Connecting the Work of a Warrior with Our Own Ordinary Daily Work

Last time we posted a passage from Father William Doyle. He was a chaplain writing from the trenches during World War I. His work required him to minister to soldiers before, during, and after engaging the enemy. His job was not to kill the enemy. He was a spiritual warrior. But his daily activity exposed him to the same dangers faced by "his boys." His work was thus that of a warrior. And he did it well. 

Father's remarks fit into our theme of work that can be particularly difficult. Obviously Father's job as a chaplain was likely far more difficult that most of our jobs. But that was the point of the post: to show that no matter how difficult our work might be or might become, there's work that is that much more difficult. Our purpose was to help us to put a tough job or a stretch of difficult work in a wider context.

Because the passage had such a strong impact on the difficulties I've recently faced at work, I thought we could benefit from spending more time on it. So today we'll dig deeper into the passage by parsing through it. This time our focus will be to find common points between Father's difficult and dangerous work and the difficulties we sometimes - or frequently - face on the job.

It may seem somewhat exaggerated or otherwise strange to compare ourselves in our daily work to a man engaged with and enveloped in the horrors of war. But, in the end, the work of such a man is just that: work. And the passage we considered last time, and which we today revisit, demonstrates that Father approached the dangers and extraordinary challenges of that work in ways that can serve as lessons for all of us in our daily, and likely less dangerous, work.

(You can read the passage in its entirety HERE.)

We'll take it from the top - and remember, he's writing from the trenches.

I have not told them at home, and do not want them to know but we have had a terrible time for the last three weeks, constant and increasing shelling, with many wonderful escapes. We are on the eve of a tremendous battle and the danger will be very great. 

What could possibly compare with the job Father had as chaplain in the trenches? Certainly no job I've ever had. But I think Father's way of dealing with the daunting responsibilities of his work can help us deal with our own responsibilities.

Right away, I thought of times when I've been reluctant to share with my family some of the tough times I've had on the job. Of course, I wasn't necessarily concerned with frightening them. My tough times weren't dangerous. Just didn't want to create unnecessary anxiety. But while I've shared difficulties from time to time, I've not done that always. 

For example, when I worked for large companies, there were times when rumors of potential take-over, or layoffs due to poor financial results rose on the horizon. I usually kept all this away from my family. The last thing my wife needed was to worry about my maybe losing my job. Of course, when the time came that I actually was laid off after our company was taken over by another, there was nothing to hide. I did share my concerns before the hammer came down. And when it did...well, we dealt with it.

As for sharing how tough my work could be, I have occasionally discussed this - selectively - with my wife in the past. But even there, I frankly thought it best to just deal with tough times without dragging her into it. Besides losing my job, what did some of those tough times consist of? Here's a short list: Extra-long commute, especially on one particular job; danger of having to work in urban ghettos - the sort of places people refer to as "war zones"; super-difficult, even unstable bosses who reveled in making life miserable. There's more, but you get the point. Most of us have endured some if not all of these.

You'll see next how Father not only offered up the difficulties and dangers he faced, but his very life. Read what he has to say. Then let's think about our own work and our own lives:

Sometimes I think God wishes the actual sacrifice of my life — the offering of it was made long ago. But if so, that almost useless life will be given most joyfully.

Notice Father's reference to "that almost useless life." If we possess even an ounce of humility - and Father possessed much more than that - we'd have to join him here. Our lives are "almost useless." Any meaning and value they might have derives from our desire to do God's Will. Anything we desire for ourselves, or that we value on its own undermines our efforts to do His Will.

But even as we recognize this "almost useless life" of ours we nonetheless offer ourselves to God - joyfully. The source of our joy: In our humility lie the seeds of sanctity. How could we not be joyful at the thought?

More next time...