Worshiping our Work

Work has become something of a secret shrine in our culture. We go in early, stay late, and check email on our phones. We clock more hours, to make more progress, to earn more money, and we wonder why we’re tired.

Work has become something of a secret shrine in our culture. We go in early, stay late, and check email on our phones. We clock more hours, to make more progress, to earn more money, and we wonder why we’re tired.

This war for our worship appears daily in our home. From August to December, high school football rules our schedule. While my husband coaches and conditions his sweaty squad, I spend my days wading through a book project. And amidst the playbooks, chapters, cheers, and rewrites, we struggle to keep a pace that doesn’t take a toll on our souls.

Lately I’ve been learning from two men who realized the place and purpose of our life’s work. Moses stood at the head of Israel’s history. He led the nation out of Egypt and through the wilderness. He penned the Pentateuch and a few Psalms.

In one of his most personal prayers, this faithful leader pleaded for a nation devoured by God’s wrath. Despite his desperation, he maintained his devotion. The disaster around him forged his dependence as he begged God to establish the work of his people’s hands (Psalm 90:12–17).

Solomon stood as another tall figure and served as Israel’s greatest king. He wrote Proverbs, displayed his wealth before foreign dignitaries, and enjoyed every luxury under the sun.

But as you read the words penned later in his life, despair permeates the pages. He was still wise and pithy, but his tone was dark. Solomon concluded that toil profited nothing since a person’s work will be forgotten when they die (Ecclesiastes 1:3, 11).

Both men spoke with God and surrendered their lives to his service. Both men discerned that the purpose of our work is to lead us to worship its Creator. Yet Solomon looked back and despaired over his wasted life. Moses turned to God in humble devotion.

Perhaps their divergent responses are rooted in their delight. Moses loved God and walked with him all his days. Solomon lost his love and began to worship his work and its rewards. It’s a subtle warning for our workaholic culture. 

For most of high school and college, I lived for a grade. I worked my way through seminary and received my first ministry position at a mega church. But burnout got the best of me. When I resigned to write a book, I spent my first few months at home too sick to make sense of my thoughts.  

With another football season starting and another chapter to compose, Michael and I are striving to do it different. We want to love what we do and work hard at it. But we don’t want work to be worshiped in our home.

So I’m learning a lesson from two wise old men. One despaired. The other depended. And it all came back to their delight. Work is a gift and an act of worship. Will you join me in worshiping the Giver instead of his gifts?