Finding Our Vocational Story in the World of Stories

One Saturday early morning, after dropping my wife Esther at her work on Burrard St. in downtown Vancouver, I headed to the nearby Thierry coffee shop. As part of my Saturday morning routine, I ordered an americano and French croissant and was enjoying the time of reading and reflecting for the day. That morning, I heard one lady across the table talking to her friend, saying, “I don’t know who I am, and I have no idea what I’m doing with my life. And I don’t know where I’m going with my career. Right now, I am just working for money. Isn’t this what everyone does? Right?” From this conversation, I could sense that the lady was asking the deeper existential question of who she is. She was longing for her vocation. What she does, which springs from who she is, deeply matters. It is something more than a paycheck, something that makes coherent sense of who she is in the world. Could it be possible that our vocations—what we do—and our beliefs about who we are, why we are, and what the world is, can make coherent sense in the world in which we live and work today?

I remember the year 2010 when I was graduating from the University of Washington in Seattle and asking my own existential and vocational questions: “Who am I? Why am I? What am I supposed to do with my life?” At that time, I was a student of political science and economics and was interested in pursuing careers in law, business, and investment. But having grown up in a traditional Korean Christian background, I was taught everything in the world is evil and all about money. I reasoned that as a Christian, I must be detached from the world of the secular realm and thus choose a profession that is holier, in the sacred realm. So, without really knowing who I was and what I was supposed to do, I went to study at seminary to become a pastor, because I thought that’s what a serious Christian was supposed to do.

Whether we are conscious of it or not, we live out of stories that we believe to be true. I remember visiting Disneyland in Los Angeles with Esther in 2020. Entering the theme park, we were reminded of and surrounded by our childhood stories—Aladdin, The Jungle Book, The Lion King, Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, and many more—all coming to life. Immersed in the world of stories, we felt that we were stepping back into our childhood dreams, once again breathing and walking in and out of the stories of our early years. The stories of our lives and the world deeply shape the way we perceive and interpret our reality, and deeply influence the paths of our lives and vocations. I remember leaving Disneyland, the world of stories, pondering, “What stories of the world am I part of?” and “What is the truest story of the world that tells who I am and what I am supposed to do with my life and vocation?”

Ironically, it was studying at Regent College, a graduate school of theology in Vancouver—where I went to run away from the world of mess—under the lectures of Professor Paul Stevens, that I started to see the world more seamlessly than dualistically. The more I studied, I unpacked stories of dualism—both from past and present, and Western and Eastern stories of the world—and uncovered a different way, a more seamless way of seeing the world and my vocation.

The Western philosophical narrative of Platonism has penetrated deeply into the way we think about and perceive our world. Plato introduced the idea of “Forms” to ask the question of what is true reality. Plato taught that the real and true reality is something beyond our material world. This idea of disconnecting true reality from the material world led to the development of Gnosticism in the early centuries A.D.—ideas rebutted in the letters of the Apostles that nonetheless live on in the minds of many Christians today. Both Platonism and Gnosticism erroneously claimed that all matter is evil and taught that a human being is, in reality, an eternal spirit that has somehow been imprisoned in a physical body. In this worldview, only spiritual endeavors are the activities that truly matter, and spiritual reality is detached from the physical world.

The Eastern religious narrative of Buddhism also creates a dualistic perception of reality. Buddhism, the religion that asks how to end suffering, says that all problems of life are caused by our selfish and greedy desires and thus teaches that we must get rid of all our fleshly desires to be truly liberated. Further, to a Buddhist, everything about who we are and what we do in this life is fated by a deep belief in karma, the force of the universe that is beyond our control. I remember growing up in Korea, hearing in many casual conversations people asking, “Why am I doing this and living like this now?” and answering, “It must be because I must have done this or that in my past lives.” In this worldview, since we cannot escape the destinies of karma, an individual is perceived as a passive recipient of fate from past lives, trapped in the transitory world, waiting for liberation from the illusory realities of the world of desires.

Today’s modern scientific narrative, the story of evolutionary materialism, shares a similar view. The evolutionary materialistic story of the world says we are just byproducts of millions and billions of years of evolutionary processes and random chance, and therefore we are nothing more and nothing less than our DNA. As Lady Gaga sings, we are who we are because we are simply “Born This Way,” born this way by the millions and billions of years of evolutionary processes that are beyond the control and choices of our lives. The implication of this story is that the vocations of our lives become void of meaning, morality, and responsibility. Dave Matthews Band quotes Ecclesiastes in the song “Tripping Billies,” “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we’ll die.” The only meaning of life within the narrative of evolutionary materialism becomes to eat, drink, and be merry, because we are nothing more and nothing less than our DNA. Hence, why should we care about the responsibilities of our vocations and complex problems of the world?

