Follow me, won’t you,
through a work week -
not my work week, but someone else’s —
let’s call them Joe.
Joey, Joseph, Josephine - mostly just Joe.
Joe’s got a job. And it’s OK.
But you know how it is.
Monday morning, and the alarm goes off.
Ugh.
Work.
And Joe hits snooze, and wonders:
why?
Why do I go to work?
You ever wonder that?
If you’re working at a job now, or you used to,
did you ever think, “why?”
Now, the first answer is little red hen’s answer.
Right?
That’s the first answer that popped into your mind.
‘Cause I need bread.
And if I don’t plant the seed, water the seed, harvest the grain,
mill the grain, and bake the bread -
then there’s no bread.
And I like to imagine that the little red hen, she’s a good soul.
She’s generous.
But she’s done this before.
She made the bread and did all the work,
and fed her friends.
But have they invited her over to their house for a meal?
Nope.
And she’d feed them if they were hungry,
but they’re not.
They’re just . . . lazy.
So, no bread for you.
This is the first part of the covenant of labor.
If you work, you get bread.
This the covenant - that work should lead to food,
to enough money for shelter, for the basic needs of life.
If you are able to work, and you do so,
you should have sufficient bread.
And this is a place where the covenant is broken for many.
Joe gets up, that monday morning,
and goes to work,
and at the end of the day,
the boss gives her the two bucks and change per hour, waiter’s minimum wage,
plus the measly tips left by the early customers,
and she holds the cash in hand,
and thinks, well, it’s another day of ramen,
another addition to the ever growing credit card balance,
another student loan payment I’ll have to skip.
If we want a covenant of labor that respects work,
work should be a living wage.
It’s not politics, its about human dignity.
Tuesday.
Joe gets up.
This Joe has a different job.
It’s hard work, and he doesn’t really enjoy it.
But it makes lots of money.
More than he needs, really.
Tuesday morning, Joe wonders the question he often wonders
after the first day is done, and he has to get up and do it again.
Why? Why do I need to try so hard to get rich,
instead of doing what I love?
And he hears his grandfather’s voice.
From his childhood, remembered.
Wealth is a sign of godliness.
This is what is called the Calvinist work ethic.
God has chosen, in advance, who is saved and who is cursed,
said Jean Calvin,
and there’s nothing we can do about it.
Those who are blessed with salvation,
though,
you can tell in this world -
not by their moral action, not by their compassion or heart,
but by their material success.
Why would God let them get rich if they weren’t blessed?
So, Calvin says, work hard, get rich, and it’s proof God meant you to be rich.
Joe isn’t sure why he works so hard at a job he doesn’t love,
but he knows, in his heart,
that this theology of his grandfather’s,
well, it’s nonsense.
It’s hogwash.
No God worth believing in has cursed some to live in poverty and then, on top of that,
suffer for eternity.
No God worth believing in authorizes oppression, violence, slavery, or genocide.
Surely no God that Jesus believed in -
he who said, it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle
than for a rich man to get into heaven -
surely no God that Jesus believed in
wanted us to spend our days getting rich,
no God that Jesus believed in would have proclaimed, #onlyrichlivesmatter,
or #poorlivesdon’tmatter.
A covenant of labor will recognize that different labor will be compensated at different levels -
because, we hope, of the natural or learned skill needed to do the job -
but that all work, all labor, and all who labor, have dignity and worth -
by virtue of their being human, and for no other reason.
That everyone is a child of God,
that everyone is part of the human family,
and everyone counts.
That is not the covenant of labor that we work under today,
but it should be.
And we can help make this real by resisting the cult of wealth for wealth’s sake.
By articulating our theology: that love supersedes our categories and boundaries,
exceeds our expectations and our limits.
Now, an aside.
You may wonder why I’m speaking of covenant,
not contract.
The agreement between an employer and an employee
is usually a contract - I do this thing, and in return you pay me this amount.
There’s one major exception, by the way.
You all know at least one person whose employment is governed by a covenant and not a contract.
Any ideas?
But even though an individual employment agreement is a contract,
it’s my contention today that work as a whole,
the activity of labor,
should be a covenantal relationship -
should be,
a relationship between and among all those who labor,
and all those who make, who sell, who buy, who produce, and who consume -
it should be a covenant.
As a society, we should say that we respect the dignity of labor,
that people who work - which is all of us, at different times and in different ways,
should have that work and their lives and bodies respected,
should feel a sense of pride in their work,
should be able to depend on others and be dependable to others with whom they work,
should have a sense of freedom about what kind of work they do,
that they can find and answer a calling to serve the world,
and a sense of balance between their life of work and the other important parts of their life.
And after a life of labor, people should have time in retirement to enjoy the fruits thereof.
That’s what the covenant of labor should be.
But it isn’t, is it?
In some places it is, but not for everyone and not everywhere.
But making this covenant real and healthy would be good -
good for people of every type and kind of labor,
and good for our souls and for our earth.
And we can do it - if we give a damn, and do something about it,
we can help to create a more covenantal and dignified world of work.
Wednesday morning.
This Joe would love to get up and go to work.
Would be happy to,
but the factory closed, those jobs got shipped off.
Or maybe a machine does the job now,
and Joe’s skills are no longer needed.
He’s been be downsized and outsourced.
Joe would like someone to blame.
