sorting rocks and building cathedrals

I’m preparing to speak to a group of high schoolers on the lay vocation, and since it’s been an overwhelming past several days, I’m going to use this space to think out loud about that talk instead of trying to compose something new. I didn’t understand teenagers when I was a teenager, so I’m very open to feedback here, especially from people who understand teenagers.

This is, obviously, adjacent to my thesis, so it’ll at least be somewhat relevant to what I set out to do here.

Opening Vignette & Reflection

There’s a story about a king building a cathedral, and I’ve heard several iterations of it with conflicting details; anyway, here’s the gist. There was a king who was building a cathedral, and one day he dressed in plainclothes and went to the jobsite to see how things were among the laborers.

He goes up to one laborer and asks, “What are you doing?” And the laborer shrugs and says glumly, “I’m sorting rocks. I put the big ones over here, and I put the little ones over there, and that’s what I do all day. I sort the rocks. I’m a rock sorter.”

The king goes up to another laborer and asks, “What are you doing?” And he smiles and says, “I’m feeding my family. I put the big rocks over here, and I put the little ones over there, and they pay me, and my family has food to eat.”

The king goes to a third laborer, who is obviously doing the same work, and asks the same question: “What are you doing?” This laborer pauses and looks up at the sky and sighs with wonder. In a whisper, he says, “I am building a cathedral.”

It’s worth pausing here to reflect on the situation. We’ve got three laborers doing the same work — and yet, in another sense, they’re doing completely different work. (If you’re into Aristotle/Thomas, I’d say it’s materially the same work but formally different. But I don’t really want to get into that in this talk.) The difference is not in the kind of work they’re doing, but in their interior dispositions and attitudes toward their work. Of these three laborers, who is probably doing better work, taking care of all the details? Who is probably showing up late, taking longer breaks, trying to sneak out early? Who feels like (not is; who feels like) he’s useless and pathetic? Who loves his life and is excited to be part of something greater than himself? Who feels like his life, and his work, have meaning, are valuable and necessary?

What happens when these laborers go home to their families? How do they treat everyone?

And yet: aren’t they doing the same work?

The interior disposition matters a lot. We aren’t robots doing identical work; we’re persons, and our interior life can change things in a big way. Because of your interior disposition, your work is different. Your relationships are different. Your life is different. And it’s important to note here that the laborer who saw himself as a cathedral-builder was not imagining things. He wasn’t telling himself a nonsense story to make himself feel better about his dull, heavy work. He was, truly, participating in the building of a cathedral. He is the only one of the three who truly knew what they were all doing.

What God calls us to, in our baptism, is something analogous to this but greater than cathedral-building. God is bringing his own kingdom into this world and asks us to be a part of it. Right now, I am challenging you to shift your interior disposition. You don’t have to change the kinds of things you do, or want to do when you’re older, unless those things are sinful. I’m only challenging you to shift your interior disposition and see how things change when you live in the kingdom of God.

What is the Kingdom of God?

The Kingdom of God, as we understand it, is already and not yet. Since the Fall, the world has been under the regime of sin, and God himself came into the world to overthrow that regime and build his own kingdom. He did it, as he normally does, not through an impressive military or political victory, but by humility and littleness. A young woman from Nowhere, Judea consented to become his mother. He began his earthly life as a baby, born in a stable. He taught, healed, counseled, and rebuked even his own disciples for their trying to grasp at earthly glory. He died a criminal’s death, having been turned over to the Romans by his own people.

And then he rose from the dead. This is the beginning of his kingdom. He said it’s like a mustard seed, the smallest of all seeds, and yet grows so big — slowly, silently, imperceptably. He said it’s like a pearl that’s worth giving up everything for.

So, what is the kingdom of God? We can get a glimpse if we consider — or, if we’re lucky, observe — what things look like when people are living in his kingdom, when their interior disposition is one that is inclined to follow his teachings. We see love. In any group of people — a family, a football team, an informal group of friends — we can imagine people being patient, generous, diligent, selfless, courageous, following the teachings of Jesus; or we can imagine people being quick-tempered, selfish, lazy, stubborn, gossippy, and cowardly. Only the first kind of people can make a happy family. Only the first kind can be a group of friends where people actually like each other. The second kind cannot form happy relationships at all. (This should be obvious.)

