress of a decision, yet ironically, in some Christian writings on discernment, the author’s main recommendation is to take some time before making decisions. But really, why do these decisions take SO long if you already have all of the information? I’m not arguing for anyone to make hasty, reckless decisions, but instead, that time to think isn’t always very beneficial, but merely amasses stress before the last-minute decision is made right before it’s deadline.

Even Jesus went through the same steps. After the Last Supper, when he went into the garden, he prayed, “Oh my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.” (Matthew 26: 39) So even Jesus looks at his options, and let out a bit of a whine to the sound of, “Oh no… do I have to???” But once again, Jesus sets the example, realizing what he now has to do, and merely grimaces and says to God, “Oh my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done.” (Matthew 26: 42), and gets the job done.

              This moment of discernment isn’t made in such a graceful manner just because he’s Jesus, but because he swallows his dislike for what is to come, and follows the path he knows he has to take. Applying this with a recent big, snarling decision, I decided to stop procrastinating and distracting myself with all the arguments whizzing by in a cycle. I stopped making pros and cons lists, where in reality I knew one pro or con should be multiplied by a factor of five in its importance relative to the other arguments. It was fairly obvious underneath all the arguments-- I always knew which choice I had to make, I just waited because the decision’s repercussions required a lot more energy and discomfort than I wanted to inconvenience myself with.

This idea reminded me a lot of a problem a family I baby-sit for had. The mother called me up one day, almost in tears because her 2nd-grade daughter, Grace, had three times failed a hearing test at her elementary school. Undoubtedly concerned, I quickly agreed to watch her son, so she could take her daughter into the clinic in Seattle to get her ears checked to see if she was going deaf. When she came back that afternoon, Grace’s mother was greatly relieved—after many tests and examinations, her daughter’s ears were deemed in great condition. Why, then, had she failed the hearing test so many times? Well, after discussing it with the doctor, they realized that it wasn’t a problem with the girl’s hearing, but just that she didn’t care enough about listening for the beep to raise her hand when it came. We often joke about “selective hearing” when something is ignored, but in Grace’s case, she honestly, physically did not hear anything because it wasn’t something she cared about—she just didn’t want to hear it. When thinking about this in perspective to discernment, I can easily find myself in Grace’s position. I honestly persuade myself that the ugly option isn’t there, and thus remain in bliss for just a bit longer.

Just this summer, when coming home from the East Coast, I was alone in the Newark Airport, and as it normally seems to work out, my flight was delayed for several hours, and out of boredom, I started to browse the airport convenience shops. I was increasingly more shocked as I walked into each store that there was always a portion of the store dedicated to so-called “self-help” books. It seemed almost laughable with titles such as “Ten Days to Self-Esteem” and “Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers” (and yes, you can look up the titles on Amazon.com if you doubt me), except then after I got over the funny titles, I became kind of disturbed. I grew concerned that since these books were so ubiquitous, they obviously were popular, and the idea that so many people today feel so lost that they need a book (written, might I remind you, by someone just trying to make a buck) to navigate their lives, was kinda scary. And that’s when it added up to me—these books are merely used to push back the problem for the extent of 600 or so pages, and then it acts as a big q-tip, which cleans out those ears and says—“see, it’s really obvious—you’ve known this all along, get on with it already.”

Plato once said that all knowledge is not necessarily taught but remembered, and I guess I stand by that idea when it comes to discernment, for by reading the bible, talking to others with similar experiences, and heck, maybe even by reading “Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers” for some, it is easier to get out of the cycle of pros and cons, and realize what is needed to be done, since you really knew it all along.

by Allison Beemer

Discernment. If you’re like I was, you’re having trouble discerning the meaning of the term. Even after learning it is the Christian expression for “making choices,” I was confused. Why not just say “making choices?” I now think it is because “choice” is too two-dimensional. Discernment implies a three-dimensional exploration. Imagine yourself as a stick figure on a sheet of paper. Should you follow the pencil line to the left or right? A choice. Where do scissors come into the picture, how will that paperclip affect your journey, where, exactly, does the piece of paper end, and what is whoever drew you’s opinion? Discernment. God is an integral part of the process because he, as the artist, helps us see in another dimension: the effects of our choices on others and ourselves.

              When I make an important decision, which if you know me you know can be quite an ordeal, I generally take time to slow down and reflect. I find that I need this time to let go of what I am worried about until I reach equilibrium. Reading a book, drawing, or even solving a set of integrals can, for me, accomplish the task of ordering and calming my mind enough to make a relatively objective decision. Of course, everyone does something different. I am reminded of one of Mary Oliver’s poems:

It doesn’t have to be

the blue iris, it could be

weeds in a vacant lot, or a few

small stones; just

pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try

to make them elaborate, this isn’t

a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which

another voice may speak.

              How much direction should we expect, or how much should we take from, this voice? To borrow and reapply a simile from Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness: instead of wrapping himself around his chosen answer like a walnut shell its meat, God is like the moon. He gives off a light that illuminates the haze of indecision, helping us to see our options in the light of all he stands for. Though perhaps God sometimes sends direct commands, it has been my experience that we cannot expect a constant Jiminy Cricket. You know, Pinocchio’s detached conscience who urges him to simply “give a little whistle” whenever he needs direction. Mostly, because we are real boys, girls, men, women, we must meet God’s wishes with our own hopes, moral beliefs, etc.

              As to how much the artist’s opinion should weigh on the drawing, well, imagine a final decision as cookie dough. The ingredients – individual beliefs, influences of friends, neighbors, family, teachers, members of your congregation – and measurements vary from recipe to recipe. Say God’s opinion is the flour. The amount of flour fluctuates, and sometimes more must be added if the dough still seems too sticky. We make decisions all the time. For example, you chose to get out of bed this morning, and if you hear this you are assumedly making the choice to listen to me. These probably did not require a long period of meditation and reflection. In other words, they did not call for much flour. In fact, these recipes probably didn’t call for much other than whatever ingredient signifies your own ideas and beliefs. Other situations calling for discernment, such as whether to change jobs, where to go to college, or how to make life more fulfilling, require many more ingredients, and quite a bit more flour.

              I think the thing to keep in mind is that cookies are rarely disgusting. And even if they are terrible, God, the flour, artist, moon, and true friend, is going to stand by you and do his utmost to refrain from saying “I told you so.”