Navigating the tension of vocation in exile involves a loving sensitivity and some amount of nuance but must always remain anchored in God’s vision for human flourishing, unswayed by cultural tides. Embodying and expressing this vision requires courageous, loving resistance. And part of resisting is remaining rather than retreating. This has been God’s plan for his people in exile since the earliest days.

But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare. (Jer. 29:7)

During most of my college years, I worked part-time at a bank. I started as a teller before eventually becoming an assistant branch manager. The job paid well, especially for a young college kid, and was straightforward. It was the sort of work that was easy to leave behind when the workday ended. But as many do in their early 20s, I became increasingly discontent. The job was fine, but it wasn’t meaningful. It didn’t satisfy my growing need for purpose and significance.

A job is necessary, but what most people are seeking is vocation—their voice (from which the word is derived) into the world, their unique contribution to the ongoing conversation of human history. The ability to potentially “disrupt the industry” always begins with the angst of “What should I do with my life?”—an expression of vocational longing.

But the question is somewhat misleading. Tim Keller writes, “A job is a vocation only if someone else calls you to do it and you do it for them rather than for yourself.” Vocational calling isn’t found within; we receive it from another. Vocation is a gift given, not a treasure hidden.

In her essay titled “Why Work?,” Dorothy Sayers quotes the French philosopher Jacques Maritain and writes, “If you want to produce Christian work, be a Christian, and try to make a work of beauty into which you have put your heart; do not adopt a Christian pose.” Vocation is the calling to serve others by creating a heartfelt work of beauty. An artist’s painting, an engineer’s code, a teacher’s lesson, a baker’s cake, a stay-at-home parent’s myriad of responsibilities—these and so much more are vocation, the gift of invitation to offer our best effort, to God’s glory and for the good of others, in the various places and spaces we occupy.

While we live in exile on this side of eternity, the gift of vocation, when received gratefully and stewarded responsibly, offers immense hope and opportunity for followers of Jesus. Vocation offers us a chance to truly disrupt things—not just industries but culture itself. Vocation as exiles calls Christians to disrupt a culture of self-interest with sacrificial, self-giving love by leveraging skills and resources in partnership with others, for God’s glory and the good of all.

Setting Up Shop in Exile

In Acts 18, the apostle Paul makes his way from Athens to Corinth and meets a married couple there, Aquila and Priscilla. Aquila was a Jew from the Roman province of Pontus (in modern Turkey), but many scholars believe Priscilla was from a wealthy, aristocratic Roman family. 

Luke tells us the couple had recently relocated from Italy because Emperor Claudius had commanded all the Jews to leave Rome (vv. 1–2). Since she was married to a Jewish man, Priscilla was expelled from her homeland along with her husband. Together they land in Corinth, where they meet Paul. The three of them, brought together by their shared experience as exiles in a land not their own, work together.

Paul, Priscilla, and Aquila were “tentmakers by trade” (v. 3). Because of the itinerant nature of Paul’s work, it’s unlikely he carried the necessary materials to set up shop and launch an operable tentmaking business of his own in the various places his travels took him. It’s far more likely he carried a few smaller tools with which he could execute minor repairs. But in Corinth, he partnered with Priscilla and Aquila, who’d established a viable tentmaking business there.

These three exiled followers of Jesus shared their skills and resources, set up shop in a frenetic foreign city, and presumably went about the work of crafting tents for a wide variety of clientele. And in a competitive marketplace like Corinth, it’s safe to assume they held their work to a high quality standard. They wouldn’t have been in business long otherwise. Finally, as we learn from the broader story of Paul’s missionary journeys and Priscilla and Aquila’s significant influence on a number of churches throughout the region, tentmaking was simply the exterior of a much deeper, much more meaningful vocational engagement in exile.

For the Good of All

At the risk of stating the obvious, Paul, Priscilla, and Aquila didn’t make “Christian” tents. They were Christians who made tents for all. Evidence indicates they would’ve made leather tents. At the time, leather tents were purchased in bulk by the Roman military to house their soldiers during long treks to battle, making them a likely client. This is a fascinating tension for Christians. Does vocation in exile require an ethical compromise?

What does vocation in exile mean for the medical professional when it comes to the sanctity of life? What does it mean for the business owner when it comes to serving customers who uphold values distinctly counter to Scripture? What about for the parent when it comes to juggling her child’s schedule between academics, sports, and church?

I recently talked with a friend about the tension she’s experiencing as a public school teacher. Faced with mounting pressure to affirm and teach modern cultural mores around sexuality and gender, she’s navigating the complex intersection between personal faithfulness and public witness. Her courageous conclusion was that the two are one and the same. The most loving thing she could offer her students, their families, and her fellow faculty was a loving, resilient, and kind but firm commitment to what she believed to be true, while also leaving enough room for meaningful dialogue with those who disagree with her position.

Vocation in exile necessitates clarity and conviction coupled with empathy and compassion. Ultimately, there’s no vocation, no human endeavor, that works toward God’s glory and the true common good while also directly violating God’s plan for his glory and our good. This would be an untenable incongruity. Navigating the tension of vocation in exile involves a loving sensitivity and some amount of nuance but must always remain anchored in God’s vision for human flourishing, unswayed by cultural tides. Embodying and expressing this vision requires courageous, loving resistance. And part of resisting is remaining rather than retreating. This has been God’s plan for his people in exile since the earliest days.

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