Work boots

A (belated) homily for the Twenty-Ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time, October 20, 2024

Is 53:10-11, Heb 4:14-16, Mk 10:35-45 or 10:42-45

Twelve hours after I saw my Christian Brothers Academy mortarboard soar into the evening sky (against the orders of the assistant principal my classmates and I detested), I was standing in a pile of newly dumped asphalt, with a foreman hollering, “Let’s git it!”

In other words, shovel the smoking hot blacktop onto the end of a driveway that had been chopped up to widen a neighborhood street in Oceanport, New Jersey.

Within minutes on that June morning in 1973, I had sweated through my white T-shirt, and my new blue jeans were starting to droop near my butt crack. 

Then I felt the tug of the foreman’s hand on the back of my pants, pulling me out of the pile and more or less flinging my then-skinny self to the lawn.

Livid, I barked at him: “What’s the matter with you, man? I’m working my [tail] off!”

I’ll never forget his reply: “You may be workin’, but you ain’t producin.’ You want to work on my crew, you better produce.” He then pointed to a man hefting two cast-iron manhole rings, one in each arm, declaring him highly productive. I found out shortly afterward that Manhole Man was 54 years old.

The first lesson I took from that experience was to emphasize productivity in every task. And that’s been valuable throughout my life and careers.

But there’s another lesson, one that took me years to understand:

Not everyone can walk in someone else’s footsteps, or moccasins, or work boots. And it’s an insult to them and to ourselves for us to try if we’re unsuitable or, at the very least, unprepared.

We all have unique intellects, skills and talents, all of them gifts from God. We can use them individually, and we amplify them when we blend them with those of our friends and neighbors. Some of those gifts are nearly identical to those of our sisters and brothers, making our bonding all the easier and more successful.

Now, we all have the ability to grow and learn and adapt, which I was able to do throughout the summers during my college years. I did produce; I did work on Joe’s crew even after I hauled in my bachelor’s degree.

But I never considered myself a ditch digger, only a kid working on the crew. Not because the work was somehow beneath me; far from it. I recognized — still do — the dignity of people who bathe after a hard day’s work, compared with those who shower before their commute. However, I also recognized — still do — that each of us belongs in a job we’re uniquely suited for. 

Jesus walked among us, we believe. And his true humanity was ever-so-slightly deceiving to his closest followers. Jesus ate and slept and had bad hair days and calluses like everybody else, so when James and John hit Jesus up for first-class seating, they did know he had a home in Heaven, but they also knew him as The Guy. The man. Their teacher. 

To coin a phrase, Jesus was somebody they could have a beer with.

Therefore, if Jesus could do something, then of course they could, too. They were guys too.

Jesus quickly disabused them of the notion. 

Still, the Messiah did not spare them — or us — from the challenge of a lifetime. Jesus told us and showed us how to live The Law of Love, and as disciples, we’re challenged to clear away the landslides of hate and indifference that block everybody’s road to true peace and joy.

Some of us will hoist the figurative boulders, because that’s what we do best. Some of us will smooth the way for others to follow. Guides among us will hold hands and illuminate the dark places. 

No matter what we do best — because we rely on God’s help and gifts — together we mesh.

I never was strong enough to carry even one of those manhole rings, but I knew that I had earned a place on the crew. The history of what Jesus and the Apostles did shows that James and John — and the other 10, plus Paul and his entourage — grew to use their unique gifts individually and together. 

It’s our turn.