Take this Job
and Love It
Whatever you do, work at it with all your
heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you
will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ
you are serving. (Col. 3:23-24)
Contrast these two
workers for a moment, if you would. The first one slices the air with his hand,
making points and instructing the crowd. He’s a teacher, and from the looks of
things, a pretty compelling one at that. He stands on a beach, rendering the slanted
seashore his amphitheater. As he talks, his audience increases; as the audience
grows, his platform shrinks. The instructor steps back and back until the next
step will take him into the water. That's when he spots another worker. A
fisherman. Not animated, but frustrated. He’d spent all night fishing, but
caught nothing. Double-digit hours' worth of casting, splashing and pulling the
net. But he’d caught nothing. Unlike the teacher, the fisherman has nothing to
show for his work. He draws no crowds; he doesn't even draw fish. Just nets.
Two workers. One pumped up. The other worn-out. The first, fruitful. The
second, futile. To whom do you relate?
If you empathize
with the fisherman, you walk a pretty crowded path. Consider these statistics:
One-third of Americans say, "I hate my job." Two-thirds of your
fellow citizens labor in the wrong career. Others find employment success, but
no satisfaction. Most suicides occur on Sunday nights. Most heart attacks occur
on Monday mornings. Lots of people dread their work. Countless commuters
begrudge the 83,000 hours their jobs take from their lives. If you're one of
them, what can you do? Change careers? Maybe. Find one that better fits your
design. But until you change, how do you survive? You still have bills to pay
and obligations to meet. The problem might be less the occupation and more your
outlook on it. So, before you change professions, try this: change your
attitude toward your profession.
Jesus' word for
frustrated workers can be found in the fifth chapter of Luke's gospel, where we
encounter the teacher and the frustrated fisherman. And you've likely already guessed
their names – Jesus and Peter. Random pockets of people populate the Galilean
seacoast today. But in the days of Christ, it swarmed; it was an ant bed of
activity. Peter, Andrew, James and John made their living catching and selling
fish. Like other fishermen, they worked the night shift – when cool water
brought the fish to the surface. And, like other fishermen, they knew the
drudgery of a fishless night. While Jesus preached, they cleaned nets. And as
the crowd grew, Christ had an idea. “He noticed two boats tied up. The
fishermen had just left them and were out scrubbing their nets. He climbed into
the boat that was [Peter's] and asked him to put out a little from the shore.
Sitting there, using the boat for a pulpit, he taught the crowd.” (Luke 5:2-3)
Jesus claimed
Peter's boat. He didn't request the use of it. Christ didn't fill out an
application or ask permission; he simply boarded the boat and began to preach.
He can do that, you know. All boats belong to Jesus. Your boat is where you
spend your day, make your living, and – to a large degree – live your life. The
taxi you drive, the horse stable you clean, the dental office you manage, the
family you feed and transport – that’s your boat. Christ shoulder-taps us and
reminds us: "You drive my truck." "You preside in my
courtroom." "You work on my job site." "You serve my
hospital wing." To us all, Jesus says, "Your work is my work."
Have you seen
the painting The Angelus by
Jean-Francois Millet? The painting depicts two peasants bowing in a field over
a basket of potatoes to say a prayer, the Angelus,
which together with the ringing of the bell from the church on the horizon
marked the end of a day’s work, all as a light falls from heaven. The rays don’t
fall on the church, however. They don't even fall on the bowed heads of the man
and woman. The rays of the sun fall on the wheelbarrow and the pitchfork at the
couple's feet. God's eyes fall on the work of our hands. Our Wednesdays matter
to him just as much as our Sundays. He blurs the secular and sacred. One
stay-at-home mom keeps this sign over her kitchen sink: “Divine tasks performed
here, daily.” An executive hung this plaque in her office: “My desk is my
altar.” Both are correct. With God, our work matters as much as our worship.
Indeed, work can be worship. Peter, the boat owner, later wrote: "You are
a chosen people. You are a kingdom of priests, God's holy nation, his very own
possession. This is so you can show others the goodness of God." (1 Pet.
2:9)
Next time a job
application requests your prior employment, write "priest" or
"priestess," because you are one. A priest represents God, and you,
my friend, represent God. So "let every detail in your lives – words,
actions, whatever – be done in the name of the Master, Jesus." (Col. 3:17)
You don't drive to an office; you drive to a sanctuary. You don't attend a
school; you attend a temple. You may not wear a clerical collar, but you could.
