What Is a Workplace Minister?

See Matthew 25:31-40

All of us have our heroes, I suppose—people whose lives help to define the kind of person we want to be, the kind of principles we’d like to live by, the kind of practical performance we’d love to attain. Maybe you can think of one of yours.

As Christian ministers go, one of my heroes is a man I’ll call Lou McCarthy. I need to point out that Lou has never worn a pastor’s robe—though I recall him wearing a choir one most Sundays when we went to the same church. It wasn’t what happened in that church building, however, that touched me most deeply about Lou. It was what Lou McCarthy taught me about being a Christian in another context that stays with me still.

One summer during graduate school I took a job at IBM’s massive corporate headquarters in Armonk, New York. In those days, IBM ran its operations from a vast facility that seemed much like what I imagined CIA headquarters must be like, only more secure! I recall hallways so wide you could drive a combine harvester down them without touching a wall. People in dark suits glided by one another at fifteen-foot distances, only occasionally nodding or murmuring a curt "hello." You got the sense that to break stride or silence would somehow breach some code of productivity or professionalism I needed to learn.

The air was always electric with activity. Through open doors you could hear telephones chirping and see people huddled behind the glass of conference room walls. It was an extremely busy and beautiful place, but one of the loneliest I’d ever been in. And it was for that very reason that my heart did a leap when, after two weeks on the job, I came around a corner and saw a face I recognized and which actually lit up when it saw mine.

Lou McCarthy was standing by the watercooler. He was a stocky man of about 60 years old, with balding head and smiling eyes. He wore the same crisp white shirt that all the executives did, but at that moment his shirtsleeves were rolled up and he was in the process of filling paper cups of water for a couple of younger people that appeared to have gotten there at about the same time. Lou let out a surprise whoop of pleasure at seeing me. He stepped forward to clasp my hand heartily in those big meaty hands of his. He introduced me to the people around, as if we were all family members we’d not yet met. And then he extended to me a cup full of water. I will never forget that drink. It was just water in a blue Dixie cup. But for me, and I think the others in that hallway, it was a taste of communion in a place parched for caring community.

That was only the first lesson Lou taught me that summer. I remember the time when we were in a crowded cafeteria line together, and the guy in front of us arrived at the register with more food than he had the cash to cover. Flushing with embarrassment, the man began fumbling over which items to put back. He looked panic-stricken as he tried to figure out how he’d ever manage to fight his way back through the line to return that piece of pie. When Lou simply stepped forward and said: "Hey, I’d be delighted to cover the difference for you," you’d have thought he’d been given a seven-course meal.

On another day, I recall seeing Lou at a table across the room, bowing his head to say grace over his meal. I heard him one time gently tell another employee that he’d been praying for her, and only later discovered that she’d been diagnosed with cancer. But I will always be particularly grateful for how often Lou stopped by to encourage me during a two-week stretch when I felt imprisoned in my cubicle, desperately trying to finish a project that put me in a frenzy of fear. "It’s going to be just fine, Dan," he’d say. "You can do it. Just take it an hour at a time. I know you’ll come out just fine." What a difference that man made.

And I wasn’t the only one who noticed. "That’s an unusually nice guy," said Kathy, a pretty cynical co-worker with a desk near mine. "Yeah," I said. "We go to the same church." "Really?" she said. "Hmmm. Maybe that’s the kind of church that even someone like me could go to." Later that summer, she did.

II

You know, I’m not sure that Lou McCarthy fully realized just how important the way he conducted himself in the workplace was to the cause of Christ. I suppose it’s possible that he felt that singing bass in the Choir was the most important thing he did as a Christian each week—and it was important, very important. We come to church to renew our connection through song and scripture with the awesome God of the Universe. We come to be strengthened by His promises and to bear witness in praise and prayer and creed to the supreme hope we find only in Him. We come to embrace and encourage one another and to celebrate the communion we have with believers across the earth and in heaven above.

It’s just that we must always remember that our church is just the first sacred space we enter at the start of a new week. For what we do or do not do when we are outside the traditional religious walls is far more important and sacred to God than we may be inclined to think. And to make that truth clearer Jesus tells us a Parable—the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats.

