Words and Work

This week as I pondered my existence while driving from a physiotherapy appointment to work, I thought about the power of words. No this is not referring to the child rhymes “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me”. I rather thought of how words frame our existence and understanding. They create as well as limit the imagination. They define and explain our realities. In so doing, they have immense power over us.

As I drove, I thought specifically about the words we use to describe employment. The phrase that came into my mind was “I’m so thankful I have been given a job”. The phrase is manipulative and a lie. A job is basically the selling of one’s time and existence for money. I state this in the crassest way I can. Really, the basic job, the selling of oneself for money, is not dissimilar to prostitution of one’s self.

This comes to a head for me when I am told a job is a gift, then in the same breath I hear that gift is the selling of myself. I think such words limit my options, limit my existence, and limit who I am at the very core. So what then shall I say? How can I communicate the action of employment in a better way? How can I be more honest to myself and not segregate my life into little boxes? I think of the Occupy Wall Street protester’s slogan “I quit my job and found an occupation”.

Is it possible to live a holistic life where work does not become a segregated piece, the prostitution of self?

Reflecting on this I think back to one professor’s list of confused priorities. He stated that in our world we all too often worship our work, work at our play, and play at our worship. Maybe beyond being confused all of these categories are a façade that captures our imagination, a façade we are then not able to think out side of. The categories of work, worship, and play seem too ridged. What would it look like to refuse these words their power and imagine economics differently?

I pondered this question for many hours this past summer as I swept concrete dust and carried lumber around a hole, as well as commuting three and a half hours a day to be permitted to do so. I was selling large amounts of time to make a buck, but I really had no other options. I worked as a manual labourer with a bunch of people who knew their existences to be the prostitution of self. When I found out these same people had no moral qualms about the hiring of sex slaves on the weekends it was surprising but not incomprehensible, because their own existence was very similar as they prostituted their physical strength to make money.

What drove these people to live like this? How were they so trapped in a system that they saw no way out? As I listened and observed, I realized they were there for different reasons. Some of them were there out of obligation. They were court ordered to pay child support and they needed a job that would pay enough to do so. Others were there out of necessity, much like me, this was the means to enable life. Still others were there motivated my greed, it was a place where those at the top were driven solely by self-interest and greed. All of these, obligation, necessity, greed, I determined were not worthy motivators.

As I worked as a manual labourer, I followed in my Pake’s (grandfather’s) footsteps. As an immigrant after WWII he attempted farming in Canada. After a few bad years, he, like many others, made his way to the city where he found work on a construction site. For the rest of his life he worked concrete construction as a manual labourer. Now that I was doing the same thing, I wondered what motivated him all those years. I know from stories he never loved the work but did what was necessary. Was he motivated by obligation? Is that really all that pushed him through his entire life, obligation to his family? I hope it was something more. Though I cannot ask him, I would hedge a bet, that if asked what his motivator was, he would have answered, love. Love for his daughters and wife, a sacrificial love given so that his daughters might have a better future. A future that would enable them to live more holistic lives.

How many more times do we need to be trapped by words? How long will we permit our imagination to be limited by the vernacular of a system that promotes segregation of life? I know in my family one generation has already offered sacrificial love to enable a more holistic future. If I continue to life with such segmentation, without challenging the words and ideas that oppress, I spit on the love my Pake displayed? Or for you, do you spit on the love Jesus already displayed, a love that broke barriers, dismantling the segmentation of life?