Today is Labor Day. These days it’s pretty much lost its original meaning and serves for our culture as just a day off that signals the end of summer. And so we have the irony of calling a day off “Labor Day.”
The kids must wonder about that.
Originally, of course, it was a fruit of the labor-union movement in the United States, a celebration of and a recognition of the importance of the work done by “laborers,” or what we’ve come today to call “blue-collar workers.”
Much has been written from a Christian perspective on the importance of work, and particularly of all work; work is a sacred calling, a “vocation,” directed by a wise and loving God. Any obedience to that God has value and meaning. Some people are paid more than others for their work, and some kinds of work are seen as more “respectable,” but theologically speaking, all honest work is a virtue and contributes to the overall good of society and the furtherance of God’s plan.
I’d like to meditate on the topic from another angle, one of my favorite theological concepts.
As I think back over my working life, I realize that is filled with good things, great blessings—but things that I didn’t recognize as good at the time.
At first I wanted to be a pilot. But that costs money, so I thought I’d let the government pay for it. Set out for an Air Force ROTC scholarship; I thought I’d get it, because I had good SAT scores. But I flunked the flight physical—bad hearing from a childhood ear injury—and that was the end of that. I remember riding the Greyhound bus home from Otis Air Force Base, wondering at the age of 16 what on earth I was going to do with my life. (I still get wistful in airports.)
Well, maybe I can be an aerospace engineer. Applied to UMass Boston and was rejected. Good grades, in-state resident, financial need. No dice. Why?
Hmmm. Must have applied too late. Reapplied immediately for the next year and worked in a sandwich shop.
Rejected again. UMass just plain didn’t want me.
I had applied to BJU to get my Dad off my back, and wouldn’t you know it, they accepted me. Drat.
Off to college, where within hours I was confronted by my spiritual need and challenged to get serious about life. Everything changed.
Maybe I should be a pastor. Nope. It became clear that I was not gifted or inclined to what that work entailed.
OK, maybe I should be a Bible teacher. My senior year I applied to be a Greek GA—had a Greek minor and high grades. Nope.
After graduation I returned home to Boston and got a job to save for grad school. Midsummer BJU offered me a GA in English. I took it.
So they paid for the terminal degree—that was handy—and I learned a lot about English grammar and writing style.
Any chance I could join the Bible faculty? Nope. Those guys are as stable as they come, and since they don’t smoke or drink or drive over the speed limit, they tend to live a long time.
But with the English skills, I could get a job as an editor at the Press. Maybe I can work there until a spot opens on the faculty.
A decade later I realized that if no such spot ever opened, I’d be content to work there for the rest of my life. I liked my bosses, my coworkers, the customers, the creativity, the business of navigating the industry’s change from analog to digital.
A decade after that, I got restless. I could be doing more with the PhD. Maybe I should get a teaching position somewhere else.
And then one of my Seminary profs stopped me in the Dining Common and asked if I’d like to teach.
That was 25 years ago, and I’ve been deliriously happy ever since.
What about that boyhood dream of flying?
I realized later that, first, I don’t have the kind of personality that keeps pilots alive for any appreciable length of time, and second, I’d have been entering the job market just as all those high-time pilots were coming back from Viet Nam.
God led differently.
And, to no surprise, his leading has been good, and fulfilling, and perfect for how he designed me.
Just saw a headline in the Wall Street Journal: “America’s Teachers Are Burned Out.”
Not this one.
Happy Labor Day.
Photo by Scott Blake on Unsplash
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