Research shows that preacher's dogs are the leading subjects of sermon illustrations. This week, our puppy has lent new meaning to the notion of "adding insult to injury." As we struggled to teach Sadie "good dog," using a Gentle Leader, the puppy school teacher said Sadie is a "strong-willed dog." As far as Sadie is concerned, our yoke is neither easy nor light. Christians may sometimes act this way as we try to follow Jesus' call to discipleship. As one of my seminary classmates wondered, "Is it really 'call' if I enjoy it? Are we doing God's will if we're happy?"

Given the context in today's gospel lesson, Jesus' "Yes!" to this question sounds ironic. The irony is that Jesus has just shown that some people are never satisfied with the way God goes about being God. When we overhear his prayer, he is reassuring God that he knows who he is, that he knows he is carrying out his mission (to reveal God to the world.) Which reminds him to tell his friends about how they fit in--with burdens and yokes that are easy and light. Since most of us don't hang around with working oxen, the translation is, "Jesus won't stuff us into a vocation designed for someone else." Our particular vocation is uniquely suited to our self.

Some of my summer reading has been about vocation as I try to catch up on reading for my spiritual direction class. One of those books is by Parker Palmer, called Let Your Life Speak. It's a memoir of Palmer's struggle with his Christian vocation, and his advice is, "Before you tell your life what you intend to do with it, listen for what it intends to do with you. Before you tell your life what truths and values you have decided to live up to, let your life tell you what truths you embody, what values you represent." It's a modern paraphrase of Francis of Assisi who said, "Preach the gospel at all times; if necessary use words." Only, according to Palmer, we are our own first audience.

Discovering vocation through self-awareness means paying attention to how our lives speak through actions and reactions, intuitions, instincts, emotions, bodily states of being. And, Palmer says, letting our whole lives speak, the good with the bad. We don't have to tell the whole world about it, but we need to admit to ourselves not just our strengths and virtues, but also our liabilities and limits, our sins against others, the things that embarrass us, the dark places. As if he'd been reading today's passage from Romans.

Poor Paul, wrestling with who he is in relation to God, torn apart by not being able to achieve his vocation, trying to live up to who he thinks apostles ought to be. In the process of his self-examination, Paul discovers that God especially uses for our redemption those parts of our selves which we consider our worst faults, and then God uses them for good. The obsessive-compulsive person with the alphabetized spice rack might discover vocation in shelving library books or the gift of filing. The person who automatically sees the pattern exceptions finds call in quality control. The person whose vocational skills are limited to construction finds that the church needs people to do construction work as part of a mission trip.

As far as Christian vocation is concerned, God is both gracious giver and gracious receiver. Which means that we don't accomplish our vocations. We don't "achieve" who God created us to be, we "receive" it as gift and then use it. Fredrick Buechner defines vocation as "the place where your deep gladness meets the world's deep need."

As if our vocation is "something we can't not do." As if our vocation is what we've been trying to do all our lives. Remember when you begged for stories as a kid? "Tell me a story about me!" They were the best. They still are. Because they help us remember who we were when we first arrived, putting us in touch with God's original gifts, the gifts we've had all along. This is the wisdom of the Sunday School class Wilma Guttridge taught this spring-the story-telling class. Every week, Wilma would give us a topic, and we'd write our own story, taking time at the end to share. I know I wasn't the only person to have "aha!" moments as I looked back on the stories of my life. The times that gave me joy in my younger years were patterns that repeated, pointing me to true vocation. At the heart of telling our own story is the question at the heart of vocation--"Who am I?" The question which, as Christians, becomes, "Whose am I?"

Palmer's caution, however, is that this question is best asked in community. "As I learn more about the seed of true self that was planted when I was born," he says, "I also learn more about the ecosystem in which I was planted-the network of communal relations to which I am called to live responsively, accountably, and joyfully with beings of every sort. Only when I know both seed and system, self and community, can I embody the great commandment to love both my neighbor and myself."

Discerning who we are-whose we are-is best done in community. I've been taking yoga every Wednesday night for two years now. And so have about ten other women. Even though we don't know each other's last names, we've become each other's people-community. We've tried new things together, pushed our bodies and meditated in each other's presence, and we've found ourselves arriving a little early to check in, staying a little late to show care for one another. Mothers have begun bringing their daughters, others have brought friends. We've changed jobs and gone back to school, rode out serious family illness together, and we've come to count on each other just being there. At first, one of the women complained constantly. She was always angry at the teacher for whatever position she was "forced" into. Her written evaluations at the end of the session were always negative. I'm pretty sure one teacher was let go because of her. But as we've stuck together, we've discovered that her marriage is really bad. She's not mad at the teacher, she's mad at her husband. She really does hurt in some positions, so we've encouraged her to do some doctoring, and that has helped, but so has losing some weight and facing some of her fears. We could support her in these things because she knew we'd be there, week after week, encouraging her, despite the whining. We've learned from her, she's learned from us.

And this is finding Christian vocation. Am I mocking the real estate agent's line, "location, location, location"? Maybe. If "vocation" means discipleship, becoming one's authentic self, the person God created you to be. If "vocation" means, "what you are good at doing becoming something that helps others." If "vocation" means your so-called "unattractive" traits are what is used for God's good. Then, yes, life is about vocation, vocation, vocation.

Long ago, Rabbi Zusya said, "in the coming world they will not ask me: 'Why were you not Moses?' They will ask me: 'Why were you not Zusya?'" When we show up at the pearly gates, we won't be asked to justify why we weren't Mother Teresa, or Shaquille O'Neil or Tiger Woods or Princess Diana or our favorite pastor or Sunday School teacher. We won't be sent to the tourist class gate because we weren't a superstar or admirable and rich, famous, and beautiful. We will be asked whether we were who God created us to be. What will you say?