There are days — sometimes weeks, months, or let’s be honest, years — when I wish God had a better communications department. I’m not talking about the whole “burning bush” special effects budget or the “angel choir” production team. I mean the simple, practical stuff: a memo. A note. An email, perhaps? “Dear Don, after prayerful consideration, I’d like you to take the following course of action…” Signed, The Almighty. Maybe a divine logo in the corner, a tasteful watermark, and a line that says “Please reply all.”
Instead, discernment — the spiritual art of figuring out what on earth (or in heaven) God wants — is rarely that tidy. It’s more like trying to tune an old radio between stations: a bit of static, a faint voice, and the occasional blast of country music you’re sure wasn’t meant for you.
We Anglicans, of course, are a discerning people. We form committees to discern the discernment process, then schedule a follow-up meeting to discern what we discerned. Somewhere along the way, we may even pray. But at its heart, discernment isn’t about producing a decision — it’s about cultivating trust. It’s about learning to live gracefully in the space between clarity and confusion, knowing that God is already at work even when we can’t see the whole picture.
When Scripture speaks of waiting upon the Lord, it isn’t referring to a kind of spiritual idleness — as though we’re sitting at a cosmic bus stop, hoping the “Next Steps” shuttle shows up. The Hebrew word qavah (to wait) carries a sense of tension, expectancy, and hope — like the taut string of a bow. Waiting, in other words, isn’t passive; it’s active faithfulness. It’s keeping your hands on the work God has already given you, even when the next assignment hasn’t yet arrived.
Some of the holiest people I know are those who have learned to live with holy indecision — to pray without panic, to pause without paralysis, to keep walking when the map has smudged. They don’t confuse delay with denial. They trust that silence can be sacred. They know that God’s will is often revealed not in the lightning flash but in the slow dawning of light through a fogged-up window.
And sometimes, when the fog doesn’t lift, they laugh. They laugh because they’ve learned that God’s sense of timing makes my sister look punctual. They laugh because grace has a way of sneaking in through the side door when the front one won’t open.
So, if you’re in that place right now — waiting, wondering, second-guessing — take heart. Holy indecision is not a failure of faith. It’s often the space where faith is formed. God may not send a memo, but He has a way of showing up when we least expect it — sometimes disguised as a neighbour, a hymn, or a cup of coffee with a friend who listens more than advises.
In the meantime, keep praying. Keep listening. And if all else fails, keep laughing. After all, faith is often less about having the right answers and more about trusting the right Companion on the road of uncertainty.
A Prayer for Holy Indecision
Gracious and patient God,
You who speak in whispers and wait in silences, teach us to rest in the spaces between knowing and not knowing. When our plans blur and our confidence wobbles, remind us that uncertainty is not absence, but often the canvas where Your wisdom slowly takes shape.
Grant us hearts that wait without worry, ears that listen beneath the noise, and courage enough to stand still when every impulse says “move.” Keep us faithful in small things while we await the larger call, and help us to find humour and humility in our fumbling discernment.
When You do not send a memo, send instead Your peace — the quiet assurance that we are held, guided, and loved even when the way ahead is hidden.
And when all else fails, Lord, gift us with holy laughter, that we might find joy in Your mysterious timing and grace in the long pause between question and answer.
In the name of the One who waited, who wandered, and who trusted — our Companion Christ. Amen.