Life is obviously full of decisions we must make, some seemingly trivial—although sometimes they can turn out not to be—and some that are difficult, that have long term effects, that “tug at the heart.” How does one know what is the right thing to do in those decisions that may have long-term effects we cannot anticipate and others that we know to be “weighty” as we confront them?  I know all of us have been there—indeed, we are “there,” virtually on a daily basis—and sometimes we act based on what we hope is an objective evaluation of the circumstances, sometimes on the basis of what we regard as a “moral imperative,” occasionally, an impulsive, “knee jerk,” reaction, and sometimes based on a sense, a “feeling,” that this is the right thing to do.  But how do we know for sure . . . and can we?

In my early life as a part of a very conservative, fundamentalist church, I was immersed in the stories of biblical figures who acted on the belief, even the certainty, that their actions and life choices were based on what they knew to be “the will God.”  God “spoke” to them through prayer or visions or they were given a “sign.”  It never occurred to me, heaven forbid, to question those scriptural accounts, although I didn’t claim to understand them or to be able to replicate them in my own life.  Other people in my church circle sought the will of God and claimed to find it, either in some direct reference to a passage of scripture or because God spoke to them through prayer, a sign, a dream, etc. Again, I didn’t question their claim but never had the experience myself, except from “plain” scriptural directives—e.g. the Ten Commandments, the Sermon on the Mount.

It was only later, when I was provided with the “permission” and the tools for a more careful and critical study of scripture, that I allowed myself to understand that—inspiration notwithstanding—the Bible did not always speak on a given issue with the same voice and even what had seemed clear and unequivocal—“plain”—called for an understanding of historical context and interpretation.  But I still never experienced that “certainty” about the right course of action in any major decision or life choice. Even a “conviction” early in my life about a “call” to ministry started to unravel as I began to suspect early in my college years that my gifts lay less in pastoral ministry than in teaching—and I wondered whether I could make the case for myself that teaching could qualify as a ministry. 

As my own life history has unfolded, I clearly came to terms with that particular dilemma, as well as my move from the classroom to the “dark side” of administration, where I always saw my task—hopefully not as a rationalization—as an enabler of those on the front lines of the “sacred act” of teaching and learning.

That said, to this day, I’ve never confronted a major life decision, to say nothing of more trivial ones, when I’ve been so-help-me-God-certain “up front” that it was the right thing to do, even when I thought, felt, believed that it was.  That validation, or lack thereof, has always come by looking back, by finding understanding reflected “through a rear view mirror.”

While there are many experiences in my life that could provide examples illustrative of the point I’m making, I will offer two crucial ones.

After finishing my basic divinity degree at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary—back in the day before it was, in my opinion, “hijacked” by fundamentalists—I wanted to be prepared for a teaching career, should the opportunity present itself. Knowing that a terminal degree would enhance my qualifications, and with encouragement from two of my professors, I applied for admission to doctoral studies in Old Testament at Duke University. Several of my professors agreed to send letters of recommendation and I was subsequently accepted into the doctoral program. Because the tuition was very expensive, I had also applied for a scholarship. However, one of my professors failed to send his letter of recommendation before the scholarship application deadline—which left me one recommendation short of the three required—and I lost my eligibility to be considered for a scholarship.

I was then faced with a dilemma: one, accept the entrance into the  doctoral program, borrow money for the tuition, and go into debt, but have the prestige of a doctoral degree from Duke; or, two, stay at Southern Seminary, where I was also accepted for doctoral work, where tuition was subsidized and negligible, but whose scholarly reputation was less widely known.

It was an agonizing decision, with no “voice from above” and no absolute certainty, but ultimately I decided to stay at the seminary where my studies were in four fields—Systematic Theology, Old Testament Theology, New Testament Theology, and Philosophy. I subsequently “caught,” like a cold, from my Philosophy professor (who, ironically, was the one who sent his recommendation in too late for scholarship consideration at Duke!) an intense interest in and passion for the field of philosophical studies, which became my concentration and the area of my dissertation.

When the faculty position at Mars Hill College (now University) became available, they were searching for someone with the academic qualifications to teach philosophy. I qualified primarily because of my major in philosophy but over the course of my teaching career, in addition to developing a curriculum of philosophy courses suitable for a minor or electives, I was also able to teach some religion courses and a number of interdisciplinary courses in the general education curriculum. And that opportunity to be what I called “an unrepentant generalist” became my passion.

As I looked back through that “rear view mirror” on my doctoral studies decision, it was clear that, with a likely very specialized program in Old Testament studies at Duke, my career path at another institution and my teaching responsibilities would have been much narrower, and my personal life, as well as my friendships, would have been entirely different from the ones I have experienced and gratefully cherished.

The second event was the breakup of my first marriage. I don’t regret that marriage because there were some good times and many things I treasure about it, including the three children we adopted and with whom I continue to have a close and loving relationship. It was, however, also a contentious and difficult time with much counseling over a period of 22 years that finally, for me, came to a head and led me to separate from my wife and, consequently, from my children. It was quite literally the most agonizing thing I’ve ever done and, while I thought it was the right decision, I had no way of knowing for sure. I had the advice of a counselor but no “voice from above” and it would be several years before the separation led finally to divorce.

Now, however, as I look back at my life—

the lifted burden, as excruciatingly difficult as it was, of no longer living in what I knew to be a destructive relationship; learning to value solitude as distinguished from loneliness; the “blossoming” of my career in a healthy newfound personal space devoid of depression; the woman I met after the separation who became my good friend, accompanist, director and collaborator in musical theatre, and over four years of friendship grew to become the love of my life and subsequently my cherished wife of now almost 35 years (if there was ever a decision that came close “up front” to absolute certainty, that was it!); my children, the devoted relationships we have maintained, and the lives they have made for themselves; my ex-wife, with whom over time I have sustained a cordial relationship, and the man she met, married, and to whom she is still happily married—

the “right decision” is now confirmed, reflected “through a rear view mirror.”

In the spirit of full disclosure, there were some decisions, happily only a few, that either seemed right at the time or belong in that “knee jerk” category, but as I look back through the pitiless objectivity of that “rear view mirror,” are revealed to have been bad decisions that I now regret.  I will spare you the details even as they wander along, and occasionally haunt, the corridors of my heart.

And on a somewhat lighter and less “decisive” note, most of us have looked back on some event, some “happening,” in our lives that seemed either puzzling or inconsequential at the time but, as seen reflected in that “rear view mirror,” the proverbial “light bulb” came on—or if you prefer, “the penny dropped”—and we were able to say, “Ah, so that’s what that meant!”

I will mercifully close my “puttering” with this issue by acknowledging, at least in my life, my contentment with the backward-look resolution to the dilemma of “knowing the right thing to do” in life’s choices, large and small.  Even when I think that I do, I confess that I don’t “know” when I’ve made the best decision and will be content to trust from a distance the verdict of those reflections in the “rear view mirror” . . . . at least until I run out of time.