My favorite childhood Disney film to watch again and again growing up has always been The Lion King, where Simba learns the bankruptcy of such an approach. I am always deeply moved by the scene where the king Mufasa falls into the tragic scheme of Scar, sacrificing his life to save his son Simba from the danger of a rushing wildebeest stampede. Simba, knowing Mufasa will not return to life, sobbing and grieving, runs away from the reign of Scar to an uncharted territory. There he meets new friends, Timon and Pumbaa, who introduce Simba to a new world, the world defined by the story of Hakuna Matata—the world of no worries and no responsibilities.

Simba, detached from the world of his past—the world of fear and shame—grows up to be a strong and happy male lion. It is then that Simba encounters his childhood friend, Nala. Nala tells Simba that everything in the circle of life has fallen and that he needs to return home to restore order. Simba tells Nala, “It doesn’t matter! Hakuna Matata! Sometimes bad things happen. But there’s nothing you can do about it. So, why worry?” Nala strongly confronts Simba, “Because it’s your responsibility!” Simba simply replies, “Sorry,” telling Nala that it’s not his business or responsibility to care.

Different stories, but the same impact. The Western story of Platonism says that true spiritual reality is detached from our material and physical world, dividing sacred from secular, causing us to believe that only spiritual activities matter. The Eastern story of Buddhism and the modern scientific story of evolutionary materialism have introduced a world where everything about who we are and what we do is predetermined by the forces of karma, DNA, or random chance, making us believe we are mere passive recipients of destinies, living in an illusory reality in a world that is void of morality and responsibility.

Could there be more to these stories of the world? In Issues Facing Christians Today, John Stott illuminates the grand story of redemptive history that involves the biblical stories of creation, the fall, redemption, and consummation. He says:

This four-fold biblical reality enables Christians to survey the historical landscape within its proper horizons… It gives us a framework into which to fit everything, a way of integrating our understanding, the possibility of thinking straight, even about the most complex issues.[1]

This is the world which Steven Garber describes as the world that was “meant to be” in creation, currently “is” because of humanity’s fall, “can be” in light of the redemptive work of our Lord, and “someday will be” with the dawn of the new world, the kingdom of God coming into our world. This world of “meant to be,” “is,” “can be,” and “someday will be” is the truest story of all stories, the more comprehensive and holistic story that makes coherent sense of who we are and what we are supposed to do in the world.

John 13:3-4 reads:

Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going back to God, rose from supper. He laid aside his outer garments, and taking a towel, tied it around his waist.

In this passage, the night before the crucifixion, Jesus demonstrates right in front of his disciples what his mission in the world is all about. We see that our Lord’s vocation to serve and redeem the world, as Steven Garber notes in his book Visions of Vocation: Common Grace for the Common Good, is “situated within the story spanning creation to consummation.”[2] Because our Lord knew where he had come from—the beginning—and where he was going—the end—he understood why he, as the creator, the sustainer, the redeemer, and the consummator of the grand story of redemptive history, would need to bow down before his disciples and wash their feet. After washing each disciple’s feet, later in the passage, Jesus instructs them to “go and do likewise.”

Here, our Lord invites us to immerse ourselves into the grand story of redemptive history—to integrate it into the very fabric of our lives and work it out in our vocations. The creation story tells us who we were meant to be—that we were created in the image of God and were given vocational stewardship and responsibility to care for and develop the potential of the creation, filling the world with the goodness and glory of the Lord. The fall story—when humanity questioned the reality and truthfulness of God’s words and acted in a way that was not right—however, disrupted God’s original intention and purpose for the world and our vocation. Nevertheless, this is not the end of the story. Our Lord, like the dawn, breaks into his own world, initiating the work of redemption, not only for our personal salvation but also for the redemption of the whole creation, bringing unity to all things in heaven and on earth under his reign to be fully consummated in the kingdom to come.

This is the grand story of redemptive history. We know the beginning and the end but are situated in the middle, not as passive recipients of destinies of karma, DNA, or a random chance but as responsible actors participating in our Lord’s ongoing work of redemption. This is our vocation.

Back to The Lion King…  My favorite scene in the film is when the monkey Rafiki finds that Simba, thought to be dead, is alive and excitedly runs to meet him. After an encounter with Nala, Simba is now in a troubled state of mind, lost and confused, questioning who he is and what he is supposed to do. This is the moment when Rafiki appears in front of Simba. Bothered by his annoying presence, Simba tries to avoid him and asks the monkey, “Who are you?” Rafiki answers Simba, “The more important question is, ‘Who are you?'” Disappointed, Simba replies, “I thought I knew. Now I’m not so sure.” Rafiki replies, “I know who you are! You are Mufasa’s boy!”

