"So, what do you do"...wrong question?

I guess men have this question posed to them quicker than women do…not long after “What is your name?” and maybe “Where are you from?” comes the next query: “So, what do you do?”

A fair and innocent enough question.

But it certainly comes up early in the process. We think it’s important. In fact, often times it defines who we are. I am a youth minister, and have been for over two decades.

But is that really who I am? Is that what gives me my value…the things I accomplish…my usefulness to others?

Years ago, I worked as a nursing home chaplain in Indiana. It was a wonderful, depressing, joyful, frustrating tenure. I saw some of the best—and worst—of family behavior. I saw what happened to folks who had no one. I saw some of the most dedicated servants, as well as some of the most despicable people, I have ever met.

During that time, I wrote down some thoughts. Here is one encounter I had with Paul, a resident of the nursing home, who was in his late eighties at the time:

November 1, 1991:
Because of my job, and because I live in the Village, I haven't got to meet as many people as I would like to. That also means I spend most weekends doing nothing if I'm not working. I went to work feeling sorry for myself, bemoaning my "empty Fridays."
Today I visited Paul. Paul is 86 years old (he reminds us of it often), blind, and nearly deaf. The only way to communicate with him is to bend down and yell in his ear. Paul asked me what time it was, and then asked me to get him a cup of coffee. He told me today about his girlfriend, who died six months before their wedding in 1929. He said, "There was nobody like her. I miss her so. Thank you for the coffee. By the way, what day is it?"
It's Friday, Paul. Thank you.

You know…I’ve often wondered, how would Paul (whom I’m sure is long gone) have answered, “What do you do?” in 1991? Would he have re-imaged the question into, “What did you once do?” and tell me about his work in the factory…Or would he have been honest and said, “I lay in a bed 24 hours per day. I cannot see. I can barely hear. I’m bored, and no one comes to visit me. The highlight of my day is when someone gets me some coffee.”

The people who think we are defined by what we do would question what “use” Paul was at that point. And if you live your life by that creed, you eventually must come to the question, “So, why should we ‘keep’ someone like that alive? What ‘good’ are they to society? Should we spend our ‘resources’ helping someone who cannot ‘give back’?” This is truly dangerous ground, but it’s an inevitable conclusion we reach…if we define one’s “value” by one’s “usefulness.”

Thankfully, we have another option: I believe our value lies not only in what we do, but in Who created us. Paul had value…not based on what he could “contribute to society,” but because He was a precious creation of a God who loved him and gave everything for him. Paul, thankfully, was aware of that very important truth. And on a November day in 1991, God used what some would consider a “disposable life” to teach me a lesson of great value.

And so again, Paul, I say thanks. Fortunately, his hearing and sight are just perfect now. I hope God will send the message along.