This
morning, I am beginning a five-part sermon series on work, and today we’ll
explore what we might mean by work. The backdrop to the series is that I have
been visiting members of our church family in the places where they work
through the week. I intend to keep doing so through the autumn, and the Minster
will be holding an exhibition of photographs celebrating our congregation as it
is dispersed across the city – watch this space.
In
the ancient world, there was a belief that the gods did what they liked, and
that mere mortals were slaves, were workers. The exception were kings or
emperors, who, as living representatives of the gods, as bearers of the divine
likeness and partakers in the divine nature, god-like, did as they chose.
Of
course, we are much more advanced today. We don’t believe in pantheons of gods,
in whose image the great and the good are made. Or do we?
One
of the things that has become even clearer to me as I have spent time listening
to members of the congregation in work contexts is that our society has come to
devalue work that does not generate money. That we find ourselves in a
self-perpetuating system of slavery to money, where people are seen primarily
as economic units, net contributors to generating money (high earners,
financial sector) or a net drain on money (children, though they are a
necessary investment; pensioners, the disabled or ill). We might be aware of a
tension, in the public rhetoric of such a system, between affirming the voluntary
sector as easing the financial burden and decrying the same people for
perpetuating inefficiency in the machine. It seems to me that our advanced
society hasn’t advanced anywhere since Pharaoh enslaved the Israelites, or the
Emperor sat in Rome.
And
like the Israelites, it is easy to fixate on the negative, on the problem we
can do nothing about rather than look to the God who has set us free.
Let
us turn to the church in Philippi. Philippi, in Greece, was an ex-pat
retirement city for the Roman army, a place where those who had served the
system might reap the rewards of their labours. (Not dissimilar to the English
ex-pat enclaves in Spain?) It was the place of the first church Paul planted in
Europe, a church composed of the household of a merchant-woman and the
household of a prison governor. Their livelihoods were dependent on the Pax Romana – just as ours are dependent
on western democracy and the free market economy. And Paul sends them a hymn.
Paul sends a hymn, because those words that we rehearse over and over shape us,
and he wants our attitude to be conformed to that of Jesus Christ.
This
hymn is in fact a proclamation of the gospel, as the early church understood
it: Because Jesus had faithfully represented God to his unfaithful people, God
had overturned his unjust death at the hands of those who had rejected him; and
had established this Jesus as Lord over a renewed people of God, composed of
Jews and – surprisingly – Gentiles scattered across the Roman Empire, who would
survive the imminent judgement of national Israel (this took place in AD70) and
guarantee God’s ongoing intention to form a people through whom the nations
would be blessed. And in the end, this servant-king would be acknowledged as
faithfully representing God by all other claimants to God’s throne (in the
context of the Church scattered throughout the Roman Empire, this was ‘fulfilled’
when the Roman Emperor Constantine submitted to Christ).
But
what has this to do with work? Well first, in the verses preceding our reading,
Paul contrasts work as a means of taking
(verse 3) and work as a means of giving
(verse 4). And against that backdrop, we are shown that the nature of God
revealed in the humanity of Jesus is this: God is a slave, a worker (verses 6,
7). That is revolutionary. God, who does not need to work, chooses to work, to serve, to bless.
Work,
then, might be understood as what we do,
as an expression of ourselves, for the common good.
That
might be paid or unpaid. It might be based in an office, or the open air. It
might be as the primary carer of a relative. It might be, for the retired, the
work of attending to community among those who would otherwise find themselves
isolated – the work of keeping body and mind and heart and soul active – the
work of going to the cinema and on to lunch.
Work,
as what we do as an expression of ourselves for the common good. Such an
understanding of work involves a self-humbling – it is for the common good –
but the act of self-humbling finds us not only working for God but also working with
God, partnering with the God who works to serve others in order that they might
be blessed.
And
in that sharing in the obedience of Christ – in the faithful representation of God’s likeness – we will also share in
the liberating victory of the servant-king over the tyranny of false gods.
So
what might it look like to recognise Jesus Christ as Lord over our lives, for
the blessing of all people? Let me tell you some stories.
I
have spent time with Liz, serving a hot meal to homeless men and women.
I
have spent time with Sarah, a student of art, someone who challenges how we see
the world. In shaping a vase, she reveals potential in unpromising clay. In
fashioning a lightshade from plastic cups, she imagines new purpose for
something considered ‘disposable’. Our society needs artists, who might tell an
alternative story.
I
have spent time with married couple Hollie and Graeme. Solicitors working in
the same firm, Hollie is one of the directors, Graeme the office manager. Through
Legal Aid, they insist that justice is a righteous and universal principle and
not a commodity to be controlled by those with wealth. And yes, they live with
the tension of cuts to Legal Aid and the need for their firm to provide for its
family, but it is a tension they are committed to wrestling with. Likewise,
they are committed to investing in the legal training path for local people. To
blessing others.
I
have spent time with Gillian, before she retired, at Age UK, where she has
helped those considered ‘surplus to requirements’ to remain human in a society
that would de-humanise them. Again, it is a constant struggle, in which we need
to be reminded that Jesus is Lord.
I
have spent time with father-and-daughter Chris and Becca on an archaeological
dig, where Becca has been a team leader and Chris a volunteer. Our society has
a very short memory, and needs those who reveal the past, who might reveal how
flawed some of the stories we tell about ourselves are. It might sound like a
strange way to bless a people, to tell a different story. But stories shape
cultures: they can lock us in prison cells, and they can shake the prison
foundations and burst open doors. At the dig at Binchester, a ring was found
this summer that testifies to faith in Jesus as Lord. The political landscape
has been drawn and redrawn many times since, and peoples come and go: but through
the ages, God has kept his promise to secure a people for himself through whom
the nations will be blessed. And we, in our turn, are part of that people.
And
we take part in God’s intention in diverse ways, both together and dispersed.
But as we do, we need to be encouraged, and my hope is that over this autumn,
you will be. Over the coming weeks, we’ll be looking at particular workplace
issues. Alongside the sermon series, there will be an opportunity to explore
things further on Tuesday evenings, at a discipleship class I will be starting
on the 23rd. If you’d be interested in taking part, pick up a flyer
this morning.
As
we work out together what it means to be God’s new people in the world, may our
attitude be increasingly conformed to that of Jesus Christ. Amen.
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