In the next dramatic scene, Rafiki takes Simba to a place where Simba meets his father Mufasa, who appears in the form of a cloud. Mufasa tells Simba, “Simba, you have forgotten me.” Surprised and shocked, Simba denies that this can ever be true. Mufasa tells Simba, “You have forgotten who you are, and so you have forgotten me. Look inside yourself, Simba. You are more than what you have become. You must take your place in the circle of life. Remember who you are.” Only when Simba remembers who he truly is in light of the greater and longer story—the story of the circle of life—does he see clearly and coherently who he is and what he is supposed to do. He sees he cannot simply live as a passive recipient of past lives or the life of “hakuna matata,” choosing to distance himself from the complex realities and the problems of the world, with no worries and no responsibilities. Suddenly, he knows the life of hakuna matata is not a true story, but a false one. Now awakened by the truer story, Simba knows he has to go back, enter into the world of mess, take on his vocational responsibilities to become the king, and restore the broken order in the circle of life.

Disney may have the wrong ultimate narrative—our hope is the new heaven and new earth, not an endless circle of life—but it gets the correct moral—that we must embrace responsibility because of the truer narrative of the world, one more true than the false narrative we create for ourselves.

At this moment, I am writing this post in the cafeteria area of Whole Foods Market. Right in front of me, on the wall, I see a phrase written in large print: “We embrace our responsibility to co-create a world where each of us our communities and our planet can flourish.” This is a bold statement that clearly says what story Whole Foods Market aspires to be part of and belong to—a company that is born of a story deeper than what we often hear in the marketplace. I became genuinely interested in the story of Whole Foods Market and read about it in the book Conscious Capitalism.[3] In the book, John Mackey, the founder of Whole Foods Market, challenges the traditional capitalist narratives of Milton Friedman, saying and showing that business can be and ought to be more than profit maximization for shareholders—it should be mutual value creation for all stakeholders.

Mackey argues for a more conscious capitalism that is born out of a dream about how the world could be and should be, and calls capitalists of our time to see their work in economics more wholistically and seamlessly—that through stakeholder integration, conscious leadership, culture, and management, driven by higher purpose, companies can create both profit and prosperity for the world, nourishing people and the planet. As their motto says, “Whole Foods, Whole People, Whole Planet,” their story is a whole story that sees the world of capitalism and the vocation of economics more seamlessly, coherently, and wholistically.

In his book, The Gospel in a Pluralist Society, Lesslie Newbigin recounts a Hindu scholar’s perspective on the Christian Bible:

As I read the Bible I find in it a quite unique interpretation of universal history and, therefore, a unique understanding of the human person as a responsible actor in history. You Christian missionaries have talked of the Bible as if it were simply another book of religion. We have plenty of these already in India and we do not need another to add to our supply.[4]

The grand story of redemptive history provides a unique framework for us to make coherent sense of who we are and what we are supposed to do in the world of “meant to be,” “is,” “can be,” and “someday will be.” Within this story, we are more than passive recipients of karma and DNA, and we are called to aspire to a life that is more than “hakuna matata.” Moreover, this story makes us responsible actors in history by calling us to be deeply immersed in our world, to embody the grand story of redemptive history by working out our vocations in the world here and now, in the time of now and not yet.

Last year, more than ten years since I left Seattle, I had a chance to visit again, this time with Esther. It being Esther’s first time in Seattle, I took her to Kerry Park, where the whole night view of Seattle came into our panoramic view with the Space Needle glowing right in the middle of it. There, in our sleepless night in Seattle, gazing at the Space Needle, I reflected on the vocational questions—who am I, why am I, and what am I supposed to do—that I had in my graduating year from the University of Washington. I still have questions, but at least I now know doing the Lord’s work is not about detaching from the world of mess, but rather immersing in it and actively moving in the world as responsible stewards through our vocations, reflecting the truest story of all stories. That night, I also thought of companies in Seattle—Boeing, Microsoft, Costco, Starbucks, Amazon, Expedia, and many more—and prayed their stories, as well as mine, would be born of the true whole story that embodies and enacts—never perfectly, yet proximately—the world of “meant to be,” “can be,” and “will someday be,” in the messy middle that currently “is.”

[1] Stott, Dr John R.W. Issues Facing Christians Today: 4th Edition. Findaway World, 2022, 63-64.

[2] Garber, Steven. Visions of Vocation: Common Grace for the Common Good. IVP Books, an Imprint of InterVarsity Press, 2014, 127.

[3] Mackey, John, and Raj Sisodia. Conscious Capitalism. Harvard Business School Publishing Corporation, 2014.

[4] Lesslie Newbigin, The Gospel in a Pluralist Society (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1989), 89.