Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.”
Forest Gump 1:1
Kids are the exception to this modern mantra. They always seem to know what they’re going to get. That’s because they mash the chocolates first. Take this from a boy who did it. I usually caved in each one of them with my finger in order to make sure I didn’t end up with a lame flavor like lemon cream. It infuriated my dad to see indentations on every chocolate in a family holiday gift box. Fortunately, there were four of us kids, which provided some level of deniability between us.
Your workplace is like a box of chocolates. On the outside, everybody looks the same—smiles and professional attitudes. On the inside, it’s something else. Some are filled with maple butter, others with caramel, and some are solid dark chocolate. How do you know? Take a lesson from the kids. Push a little on a few of them and find out.
My first years of doing serious evangelism occurred right in an office. I was amazed at how, with a little conversation, so much could come to light. In the average workplace, people who were otherwise secure and had it all together were experiencing marital friction, griefs of various kinds, health scares, job security, and kids doing stupid things.
They bring all this pain to work hidden inside them, and do their level best to remain high-functioning.
The point of finding out all of this is not so we can pry into their personal lives, much less play counselor. It is simply that we easily believe outward appearances, and think people do not need what we have.
What would happen if they knew about the Christ the Bible describes in Psalm 23:
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He makes me to walk in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. Yes, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for you are with me. Your rod and your staff comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil. My cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
Unfortunately, many of those who are familiar with this famous chapter of scripture have domesticated it into some sort of sentimental meditation. Psalm 23 is far from being a menu for refrigerator magnets. It virtually describes the intentions of Jesus.
And we see it in Matthew 9:35. There Jesus went throughout all the cities and villages. Finding gross ignorance, He “taught in their synagogues.” He found bad news everywhere, so “He proclaimed the gospel [the good news] of the kingdom of God.” He found disease and affliction, so He healed all of them.
When He saw the crowds in this condition, He felt sorry for them (Matt. 9:36). They were harassed, pummeled by the relentless forces of life, and helpless to stand against any of it.
The whole scene was “like a flock of sheep without a shepherd,” a metaphor understood by ancient ears to convey hopelessness. Sheep can’t survive without shepherds. They eventually wander into areas where predators pick them off. Those that stay where they are, graze a patch of grass down to nothing, defecate where they eat, and increase their bacteria intake until they become ill.
The Bible at this point could just as easily have been describing any of our workplaces—where people converge for ten hours a day and try to make a living while holding at bay their private desperation. This is what Jesus sees when he sees the people of your workplace. He doesn’t see impressive, capable, beautifully tanned individuals.
But while the Son of God feels compassion, He is far from despairing. He said to His disciples, “the harvest is plentiful” (Matt. 9:37). And so Jesus switched gears from the metaphor of a demolished, scattered flock to a field of crops ready to ripen. He sees an opportunity to harvest these souls for the kingdom of God.
There’s only one problem: “the laborers are few.”
If I had been there, I probably would have said, “Don’t worry, Jesus. You’ve got this. No need to add anyone else.” Like most of us, I have a hunch that adding people to the work of God is a risky idea, and sometimes disastrous.
Think of the weird things you’ve often heard from folks allegedly in ministry. Worse, consider the breaking news you’ve sometimes seen when yet another leader disappoints an entire segment of the Christian population. It would seem that many laborers create many problems.
Thankfully, Jesus doesn’t share those perfectionist sentiments. Otherwise, nobody at all would be allowed to participate in ministry, including me.
Apparently, Jesus wasn’t afraid of our goofing things up. He told the disciples, “Pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into His harvest” (Matt. 9:38).
Ultimately, the real problem is not with the folks at our jobs–their worldliness, or cynicism. Surprisingly, in this passage, Jesus doesn’t tell us to pray that God would do something for them. Instead, He tells us to pray that God would send us. Only prayer of the most earnest kind can dislodge us from our places of comfort.
You and I, the potential laborers, have powerful reasons why we shouldn’t get involved at any deeper level with the problematic folks we see every day. “I don’t know enough.” “I’m not an evangelist.” “That isn’t my personality.”
Incidentally, Jesus has heard every one of these. When we pray that the Lord would thrust out workers, we’re basically asking Him to overcome our objections. We’re praying against our own reluctance to reach people for Christ. And it’s important that that happens. God knows your coworkers aren’t listening to Jesus in heaven, but they might listen to Jesus in you.
This isn’t about borrowing work hours for Bible study or other things that will get you reported to Human Resources. I knew a brother in the faith who got a new job, and by the end of his first week had preached the gospel to everyone in the office. From that point on, no one wanted anything to do with him. He lost the job shortly afterward.
A direct personal approach may not always be appropriate. Being in the workplace involves long-term contact with people. God knows this, and so He has the perfect solution. He sends His presence and Word there, all wrapped up in skin and teeth and hair. That’s us in Christ.
We effectively bring the Shepherd of souls into contact with our coworkers – people whose protective veneers often mask afflictions of every kind.
This dynamic, which we call incarnation, is similar to what happened when the Word first became flesh in Jesus Christ (c.f. John 1:1, 14). Though we are nowhere near the level of perfection He represents, our imperfection hardly deters God.
For a while, you are the word of God to folks who refuse to read the Bible. You are the first and possibly the last Bible some of them will ever read.
Yet it’s incredible how quickly we can grow numb to that fact. My particular workplace is my church. I’ve known a few people there for decades–My wife, for instance, and the elders with whom I serve.
Because I see them so much, it’s easy to begin to feel they don’t need my help. After all, they’re big boys and girls. They know how to read their Bible and pray and be spiritual. It’s not critical that I’m even spiritually healthy around them. If I’m offensive, they’ll just get over it. They have to.
If you start living life that way, you’re done with shepherding souls to Jesus. You’ve allowed familiarity to dull your desire to be a blessing to other people.
Last week, I met with a lapsed Christian who is not a part of our church. We had a conversation about church organizational issues–a nice, safe space for everybody.
But then another thought came along, no doubt inspired by the Holy Spirit—What about shepherding this person to Jesus?
As I sat there with this friend, it struck me how little I knew about him. I didn’t know what was in this piece of “chocolate.”
Again, a sudden thought came to me—Mash a little. No, I said back. That’s rude. Okay, then, why are you here, John? Why do you pray for gospel opportunities and then declare every situation off-limits?
Because if you mash it, you might get a nasty surprise. Some vitriolic sentiments might come out, and I really didn’t want to face it right there in the coffee shop.
I pushed a little, anyway. “Ahem. Say, uh…How is your relationship with Jesus these days?”
The ensuing one-hour conversation didn’t lead to an altar call.
But for that hour, it did put me out in the field.
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This is an updated edition of a post originally published on John Myer
Featured Image by StartupStockPhotos from Pixabay
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