Work.
It’s what fills most of our waking hours. We prepare for it, travel to it, talk about it, and sometimes—hopefully often—find a sense of purpose in it. But for many, work is a struggle. It can be monotonous, stressful, undervalued. A means to an end. A burden we carry because there are bills to pay, mouths to feed, expectations to meet.
And yet, the Bible begins with work.
Before the Fall, before the thorns and thistles, before sweat became survival, Genesis offers us a curious image: a God who works. He speaks galaxies into being, separates land from sea, forms humans from dust. He steps back to look at what He’s done and calls it “good.”
And then, in an astonishing act of trust, He hands over part of the ongoing creation to us: “The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it.” Genesis 2:15 (NIV)
Work, it turns out, is not a punishment. It was—and still can be—holy.
But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. Jesus Himself stepped into this world not as a ruler but as a carpenter. He understood long hours, tired hands, and customers who wanted things just so. He knew what it meant to build, to fix, to carry weight—both wooden beams and human sorrow.
When Jesus called His disciples, He met them in the midst of their ordinary work—casting nets, collecting taxes, making ends meet. His call wasn’t about abandoning their jobs, but about discovering a new way to live them. For some, that meant leaving everything behind, but the invitation was more than just a change of occupation. It was a call to follow Him, to let their work be redefined by His purpose, and to see it transformed into something that echoes with eternal meaning.
As The Salvation Army, we’ve long been familiar with the sacredness of work. Whether we’re visiting the sick, delivering food parcels, counselling the weary, or coordinating administration behind the scenes, our hands become instruments of God’s mercy. And yet, the challenge remains: Can we see God in the midst of the ordinary?
Colossians 3:23 offers a lens through which we can view our everyday tasks: “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters.”
Not everything we do feels “spiritual.” But if Scripture is true, then everything offered to God—however mundane—is sacred.
So this Workers’ Day, perhaps the most important thing we can do is not to escape work, but to reimagine it. To lift our eyes from the grind and ask: Could God be present here, even in this?
In the strain and the repetition.
In the deadlines and the dishes.
In the care we give and the weariness we carry.
Work may wear us down. It may feel thankless or unseen. But when it’s offered to God, it becomes more than just survival—it becomes participation. A way of joining His quiet, redemptive rhythm, where even the ordinary can be made sacred. This, too, is grace: that God would take the tasks we carry out—right where we are—and use them to shape lives, mend what’s broken, and quietly reflect His presence in the everyday. That somehow, our faithfulness in the here and now becomes part of His greater work in the world.
May you find meaning in your work today. Not because it’s perfect, but because He is.
Happy Workers’ Day.