A sense of Destiny?

A very strange thing happened to me this week — an experience I hope not to soon repeat.

It began Tuesday evening as I was reviewing the study material for our next group meeting. The section began by looking at God's calling on an individual's life and some of the ways one might recognize that calling. The material then shifted to using different terminology: a sense of personal destiny. It's not entirely clear to me just what the author means by this term, but it's clearly intended to be something related to, but distinct from, the idea of vocation or call.

I do know that on Tuesday evening as I was working through this material, I sensed a shift inside myself, a distinct disquiet, that prompted me to ask whether Destiny was at all a biblical concept, or merely a pagan one. My Anchor Bible Dictionary gave me a quick insight — it talked exclusively about Isaiah 65:11,12; not a particularly pleasant passage. A bible search for "destiny" revealed that most English Bibles don't use the term much at all, outside Isaiah 65. The few that do use it primarily in the context of "there is one destiny for all men: death" or, less favourably, "the wicked, whose destiny is destruction". Finally, my old reliable Oxford English Dictionary gave definitions of destiny that were closely aligned with the concept of "Fate": something that is quite outside the range of biblical approval.

I pretty much decided that I was just going to skip the whole segment on developing a sense of personal destiny. That sounded too much like something God has been teaching me to weed out of my life, not cultivate.

The very strange thing I mentioned at the start of this post happened the next morning as I took my habitual early morning walk. I kept hearing a voice, like that of Emperor Palpatine from the Star Wars movies, saying something like: "Take your place beside me, and fulfill your Destiny" — like he was trying to recruit a young Skywalker (or was it me?) to the "Dark Side of the Force".

It wasn't something that was easily brushed off. Instead, a dark something seemed to be clutching my chest as the walk continued and the voice recurred. I had to really focus on repeating over and over the chant:

Lord, have mercy
Christ, have mercy
Lord, have mercy on me.

It took a good half hour before things were normal again.

Today, however, another thought struck me. In Revelation, God gives to his faithful ones a white stone, on which is written a name known only to God. Is it not enough to know that God knows my name? Not Malcolm Kern, but my real name: the name that perfectly describes the real me — the me that I have been created to be, but whom I am not as yet. Is it not enough to know that God, who began a good work in me, is faithful to direct and complete this Metamorphic Journey and to bestow on me my true name at His good pleasure?

If God is indeed the one who, through His power at work in me, is able to do exceedingly far more than I ask or imagine, then perhaps all that is needed is to trust Him. Indeed, it seems to me that there is little to be gained — and much to be lost — by trying to glean ahead of time where God is going, as if by that knowledge I could help assure He gets me there.

I'm satisfied to leave destiny to God, and just concentrate on knowing and hearing Him better.