When does adventure become selfish?

       As I’ve pondered this question I keeping coming back to one word: “escape”.  I think adventure becomes selfish when it’s an escape. Not that all escapes are bad. No, indeed there is a time and a place for escape and deliverance always feels preferable to provision in the midst. But that is not adventure. It’s something else entirely. And further I would distinguish deliverance from escape. Deliverance is about the action of God, escape is about the action of man. Which brings me to why I think adventure as escape is selfish- it’s about what I can do for myself. At its core I think selfishness is an attempt to provide for our needs apart from God. Escape is how we run from the work and heart of God. It’s too risky, too much, too far, too close, too fill-in-the-blank. But adventure, adventure is the way we run into the middle, the heart of what Jesus is doing because it’s the trajectory of our devotion. Is my adventure born out of devotion or self-preservation? It is not an easy distinction to make. But it is easy to flee and call it adventure. To hide and call it adventure. To shirk and call it adventure. To isolate and call it adventure. One of Merriam-Webster’s definitions for adventure is “to take the risk involved.” I think adventure becomes selfish when it is an effort to circumvent a risk rather than take one. I’m afraid of what’s in front of me so I travel around Europe for a month in an effort to avoid coming face to face with an invitation to risk that will dog me to the corners of the earth. That’s the other thing about adventure as escape- it will never work, but we keep trying and Jesus doesn’t fault us for the fact that we keep trying. Grace upon grace upon grace. Yet Jesus will never stop asking you to risk. So is your adventure the adventure of taking your particular risks, following your particular trajectory of devotion? Or is it a sham adventure elaborately constructed to avoid the risk Jesus calls you to? It may sound like I’m trying to turn adventure on its head and say, “True adventure is staying put.” I’m not. I’m asking what is your posture as you go? Are your eyes shut tight as you run out the door? Are you moving forward, but facing backward? Is your head hanging down? Or do you take a look around as you go, say goodbye, and look up? And are you willing to let it be possible that Jesus wants you to stay put for now? Is that possibility on the table? Is everything on the table? Or are there possibilities you simply won’t consider? Whatever you hold with clenched fists is most likely to slip through your fingers. The more you dig in your heels for your way, the more you feel the ground giving way beneath you. To give to God is to receive back in fullness. The desires I keep stay small, the ones I lay down before Jesus grow and are given back to me in such measure they cannot but be shared. So where is adventure born and where does it grow? Is my adventure born out of my need to find some semblance of control in a chaotic and broken world or is it born out of the kind, winsome, strong, risky call of Jesus? Does it grow in the shadows, behind closed doors or does it grow in the light of his sovereignty and the community he’s given me? Do I adventure as a defiant orphan, always on the run? Or as one adopted by God, also running, but running to instead of away? Adventure becomes selfish when it is about what I can get, instead of what I’ve been given.