To put it simply, it is a story about the Surprise of Significance. The heroic sheep are those who did not even realize that they were heroes. These believers had simply soaked up so much of God’s grace themselves that they now, almost unconsciously, have begun to breathe and bleed it towards others. They have become mediators—literally, priests—of grace to those in the places they live and work day-by-day. Departing worship, they have gone about their week encouraging and serving the individuals in their path and ministering to persons that others may have passed by with nary a nod in the hallway of life. And in offering grace to these people I love, says Jesus, they have ministered to Me.

If you are a follower of Jesus Christ, YOU are a minister like that. You are part of what the Apostle Peter called "a royal priesthood." Every step you take in that office, in that school, in that hospital, home, or trade is on hallowed ground and every act is sacred. For as the Psalmist says, God’s work is not confined to a house of worship. "The earth is the Lord's, and everything in it and all who live in it." If you recognize that, you will always and everywhere be about the business of building what Henry Blackaby calls "redemptive relationships."

III

What does that look like in practice? Professor Lewis Smedes says that: "The moment of grace comes to us in the dynamics of any situation we walk into. It is an opportunity that God sews into the fabric of a routine situation. It is a chance to do something creative, something helpful, something healing, something that makes one unmarked spot in the world better off for our having been there." You’ve heard a bit about how my friend Lou took advantage of those moments. Well, let me suggest a few more examples, then send us on our way.

I’m told that when Dwight D. Eisenhower spoke at Transylvania University many years ago, he arrived at a moment just after the University President, Dr. Frank Rose, had received the heart-rending news that a close family member had died. Rose carried on with courage and grace throughout the program, then accompanied the President to his plane. The two men shook hands, then said goodbye. It was then that something happened that touched Rose so deeply that he retold the event later to many. I think it’s safe to say that the President of the United States has a lot in his Inbox, a lot on his mind, plenty on his plate, maybe as tough a schedule as some of us, wouldn’t you agree? This is why what Eisenhower did that day is worth remembering. You see, just before reaching his plane, Eisenhower turned around and walked back. "Frank," he said, "I know we don’t know each other well, but I’m aware of your loss, and I just want to say, I’ve been praying for you all through this day."

Many of us know how obsessively work-focused was the man, Knute Rockne, the legendary football coach who seemed to care about naught else but winning. During his time at Notre Dame, Rockne discovered that the mother of one of his players had developed cancer. Months later, after the woman had died, her safety deposit box was opened. In it were found a collection of letters of comfort and encouragement, each one handwritten, from a coach who thought it important to take the time to care about the family of one of his players.

Buckner Fanning, pastor of the Trinity Baptist Church in San Antonio, tells the story of meeting a woman who had just arrived at a treatment center for alcoholic women. When Fanning encouraged her to "lean on God," the woman exploded, saying that she had had enough of Christians preaching at her, judging her, laying burdens on her. Fanning was stunned speechless, instantly knowing that it sure wasn’t going to be a pastor that was going to reach this person. It was then that a lay worker there named Jane simply reached over and patted the woman’s hand. "That’s all right," she said, "You don’t have to believe in God. You don’t have to come to church. You don’t have to lean on God. You just lean on me, and I’ll lean on God." Eight years later the woman did come to Christ and the church, largely through the hands-on love of one of God’s workplace ministers.

"Did I ever tell you," said Jesus one time, "that the kingdom of God is like a mustard seed? Oh, I know it doesn’t seem like much at the start. But if a worker is willing to faithfully plant it, you might be amazed with what my Father in heaven can do with it." And so, having sat again beneath the Tree of Life and enjoyed the shade of God’s grace, we go forth afresh to other fields, to sow what we can, to build redemptive relationships in our places of work and service.

We’ll seek to give the bread of practical help or spiritual hope to the hungry in body or soul. We’ll offer the cup of friendship to someone thirsty for communion. We’ll clothe with comfort and prayer someone shivering with loss, or visit with encouragement someone imprisoned by fear or frenzy. We’ll go the extra mile to extend care to someone who is sick, and risk letting a stranger lean on us, while we keep leaning on Jesus. And as we serve these persons, we have the privilege of serving the One who once poured out everything to minister to us.

This is the Word of the Lord. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Sermon by Rev. Daniel D. Meyer, Senior Pastor of Christ Church Oakbrook, Oakbrook IL, September 3, 2000.  Content distributed by WorkLife.org > used for non-profit teaching purposes only.