Our modern Western experience affords us an unending supply of luxuries. Through technology and wealth, many of us have more security and free time than our ancestors—at least by historical standards. Suburban salaries have replaced seasonal harvests. Laws protect us from our employer’s worst expectations. The Internet, devices, and democratized information provide endless content. Travel is accessible. 

These truly are indulgent times.

With so many options, how do we choose how best to spend our limited time? Studies reveal our human brain is actually more satisfied with fewer options—the massive amount of choices overwhelms us with a fear of missing out. Anxiety and loneliness are currently rampant despite our ability to pursue whichever vocation, experience, or material we could imagine. How does this make sense?

While extracurriculars are innumerable, a few core principles remain in short supply—purpose, meaning, and value. Could it be that the quiet times in between our continual distractions impress upon us our lack of direction? Could our activities be stealing our time away from our purpose? Atheists argue there is no purpose because there is nothing of a higher order than the universe we can experience. Humanists claim our purpose comes intrinsically from our human existence—I’m unsure how that makes sense when philosophically tested. Buddhists seek enlightenment. Hindus hope to ascend the plane of existence for a new and better reincarnated life.

In contrast to all of the self-seeking, the purpose of the Christian is to glorify God.

Yet, there are similarly unending ways to bring glory to God. Providing charity to the poor, regular prayer, instilling faith in the next generation, and spearheading social justice movements all glorify God if driven from the proper heart. So, suppose our cosmic reason for being can be experienced through an equally abundant number of choices. How can the Christian be any better at identifying her purpose than the secularist?

Christians discover their purpose by listening to Jesus.

Matthew 17 opens with Jesus leading his three closest disciples, Peter, James, and John, up a mountain. Known as the Transfiguration, Jesus’ appearance changes into an awe-inspiring display of white light, and He is joined on the mountain by two patriarchs of the faith: Moses and Elijah. In his excitement about the experience, Peter suggests building three shelters for these icons to have separately. Likely, in Peter’s mind, this was the beginning of the many messianic prophecies, upon which Jesus would reclaim the world, the state of Israel would be free of its oppressors and ascend to the fame and power their people had been praying for over hundreds of years.

To the disciples’ terror, a cloud forms around the mountain and a voice interrupts Peter, saying “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!” (v 5). The cloud and the holy leaders disappear, and Jesus—in his typical human form—assures the disciples that they are safe.

Of all the things an omnipotent creator God might say, at a time like that, why would He end with “Listen to Him?” Doesn’t this supernatural episode grant Jesus some privileged authority on its own? Why does Jesus need to be reaffirmed to His three closest disciples and only them (remember, no one else was there)?

Though Peter’s intentions were admirable, they were not God’s purpose for Him. Peter, seeing a supernatural revelation, willingly began planning how to serve. He reacted to the miracle and hoped to capitalize on it—not for his gain, but surely with the intention to aid the coming kingdom of God, as he best understood it at that time. Peter thought he had found his next way to serve God’s kingdom and immediately set about acting; it was wrong, though.

Unbeknownst to Peter then, God intended to send Peter (and the other disciples) out into the world, not to build stationary shelters. God’s role for Peter was to testify to God’s grace and acceptance more than His power and hierarchy. If Peter had built those shelters and the holy men would have ruled the Earth, as Peter likely expected, then Jesus’ mission would have failed. Instead of building, Peter needed to listen.

Our best intentions can cause us to rush into what we think God wants us to do. I am most guilty of imagining a better future, a new app, or an innovative model for the church and then running at it with full force in my zeal to please God. I have leaned on my own understanding instead of listening to God’s.

As Jesus says earlier in Matthew 7, “'Many will say to me on that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name and in your name drive out demons and in your name perform many miracles?’ Then I will tell them plainly, ‘I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!’” (Matthew 7:22-23, NIV) (emphasis mine) If we use Jesus’ name to build the kingdom of God how we want it, we are attempting to limit God’s plan, unintentionally or otherwise. Instead, we are called to be servants of the Most High God, doing His bidding—no matter our opinions.

We are commanded to listen to Jesus before acting for Jesus.

That humility is a thread throughout the Christian experience. We are called to pray and fast for our directions. We are called to love those we would naturally deem unlovable. We are called to forego our own definitions of purpose or identity and instead offer ourselves as a living sacrifice. Anything less is asking God to do our bidding—asking Him to listen to us more than we listen to Him.

Prioritize Jesus’ command in your life. Let go of your endless options and, instead, let Jesus decide.

The world keeps creating more choices because none of the current ones satisfy. Instead, come to the well that never runs dry and find your refuge in the true Prince of Peace. He’ll tell you what to do.

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