And while it’s true that people who are jerks to each other can win football championships — it’s also true that people who are not jerks to each other can win football championships, and it’s that better? Isn’t that obviously better? To high-five your teammates and know they’re not stabbing you in the back? To watch your teammate catch the ball in the endzone and feel purely the happiness for your friend and for your team, and not have that happiness marred by jealousy about your own stats?

When I talk about the kingdom of God, let me say that it is like this but infinitely greater. It is to be totally won over by the infinite, all-encompassing love of God, which is beyond our understanding. It is to be secure in the knowledge that God is real, and his personal love for you is real; it is to be infused with this love so we can love and be loved by others.

God’s kingdom is also not yet — it is not fully here, and it won’t be fully here in this life; its final realization is in eternity with God in heaven. Still, it shouldn’t be hard to see that it is good to further the kingdom of God as much as possible in this life.

How do we further God’s kingdom?

Through our baptism, God enlists us to participate in building his kingdom. We do that primarily in three ways: by being priest, prophet, and king. I’m going to explain these in reverse order.

What does it mean to be a king? It means to govern. First, we govern ourselves. Do you remember a time when hurtful words came out of your mouth almost accidentally, and you immediately wished you hadn’t said them? Or what about a time when you did something that you knew was stupid, or harmful, or wrong, but all your friends were doing it, or you wanted to impress someone, and you didn’t have the courage to not to do it? Or what about a time when you knew the right thing to do, but couldn’t make yourself do it? These are times when we do not govern ourselves properly. God invites us to self-mastery, to govern ourselves and have the freedom to avoid getting in these kinds of situations. Wherever you are in it now, you can grow, and God wants to help you grow. If you stopped accidentally saying hurtful things, stopped being swayed by stupid motivations, started doing the things you wished you could do, how would you change? How would that change the people around you?

The second piece of being a king is governing the world — and this, we do from whatever our current situation is. You may have a formal leadership position. You may have an influential personality, a loud voice, a large body, a gift for writing. Or you may not. Regardless, you do have some level of influence, and God is asking us to use our influence to further his kingdom. The team I’m a part of, the company I work for, whatever it is — is it building up or tearing down? How can I use my influence to align it more with God’s love? It may be as simple as consistently treating people with respect in our everyday interactions and being honest, especially when dealing with money. It may be working to organize the schedule in a way that works for more people, decorating for an event in a way that truly honors the people we’re celebrating. Whatever our influence, we can ask ourselves: How can this community, team, project, family, office — be more loving?

Next, we have being a prophet. We often think of prophecy as in, an ancient manuscript telling the future, and an action-adventure movie about it with CGI mummies or something. But what prophets do is tell the truth that needs to be told, and often the truth that is most obscure is the truth that you matter, simply because you are a human person. And also, that person matters, simply because he or she is a human person. It may be calling out someone for their harmful behavior, or even reporting it if that’s necessary. It may be affirming the goodness of someone’s good news, or offering sympathy in response to someone’s bad news. We speak truth (or falsehood) not only in our words but in our actions. Our attendance or absence at an event, bringing food to someone who is celebrating or grieving, walking away from a trashy conversation, laughing (or not laughing) at certain jokes, smiling at someone — all of these things speak to what we believe to be good and true, and what we believe to be bad and false. How can we be more intentional about bearing witness to the truth?

Finally, we have being a priest. Obviously, this is different from the ordained priesthood, but the thing about priests is that they offer sacrifice. Jesus offered himself as a sacrifice on the Cross; ordained priests participate in that in a particular way when they offer that same sacrifice on the altar at Mass. The role of all the baptized is to offer everything we do in union with that Mass. Jesus offers himself; I offer my vacuuming, my studying, my getting out of bed, and I offer that in union with the Mass. Jesus places himself on the altar; I place my brushing my teeth on the altar, my going to work, my sitting in traffic, the happiness of being with friends and the discomforts of traveling. All of these things are offered together, and this is how we bring the kingdom of God to all the corners of the world. A traditional prayer called the Morning Offering sets the tone for the day: “Jesus, through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I offer you all my prayers, works, joy, and sufferings of this day, in union with the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass throughout the world.” Whether my prayers, works, joys, and sufferings are great or mundane, I can shift my interior disposition and know that I am not a mere rock sorter; I am a cathedral-builder — and more than that, I am helping to build the kingdom of God.

(This isn’t a 15-minute talk, is it?)