Labor Day is not a particularly Christian holiday. The church claims Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter; but the first weekend in September never made the cut.

We are all guilty of grumbling about our daily responsibilities. We view work as a necessary evil and envision paradise as an endless vacation. We forget that work is a good gift created by the Lord for his people.

Read the creation account in Genesis 1-2. God created Adam and Eve to engage in productive, fruitful labor. They served as Eden’s stewards and caretakers.

Work gives meaning and purpose to life. Fulfillment comes from using our God-given abilities and resources in ways that are pleasing to the Lord.

We use the term “vocation” as a synonym for a profession; but a vocation originally meant a commitment to religious life. The word comes from the Latin root “to summons” or “to call.”

All of God’s children have responded to Christ’s common call.  Each in his or her way has heard Jesus say, “Come, and follow me.” We each receive a variety of individual callings along with our common call. Paul wrote:  “There are many different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit.”

God created us as unique individuals, and we are equipped for different work. God’s people share a common call with a variety of callings. Give thanks to the Lord this weekend for the blessing of vocation.

Vocation is more than making a living; it is making a life.

My annual physical is next week.

I don’t like my annual physical.

It ranks somewhere between dental procedures and tax returns.

I observe Vince Lombardi time, arriving fifteen minutes early for an appointment. The receptionist always makes me wait. I kill time, speculating on the illnesses of others in the waiting room.

The assistant finally beckons me to an exam room. I sit on the table’s crinkly paper with my feet dangling like a toddler. A disposable gown covers 20% of my body.

The physician eventually arrives with a rote apology for running late. We engage in doctor-patient conversations about blood tests, medical metrics, and physical functions. He uses phrases like for a person your age, sensible precautions, and proscribed tests. He concludes the visit with a final exam that all men dread.

Did I mention that I don’t like my annual physical?

The receptionist completes the paperwork before dismissing me. I don’t even get a lollipop or a 12-month/12K-mile warranty for my troubles.

The best part of the day is knowing that my NEXT physical is 364 days away.

Stay healthy, my friends.  

I enjoy learning animal group names. The collective nouns illustrate the animals’ unique natures and God’s extravagant creativity. Examples include:

• Cats                             Clowder
• Crocodiles                   Float
• Elephants                    Parade
• Giraffes                       Tower
• Lemurs                        Conspiracy
• Leopards                     Leap
• Porcupines                  Prickle
• Squirrels                      Scurry
• Vultures                      Wake
• Zebras                         Dazzle

A group of alligators is called a . . . wait for it . . . wait for it . . . CONGREGATION! I will neither confirm not deny the accuracy of the name, but the collective noun makes me laugh as a pastor.

I HAVE encountered some ornery alligators over 40+ years of pastoral ministry. A few mean-spirited people tormented me like the crocodile pursuing Captain Hook. Some memories still evoke a low-order of PTSD.

But . . .

The vast majority of church members have loved and supported me over the years. I possess wonderful memories of saints who offered unconditional grace as the body of Christ. I speak their names, see their faces, and hear their voices whenever I think about that great cloud of witnesses surrounding us.  

A group of alligators is a congregation; but a group of Christians is called the church.   

Summer vacation has vanished like morning dew in the August sun. Family trips to the beach, lake, and mountains linger only as distant memories. Atlanta Public Schools began last week, and other area schools will follow soon.

During my childhood, students enjoyed a three-month summer vacation before returning to class around Labor Day. Teachers gathered one week beforehand for a mysterious rite known as pre-planning. We perused the student rosters posted outside the classrooms at Open House. Teachers distributed lists of required school supplies.

My father worked for Sears-Roebuck, and his employee discount guaranteed our customer loyalty. We rode in the family station wagon to the local mall for back-to-school shopping. Sears strategically placed snack bars in the center of the stores. I still associate the start of school with the aromatic mélange of Spanish nuts, popcorn, and fruit slices.

My mother and sister spent inordinate amounts of time looking at new clothes. Three pairs of blue jeans and a few shirts met my basic fashion needs. The Sears’ Toughskins pants featured double-layered knees for active boys. The stiff denim emitted a chemical smell, chaffing in unmentionable places until softened by repeated washings.

I insisted on wearing Keds’ tennis shoes: The Shoes of Champions. Ads promised that the sneakers enabled wearers to run faster and jump higher! I could race the wind and win while leaping broad canyons with ease.

The school section featured aisles of supplies. We selected three-ring binders that snapped shut with the force of rat traps. Many an unwary child bore the scars of such encounters. 

Cool kids used Ticonderoga #2 pencils. We used the pencils until they were one-inch nubs that disappeared into a rotating pencil sharpener.  

Discriminating students purchased Blue Horse notebook paper, saving the Blue Horse labels to exchange for neat rewards. I do not recall ever redeeming a prize with the coveted labels, but they formed the stuff of school-day dreams.

We bought plastic rulers marked off in inches—the metric system had not yet been invented. A zippered pencil container snapped into a notebook. We filled it with pink erasers the size of Matchbox cars.

The most important items never appeared on any supply list. My best teachers supplied me with a love of learning, thirst for knowledge, and belief in self. These dedicated educators invested their hearts and souls into their students; and the return on their investment proved invaluable.

Christa McAuliffe, the elementary school teacher who perished on the space shuttle Challenger, said, “I touch the future—I teach.” I give thanks for men and women who are teaching a new generation of students in our classrooms. May God supply their every need.