The Waiters

Now concerning brotherly love you have no need for anyone to write to you, for you yourselves have been taught by God to love one another, for that indeed is what you are doing to all the brothers throughout Macedonia. But we urge you, brothers, to do this more and more, and to aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands, as we instructed you, so that you may live properly before outsiders and be dependent on no one. – 1 Thessalonians 4:9-12

The always profane and occasionally amusing atheist George Carlin used to ask, “If we are here to help others, what are the others here for?”  Every once in a while I’ll lose my temper and go off in a corner where I will remind God that I do not recall asking for all this.  I don’t know one way or the other if there is a pre-existence, if we were somewhere else before we came here, or, if we were, what that might be like.  During those rants, though, I sometimes get the feeling that I did indeed ask for this life.  At least, I’m pretty certain that I am out of line saying that I didn’t.  Outside of procreation, an atheist can’t really assert that there is some larger purpose for an individual’s life – everything just is and, consequently, we do not have any kind of mystical destiny.  We have a fate.  We fit into some niche and do our part to – what? – keep the species going?  Make life “better”?  Make the world a “better” place?  It’s basically pointless, as Carlin’s existential, recursive joke illustrates.    

For those who know there is a God, for Christians, and anyone who thinks there is more to life than biology and chemistry, we must have a destiny, a destination, a calling, a vocation and a purpose for our lives.  We have a reason for being here.  Some of us may see that reason in some dramatic fashion.  We may, at some point, stand like Aaron between the living and the dead to halt judgment (Number 16:48).  We may have work that feeds or heals or nurtures – physically or spiritually.  We might build and plant.  Or we might, like Jeremiah, uproot and throw down (Jeremiah 1:10). 

But what do we do if our destiny and purpose is not obvious?  We can still love one another in accordance with the great commandment of Christ Jesus (John 15:12).  We can also go on living our lives, doing our best to mind our own business.  I just love that line – to mind your own affairs.  How much better the world would be if I could take that fully to heart, to leave others to do what they must or should, to keep my own counsel, to do what I find at hand to do without regard to the purposes and opinions of those around me.  

 I see that I am called to work, not worry, to avoid dependence on other people as much as possible.  In light of this passage, I can be assured that my prayer – not for wealth, but for sufficiency, is in accordance with the will of God.   This was the standard by which most of us once lived, and it is a Christian standard.  There is no pride or independence from God’s grace in it.  I simply ask for His strength and help to provide for myself that another might not be burdened.  

My works will never be known or lauded.  My life will never be of any consequence in this world.  Even in the next life, I will have nothing of which I can boast or any great accomplishments with which I might be crowned.  And this is as it should be.  If I have been faithful in doing what I could, I will be most content to watch from under a shade tree somewhere as those great in the Kingdom are celebrated.  I will rest in the knowledge that I was one of those who waited.

When I consider how my light is spent

E’re half my days, in this dark world and wide,

And that one Talent which is death to hide,

 Lodg’d with me useless, though my Soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, least he returning chide,

Doth God exact day-labour, light deny’d,

I fondly ask; But patience to prevent

That murmur soon replies, God doth not need

Either man’s work or his own gifts, who best

Bear his milde yoak, they serve him best, his State

Is  Kingly.  Thousands at his bidding speed

And post o’r Land and Ocean without rest:

They also serve who only stand and waite.

                                -- John Milton, “On His Blindness”