As someone who grew up watching a lot of war movies, the word “surrender” doesn’t really evoke an awfully inspiring reaction in me. My mind immediately goes to that scene in Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace where Jar Jar Binks, after a short battle, sheepishly throws up his arms in the air saying (sic) “My give up! My give up!”
So how can “surrender” lead to greater freedom, let alone the greatest possible freedom, especially when surrender, in our culture, where it typically means the total relinquishing of freedom?
The secret lies in the identity and benevolence of the figure to whom we are surrendering. If we surrender to a military tyrant, or like in Jar Jar Binks, a horde of robotic droid soldiers, then we are right to resist.
But if the one to whom we surrender is all-powerful, all-knowing but also all-loving and all-good, wouldn’t that change our disposition?
And yet it begs the question: if God is good, loving, patient, kind, and merciful, why do we still need to surrender? Why does our “response verb” have to be so intense? Well, it’s probably because we’re so totally bent the other way that even such a good and virtuous action like giving our “yes” to God will feel like surrendering.
Before I was married, I gave some serious thought to becoming a celibate priest. I was dating at the time, but couldn’t help but wonder, “What if I was really called to be a priest?”
I loved the Sacraments of the Catholic Church. I loved the idea of preaching, and being there for people’s darkest and brightest times as a priest. And yet, it was achingly difficult to consider leaving behind the thought of being a husband and raising a family. I felt trapped between what felt like equally good, beautiful, and true choices. I was experiencing an existential, anxious FOMO (fear of missing out) of epic proportions.
My anxiety revealed to me how I imagined God to be. I thought that He would be so angry with me if I made the wrong choice. If I was really honest, I was afraid that if I gave God permission, He would ruin my life.
Eventually, slowly, with a lot of help from friends, priests, family, I came to realize that the one to whom I was called to surrender was actually good. He had my best intentions in mind.
He did have a plan for my life and intended for me to live out that plan, but He wasn’t some brigade commander about to send me into battle with marching orders. He wasn’t waiting to test me or see if I could figure it out on my own. He was, and is, a loving Father, who wants what’s best for His son, in every situation.
It was a sober realization. It was no longer a question of which choice brought more comfort or more pleasure. All vocational paths have their own joys and hardships—it’s just a part of life. But it's embracing what He has designed for me that makes all the difference. His plan is the best possible plan for my life.
Surrendering is about trusting Him, even when things aren't clear. I just know that when the time is right, He's going to help me take the next right step.
Living in a world that offers trillions and trillions of choices has left me paralyzed with anxiety. Surrendering to God may not be easier—in fact, it’s still daunting. It’s still scary. It costs something. It’s a leap of faith. But at least I know He is in control when I’m not. And if He is in control, I’m freer to jump. To take those risks. It’s like standing at the top of a diving board, knowing there’s a really, really good lifeguard ready to rescue me if I mess up.
Because there are arms ready to catch me, save me, redirect me, without fail. Those are the arms of Jesus, in whom I find true freedom. “For freedom Christ has set us free. Stand firm, therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.” (Galatians 5:1)