And there’s plenty of blame going around,
and plenty of folks telling him who to blame.
Bad trade deals.
Immigration.
Liberals.
Conservatives.
Elites.
The media.
Crime.
Regulations.
Plenty of folks tell him who to blame, who to be mad at,
who to be afraid of.
If he wanted to, he could sit at home and be told who to blame all day.
Now, some folks would stereotype Joe,
say, he’s a laid off factory worker, can’t be that bright.
But they’d be wrong, and we know better, right? right?
Joe’s a student of history.
Not History Channel history, but actual history.
This history of work, and labor, and justice.
Joe knows that 400 years ago, 300 years ago, 50 years ago,
last year, just this week, poor whites in America
were told to accept their poverty, to not complain,
because it could be worse: you could be black.
Joe knows that racism was invented and is maintained
for economic reasons, to distract and divide.
He knows that this used to be the covenant, such as it was:
that whiteness was protected and advantaged.
And he knows some folks want to maintain or return to that, but he doesn’t.
Joe knows that labor unions came into existence only through struggle,
that police were used to murder and beat up organizers,
and that the middle class rose and fell
with the rise and decline of the union.
Singly none, singly none,
but by union we turn the wheel.
And Joe can read through the lines.
He knows that attempts to frighten and deflect -
the nonsense and bigotry of walls and nostalgia,
he knows this is just bluster, another con by another con man.
He knows there’s a long tradition of rich making promises they won’t keep
to get power they’ll misuse,
and he ain’t no sucker.
But he also knows that some of his friends are tempted.
They want to believe.
And he knows that the breakdown of the covenant -
the fact that wages haven’t grown very much,
that globalization has winners and losers,
that resentment and fear are real,
he knows this a recipe for disaster.
If not this November, one day.
So the covenant of labor must include an anti-racist, inclusive commitment
to genuine opportunity and dignity.
In a healthy covenant - which we have not really had in this country -
we will respect all people, and not use racism or xenophobia
to obscure practices of economic injustice,
and we will ensure that no one, in no industry and no part of the country,
is treated like trash, like leftovers.
That will not look to saviors or demagogues,
but to the power of solidarity, of community -
of covenant itself - to shape our common destiny.
We will bind each other’s wounds and care for each other’s hearts.
Thursday.
Joe is headed to work,
and she’s super excited.
She loves the people she works with.
Any of you have this?
I do!
I love the people I work with.
Joe does to.
They’re fun. They make her laugh.
They work hard, but no one is a jerk about it.
There is an implicit covenant between her co-workers -
that we have each other’s back.
That we’ll harvest the grain and bake the bread together -
and eat together.
Somedays she finds a lot of meaning in her work.
Other days, no so much.
But spending the day with people she mostly enjoys -
this makes it more than earning bread,
and more than finding purpose,
it makes it friendship.
This should be part of the covenant of labor —
a sense of team.
That people respect each other,
comfort and challenge each other in the work.
Some workplaces have this, but not all do.
To the extent it is within our power, then,
this is a simple project, though it takes daily habit:
be the coworker that others want to work with.
Be a good teammate. Reach out. Respect.
Have each other’s back.
Friday,
Joe will finish today.
The project they’ve been working on -
the engineering schematics,
the three-week lesson,
the home they’re building,
the presentation for the sales team,
they will finish.
And Joe will step back and look and feel pride.
A thing worth doing well done has a shape that satisfies,
says the poet Marge Piercy,
who writes, I want to be of use,
like the pitcher that carries water,
like those who haul in a line,
for we are made to be used.
A thing worth doing well done has a shape that satisfies.
It's not just makin' money
And countin' off the days
He builds a house
With his hands
A hundred years go by
It stands
So much of our world is disposable.
Planned obsolesce.
To make something that will last,
or even, if it doesn’t last,
that’s done well,
that one can stand back
and say, I did that —
this feels good.
Joe stands back and says, that’s done right.
And they put away their tools -
their gloves, their computer, locks the door, perhaps,
and goes home.
Saturday, Sunday
now some of us work weekends,
but, again, thanks to union,
most don’t, and if you do you hopefully get some other days off -
Saturday, Sunday,
the Joes do different things.
Some play with their children.
Some garden, some hike.
Some watch football.
Some read.
Some go to church, or temple, or the mosque.
Some go out to eat, and some visit the farmer’s market.
For this is the last piece.
We wish for a covenant of labor
where people earn enough bread,
where all have dignity and are treated with dignity,
where all are included -
none cast aside, none divided,
a covenant where we have solidarity
and satisfaction of work well done -
we wish for all those things,
and we wish for a larger covenant with life,
that labor is not all we do,
and not for our whole lives -
that it is a part of it, vital and important and worthy,
but not all of it.
We give thanks and we work for a world where work and workers are respected,
and we give thanks for all that is our life,
and we sing our praise and thanks for each day and each hour.
Just like the covenant of labor,
the covenant with life
is not as it should be.
But just like the covenant of labor,
the good news is that we can help make it better.
We can treat all people with dignity,
offer open arms of love, as the holy loves all,
we can refuse divisions and tear down walls,
we can be good neighbors and strangers,
and we can live lives we are proud of.
We can.
Let’s get to work.
Take tomorrow off.
And then, whatever it is you are called to do,
let’s get to work.