Your boat is God's pulpit.
“When [Jesus]
finished teaching, he said to Simon [Peter], ‘Push out into deep water and let
your nets out for a catch.’ Simon said, ‘Master, we've been fishing hard all
night and haven't caught even a minnow. But if you say so, I'll let out the
nets.’" (Luke 5:4-5) A patient getting a root-canal displays more
excitement than that. But who can blame Peter? His shoulders ache. His nets are
packed away. A mid-morning fishing expedition has zero appeal. Still, he complies.
"I will do as you say and let down the nets." (v. 5) Hardly hopping
up and down with excitement, but it’s nice to know that obedience doesn’t always
wear goose bumps.
In the light of
day, in full sight of the crowd, the fishermen dip their oars and hoist the
sail. Somewhere in the midst of the lake, Jesus gives the signal for them to
drop their nets, and "it was no sooner said than done – a huge haul of
fish, straining the nets past capacity. They waved to their partners in the
other boat to come help them. They filled both boats, nearly swamping them with
the catch." (Vv. 6-7) Peter and his cohorts stand knee high in gills. The
catch and the message of their lifetimes surround them. And what’s the message?
Some say it's
take Jesus to work and get rich! The presence of Christ guarantees more sales,
bigger bonuses, longer weekends and an early retirement. With Jesus in your
boat, you'll go from Galilean fishing to Caribbean cruising. But if this
passage promises prosperity, Peter apparently missed it. The catch didn't catch
his eye. Jesus did. Though surrounded by scales of silver, Peter didn't see
dollar signs. He saw Jesus. Not Jesus, the carpenter. Not Jesus, the teacher.
Not Jesus, the healer. Peter saw Jesus, the Lord: mighty enough to control the sea,
and kind enough to do so from a fisherman's boat. "Simon Peter, when he
saw it, fell to his knees before Jesus. 'Master, leave. I'm a sinner and can't
handle this holiness. Leave me to myself.'" (v. 8) What a scene. Christ
amid the common grind, standing shoulder to shoulder with cranky workers.
Directing fishermen how to fish; showing net casters where to throw.
Suppose you were
to do what Peter did. Take Christ to work with you. Invite him to superintend
your nine-to-five. He showed Peter where to cast his nets. Won't he show you
where to transfer funds, file the documents, or take the students on a field
trip? “Holy Spirit, help me stitch this seam.” “Lord of creation, show me why
this manifold won't work.” “King of kings, please bring clarity to this budget.”
“Dear Jesus, guide my hands as I trim this customer’s hair.” Pray the prayer of
Moses: "Let the loveliness of our Lord, our God, rest on us, confirming
the work that we do. Oh, yes. Affirm the work that we do!" (Ps. 90:17)
Maybe you see no
way God could use your work. Your boss has the disposition of a hungry pit bull,
hamsters have larger work areas than yours, and your kids have better per diems. You feel sentenced to the
outpost of Siberia, where hope left a long time ago on the last train. If so,
meet one final witness. He labored eighteen years in a Chinese prison camp, and
the Communist regime rewarded his faith in Christ with the porta-potty assignment
for the last six (6) of those years.
The camp kept the
human waste of its 60,000 prisoners in pools until it fermented into
fertilizer. The pits seethed with stench and disease. Guards and prisoners
alike avoided the cesspools and all who worked there, including this disciple. And
after he'd spent only a few weeks in the pit, the stench pigmented his body. He
couldn't scrub it out. Imagine his plight – far from home and even in prison,
far from the other prisoners. But somehow this godly man found a garden in his
prison. "I was thankful for being sent to the cesspool. This was the only
place where I was not under severe surveillance. I could pray and sing openly
to our Lord. When I was there, the cesspool became my private garden." He
then quoted the words to an old hymn: I
come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses. And the voice so
clear whispers in my ear, the Son of God discloses. And He walks with me, and He
talks with me, and He tells me I am His own. And the joy we share as we tarry
there none other has ever known. "I never knew the meaning of this
hymn until I had been in the labor camp," Pastor Chen Min Lin said.
God can make a
garden out of the cesspool you call work, if you’ll take him with you. For
Peter and his nets, the prisoner and his garden, and for you and your work, the
promise is the same: everything changes when you give Jesus your boat.
Grace,
Randy
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