(a Steve Orr scripture reflection)
When Dad was a new husband in the 1950s, people were expected to work 20, 30, even 40 years for the same employer or in one career. That may be hard to imagine when, today, people are likely to have six different careers. After World War II, Dad returned home wanting to become a chiropractor. And that is what he did—for about a decade.
What followed was a succession of mini-careers. Dad was a “brickie,” doing brick and tile work for a cousin’s construction business. Next, he was a riverboat pilot/dairy farmer, working a 30/30 structure. He alternated the 30/30 with a farmer friend. One month Dad was on the boat and our friend ran the dairy. The next month, they switched. It was job-sharing long before that was a thing. Next, he joined a cousin in a printing business for a few years.
Then my parents moved to Florida and Dad joined Wickes Lumber Company. He worked there until an on-the-job injury placed him on permanent disability in his 50s. Throughout those three-ish decades, while Dad moved through multiple, unrelated career fields, Mom worked for the telephone company, her only employer all those years.
Jobs are an interesting part of our lives. Whatever work we do in this life—be it the very important work of developing the next generation, or making things, or building places, or selling things, or a myriad of office type occupations—we tend to get who we are all tangled up with what we do.
In this week’s Luke passage, John the Baptist called everyone to repentance, to turn their lives away from sin. No doubt many wondered what impact this "repentance" would have on their lives, and perhaps most specifically, on how they made a living. For most, the work of repentance turned out to be straightforward: Share with those in need. But tax collectors and soldiers were among the most reviled in that place and time. Many of the others present were likely thinking: Tax collectors and soldiers can’t repent without first changing jobs…right?
But it was those very tax collectors and soldiers who actually asked the quiet part out loud. John's response is interesting, both for what he said and for what he didn’t say. To the soldiers and tax collectors, he said, (to paraphrase), "You have vast positional authority. Don't exploit it." Tax collectors were considered cheats and thieves, and soldiers were—charitably—considered bullies. So, "Don't extort and don't bully" got right to the heart of repentance for them.
But John did not tell them to stop being tax collectors and soldiers. When you think about it, the implication is startling. Here was John’s opportunity to tell them, straight up: “You folks are in the wrong professions.” Instead, John got to the heart of the matter—and it wasn’t their career choices.
Our jobs can only define us is if we allow it. They certainly don’t determine God’s relationship with us, nor ours with God. In that light, the different career paths taken by my parents come down to the same thing: In the end, the number of jobs or employers comprising your working years are not the point.
How we do our work—how we treat others in conducting our business, how we impact others with our industry. These are paramount.
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