Generations ago, the Psalmist prayed: "Bless the work we do, O Lord, bless the work of our hands."

More than ever, work, all work, needs a new blessing. For as we approach once more the Labor Day holiday, it's a strange time to reflect on work. Things have shifted so much in the last year. Certain occupations, once seen as carrying prestige and respect have sunk to new depths. With all the revelations about mismanagement by CEOs, a recent story in the Los Angeles Times told of CEOs now not wanting to tell others they meet what it is they do for a living, fearing they will be smeared by the very public scandal at WorldCom, Enron, and Martha Stewart, Inc. We need a new blessing for our work.

But, who am I to talk? A recent poll from the Gallup Organization presents grim statistics related to clergy. People were asked how they would rate the honesty and ethical standards of people in various fields, ranging from very high to average to very low. Only 64% of those polled gave clergy a high or very high ranking, behind firefighters, nurses, U.S. military, police, pharmacists, and medical doctors.

All kinds of scandals, from the dishonest practices of some very public TV evangelists to the crisis of sexual abuse so public in the Catholic church, have wreaked havoc on public perception of those entrusted with spiritual authority and pastoral care. We need a new blessing for our work.

At the same time, we have seen since September 11th a resurgence of love and respect for the work of police and firefighters. Even in Los Angeles, where the LAPD suffers from a less than stellar record, public opinion has embraced all those who put themselves in harm's way to preserve the safety of others: those who watch out for us; those who are trained to be ready to risk their own lives, if necessary, to protect the rest of us. We took them for granted. But in their heroism on that fateful day last fall, as they faithfully did their jobs, our eyes were opened and we remembered our deep, deep gratitude for them. God has generated a new blessing of their work.

Next Sunday we will come together around the theme "Homecoming and Hope," as we remember September 11th. On the following two Sundays, Greg Batson will lead a discussion of Christian hope, based on a beautiful little book called Writing in the Dust, by Rowan Williams, recently named the Archbishop of Canterbury. Williams found himself on September 11th last year in NYC, at Trinity Church, just two blocks from the World Trade Center, preparing to record a program on spirituality.

Among his several moving and challenging reflections offered in these essays, he writes . . . "one of the main memories of those closest to the events of September 11th will probably be of the prosaic heroism of firefighters and police in Manhattan.

"Memories of that morning for me include the enormously careful calm of one of the building staff, trained as a volunteer fire officer, deliberately talking us through the practical things to do next; and of the staff who were supervising the children's day care centre on the first floor, putting their own fear on hold while they reassured the children. Small examples of what were visible in much more costly ways outside, a couple of streets away.

"If we are to remember that day, we had better remember this too, remember, for example, that one firefighting unit . . . lost all its members that day. It puts a different perspective on heroism for a moment. It tells us that heroism is not always bound up with drama, . . . but is something about doing what is necessary for a community's health and security. For most of the time, this will be invisible; it is only in crisis that the habits slowly and drearily formed over years emerge to make possible what can only be seen as extraordinary and selfless labors."

The events of September 11th opened our eyes anew not only to the work of those police and firefighters, but to all those whose work brought them to that place that day, as it did day in and day out. The work being done by all those thousands of people was brought to the forefront of our awareness. The secretaries and the receptionists. The clerks and the accountants and the stock brokers. The bankers and the lawyers, the janitors and custodians. The cleaning crews and security guards. The maintenance workers and the couriers. The deliverymen and the window washers. The small business owners and their employees. The cooks and the waiters and waitresses. The guy running the newsstand. The busboys, the copy machine repairman, the computer techs, and the file clerks.

The people making more money than they knew what to do with, and those just barely scraping by day to day. People with benefits and insurance policies and health coverage, and those with nothing. People just starting out and those near retirement. People doing the job of their dreams and those doing two and three jobs to put food on the table.

We remember all those who went to work that day with renewed love and respect, in awe of the ways in which the whole fabric of their lives interconnected to create the world of the Trade Center towers, and how that world became so public that day, so excruciatingly visible to us.

We usually don't think much about all those people and the work they do day in and day out. Nights, too. But all their work is necessary for what Williams called "a community's health and security." And today we ask for a new blessing on the work of each and the work of all.

Studs Terkel wrote in his book, Working, that "most of us are looking for a calling, not a job. Most of us . . . have jobs that are too small for our spirit. Jobs are not big enough for people."

The horrible events of September 11th revealed the spirits of those who were there that day to do their jobs. Among those who lost their lives that day were many who died assisting others, with quiet heroism. We have heard the stories. Many rose to levels of compassion and selflessness and heroism even they themselves probably didn't know they possessed. And later, as the New York Times for months printed their pictures and a small bio of each who had died, a snapshot of a full person emerged from beyond whatever job title or position they had held. They had families and hobbies and dreams. They each had a name. Their spirits were, indeed, bigger than their jobs.

To truly honor them this Labor Day, I invite us, as we begin our September 11th commemoration this first year, to look with freshly opened eyes at all the people who are working all around us, day in and day out. Let us pause and reflect that, at any given moment, our lives are sustained by the work of so many people we do not know and-barring some calamity-will not meet. They are all around us, weaving together the fabric of our community's health and security.

Let no one remain invisible or unappreciated. They are all necessary and important. The work of each contributes something valuable and essential. More often than not, it is work done with care and out of steady habits that sustain the fabric of life we all enjoy. Honor the work they do and be grateful. Realize anew that we are bound together in a beautiful fabric of community that is needful of the contributions of each and of all. All work needs a new blessing of God.

And, at the same time, look past the job, the role they are playing, and remember that that person's spirit is bigger. That they, too, cherish great love and soaring dreams. And, therefore, let us seek to afford each the dignity and the respect to which they are entitled as a beloved child of God.

And I invite you, too, prayerfully to consider your own work, whatever that may be. Lift it to God as an offering of yourself. See if there are changes you might make to make it more satisfying, more fulfilling. And remember that you, too, are more than your work. Much more than your job or your title. Let your spirit soar to new heights, and ask God this morning to add a blessing to the work of art that is your life in all its fullness.

Sisters and brothers, prepare now to come and partake in this holy meal, fruit of the earth and fruit of the vine, transformed by workers into bread and juice, transformed by Christ into sustenance and sacrament, praying ever with the Psalmist: "Bless the work we do, O Lord, bless the work of our hands."

NOTES:

Williams, Rowan. Writing in the Dust: After September 11. Eerdmans, 2002.

© Patricia E. Farris, 2002. Permission is given for brief quotation with attribution. All other rights reserved.