Defining Good Work

The election of a church bishop doesn't often produce such mixed emotions in me.  But over the week-end, I found myself following the election proceedings of a synod in the Lutheran church--not my synod, mind you.  But it's not often that I know personally not one but two candidates for bishop.

We all went to the same college.  I was friends with one of them while we were in undergraduate school together.  The other candidate came along later, and I got to know him through the years when we attended the Create in Me retreat together.  He's the one who won.

He already had a fascinating job in the larger Lutheran church as assistant to the bishop and executive for worship.  I spent some time wondering what elements of the new job made him want to change to be bishop for the Southeastern synod.  Both positions have the potential for making lasting change.

And then, part of me wonders why making lasting change is one of the elements that immediately come to my mind when I think about the nature of good work.

My spouse is certain that he is doing good work as a college Philosophy instructor.  He's frustrated by having so little time to make the classes even better, but adjuncts don't often have the luxury of time and all the resources they would have if they were full-time.

I go through my days rarely certain that I'm doing good work.  Actually, that's not true.  There are elements of my job that let me know I'm doing good work.  Yesterday, a student came by, and I was happy to find out that he was doing well in his English class.  A few weeks ago, he had decided that he needed to drop out of school because of a variety of family crises.  I helped him figure out how to stay enrolled in his English class so that he wouldn't have to leave school completely, and he could salvage at least part of the term.  That's good work.

But I am weary of some of the elements of my job that don't seem as essential to me.  We spend a lot of time looking for reasons why students aren't successful--but we've considered just about every possibility, both the obvious ones (they're working two jobs in addition to going to school) to the more obscure.  Do we really need to keep bringing up the possible reasons and considering them?  Do I really need to color code the classes that the dropped out students were taking so that we see if we see a pattern?   For one program, we've analyzed multiple times, and so far, nothing leaps out.

In an ideal world, we'd talk to the students, and they'd be honest about why they're leaving.  I'm fairly certain that we'd still be facing elements we can't change.  That's the frustrating part of my job.

Days like yesterday leave me dreaming of a different kind of job.  I don't want to be bishop of a synod in my church.  I think that might be a bit too similar to my current job:  lots of problems that I acknowledge but lack power to change.

I dream of a job that lets me lead people exploring the intersections where spirituality and creativity come together.  I dream of a job where I create opportunities for people to do that.  I want to explore how God speaks to us through our creative yearnings.  I want to explore how we can do our part in making the kingdom of God manifest through our creative work.  I want a better phrase than "kingdom of God."