What Shall I Be? A Chat With Young People

by Francis Bernard Cassilly

"I FEEL NO ATTRACTION"

Some boys and girls, with hearts of gold, have often said: "I feel no attraction for the higher life. I appreciate it, admire it, and yet I fear it is not for me, as I have no inclination to it. If God wanted me, He would so perceptibly draw me to Him that there could be no mistaking His designs."

Almighty God is wonderful in His ways, and He "draws all things to Himself," but by methods varying as the temperaments and characteristics of the human soul. Sometimes He speaks to His chosen ones in thunder tones, as when He struck down St. Paul from his horse, on the road to Damascus, saying from heaven, "Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me? . . . It is hard for thee to kick against the goad." (Acts ix: 4.) Again He speaks in gentle accents, as to St. Matthew, the publican, when he sat at his door taking customs, saying to him, "Follow me!" At other times He seems silent and indifferent, standing quietly by, letting reason and conscience argue within us, and point out our line of action.

There is what is called vocation by attraction, and also such a thing as vocation by conviction. Some of the great saints from earliest childhood felt a strong, irresistible charm in the higher life; they were drawn by the golden chain of love to the cloister. "I have never in my life," said a boy, "thought of being anything but a religious." Some young people have no difficulty in making up their minds to follow Christ, their whole bent of thought and character being for the nobler life. Like Stanislaus, they ever say, "I was born for higher things." It was such a precocious disposition of heart that led St. Teresa to foreshadow her saintly career when, as a little girl, she ran away from home to become a hermit.

But feeling is not always a trustworthy guide, either in temporal or spiritual matters; reason, slow but sure, is generally much safer. You feel the fascination of worldly things, of company and society, fine clothes, luxuries and comforts, the dazzling stage of life with its applause of men. Is that a sign God destines you for worldly vanities? Quite the contrary, for all Christians are warned against the seductions of the world and the flesh; and the life of the counsels is essentially a constant struggle with nature and its allurements. "The kingdom of heaven," we are told, "suffers violence, and the violent bear it away."

If the following of Christ were easy and agreeable to the senses, where would be the merit and reward of it? Just in proportion as it involves effort and the overcoming of natural repugnance, does it become high and sublime. "Do not think," says Our Lord (Matt. x: 34), "that I came to send peace upon earth: I came not to send peace, but the sword. For I came to set a man at variance with his father, and the daughter with her mother. . . . He that loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me."

Natural antipathy then to the higher life, far from indicating that God does not want us, merely shows that the inferior powers of the soul are striving against the superior. In fact, when this aversion becomes pronounced, it is sometimes evidence of a keen strife going on within us between nature and grace, which could scarcely happen unless grace were endeavoring to gain the mastery by winning us to Christ.

"But," it may be objected, "if nature rebels, does not God always give a counter supernatural attraction to those whom He calls, so as to smooth the way before them?" Certainly God gives the necessary grace to perform good actions, but grace is not always accompanied by sensible consolation. Suppose a boy is chided by his parents for a fault and he is tempted to deny it; but overcoming the suggestion he admits his wrong-doing and expresses sorrow for it. In this he acts bravely and with no sense of accompanying satisfaction, since the pain of his parents' displeasure is so keen as to overcome for the moment any other feeling. His action is prompted simply by the conviction of duty.

Accordingly, if a young man knows and clearly sees that he has every qualification for the religious life, and has even been told so by a competent adviser; if he has sufficient talent and learning, a steady disposition and virtuous habits, and the persuasion that the duties of this state are not above his strength; in short, if he is convinced that there is no obstacle, save his own will, between him and the higher life, can he truly say, "I feel no inclination to such a career, and therefore, I have no vocation"? Such a person, of course, is free to say, "I will not enter religion," because there is no obligation incumbent upon him to this state, but he cannot justly say that God withholds from him the opportunity or invitation to do so. He has already what is called a remote vocation, as was explained in the fifth chapter, and what he needs is a clearer vision and alacrity of will, which he may have good hope of obtaining by earnest prayer and a generous and insistent offering of self to the disposal of the Divine good pleasure. For Our Lord Himself tells us: "All things whatsoever you ask when ye pray, believe that you shall receive, and they shall come unto you." (Mark xi: 24.)

Remove then, my dear young friend, from your mind that false and pernicious notion, which has been destructive of so many incipient vocations, that because you feel no supernatural inclination or sensible attraction, you are not called of God.