We end up spending a third of our lives at work (at least). But, doing what? That’s the question.
How about this person? “I wanted to be a pet groomer. But I couldn’t make heads or tails of it.” Or this person: “Got fired from my job as a masseuse. Apparently I rub people the wrong way.” And finally: “I love being a maze designer. I get completely lost in my work.”
Work is work. By the sweat of our brows we commit time and effort in trying to make a living, even as pet groomers, masseuses, or maze designers. Any tentmakers amung us?
In a missionary journey St. Paul makes his way to Corinth. While there he happens to meet up with a couple, Aquila and Priscilla. Their forced separation from Rome becomes the circumstances God uses to partner them with St. Paul. How so? They were tentmakers, and lo and behold, so was Paul.
I wonder if picking up tools and applying his trade was a bit of a respite – a break for Paul. The workshop banter. Talking shop. Reminiscing of younger years, he and Aquila grew in friendship as brothers in Christ.
We can slip off the road to one side or the other, because how we presume work defines us. Into the one ditch, “I’m nobody” if I happen to work at a convenience store. Into the other ditch, “I’m somebody” if I administer drugs in a pharmacy. Actually both ditches yield to the temptation to idolize work, and to find identity in what I “do” or “did” for a living. The one ditch breeds despair IN NOT having, and the other ditch breeds pride IN having.
This was a big issue in the medieval church. There was a strong separation between the “secular” and the “sacred.” Incorrect theologians taught that certain callings in life were inherently more holy than others. The monk dwelt closer to God than the farmer. And why? Union with Christ was achieved through solitary meditation and prayer, not the lowly work of tilling and tending soil.
The Reformation reformed the word “vocation,” because of how we are justified by faith alone. Our union with Christ (our salvation) is not something we earn through mystical contemplation or religious activity. Saving righteousness is a gift of grace, which then sanctifies our work in service to other people.
That is how we become (and live as) saints. Saints who bear witness to Jesus by either flipping burgers, administering medical care, grooming pets, massaging people aching muscles, or designing mazes. Luther said it well when he penned: “God does not need your good works, but your neighbor does.” Then, it is by those works that people see our “good deeds and praise our Father in heaven” (Mt 5:16).
In my young adult years I purchased a two man dome tent. After I purchased it, I was directed to put some kind of compound on the seams of the tent. Why? If the tent is going to show any wear (or tear) in being used, it’s first going to show itself at the seams.
Where is the compound we need when we come apart at the seams?
Inspired by the Holy Spirit, St. Paul reverted back to his tentmaking days when he wrote to the Corinthian church. “For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling, if indeed by putting it on we may not be found naked. For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened—not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee” (2 Cor 5:1-5).
In this life we are on a pilgrimage. Like the saints who have gone before us, our earthly home (our tents as bodies) feel the wear and tear of service and witness. It is, though, a journey that aims toward an eternal home under the care of our gracious Maker and Redeemer.
By St. John’s revelation: “they [saints] are before the throne of God and serve Him day and night in His temple; and He who sits on the throne will spread His tent over them” (7:15). Thanks be to you, Lord Jesus. •
— By Pastor Neil Stern
Grace Lutheran Church, Edmonton AB