by Chris Horst | Oct 2, 2013 | Blog |
“I just wish I did work that mattered as much as your work does.”
I was wrapping up lunch with a new friend when he dropped this line. His comment didn’t catch me off-guard. Frankly, it didn’t surprise me at all. I hear this comment—and close iterations of it—a lot. And I’m really tired of it. I’m tired of what it does to me and, even more, I don’t like it does to my friends.
I get it. I’m living the Christian dream, folks.
I work for an incredible global nonprofit. We’re missionary bankers, investing in the dreams of over half a million grassroots entrepreneurs around the world. Every day, we give vulnerable Rwandans and Ukrainians hope for today while introducing them to lasting Hope for eternity. We’re literally “proclaiming Good News to the poor…and setting the captives free.” I’m living the dream. But these comments inadvertently elevate my work while diminishing all others to little more than donation-makers.
I understand the line between my work and eternal significance seems incomparably short—surely much shorter than someone working as an engineer or baker—but my work is no more sacred. Granted, it’s taken me a long while to really believe that. When I first started working for HOPE International, I probably did think I was a little better than many of you Christians not working for nonprofit ministries. Just a little bit better. I’m sorry, but I think I did.
And I probably thought I was a little less spiritual than missionaries working directly on the field, those actually working in the slums. I felt I was less spiritual than activists running orphanages and/or living the monastic life. I always had an inferiority complex, to be frank, whenever I talked to anyone working to free women trapped in the sex trade at International Justice Mission. Because, I mean, they’re just amazing.
In The Spiritual Danger of Doing Good, my friend and colleague Peter Greer titled a chapter, “God Loves My Job More Than Yours.” It was a tongue-in-cheek reference to very real danger of this common perspective. The vocational kingmaking pervasive in our churches corrodes us. And it’s simply unbiblical. I believe it hoists many pastors and missionaries onto dangerous pedestals and relegates the rest to cheerleading. Yes, God calls some of us to work for remarkable nonprofits, but he calls more of us to work for law firms, retailers and electrical contractors.
If we really believe we’re all priests, my work is no more significant than Christians manufacturing metal fans and selling mattresses. Scripture uses the analogy of a body. And our biblical heroes include all sorts of careers, from shepherds to centurions.
Some of their careers appear really secular. Matthew worked for the Roman IRS. Daniel and Joseph served as high-ranking government officials in pagan regimes. Jesus and Joseph were carpenters. Peter, Andrew and John were fishermen (they still fished for fish, even after they became fishers of men).
When I really look at scripture, perhaps I am the one who should be concerned about whether or not my profession is biblically validated. It’s not so easy to find biblical examples of Christian fundraisers!
Through my work, we provide loans and savings accounts to people living on meager incomes in Congo and Haiti. But my work is not more sacred, nor more biblically validated, than bankers managing the assets of American millionaires. We’re all to “proclaim the excellencies of him who called [us] out of darkness.” No career has the market cornered on being salt and light.
Merrill Lynch and HOPE International. [Your employer] and International Justice Mission. In light of God and the mission he’s given to us all, we’re all on the same team, each serving uniquely. I don’t care if you’re a homemaker, hotelier, or housemaid. It might not always feel that way, but your job matters as much to God as mine does.
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I wrote this post to celebrate the launch of the Denver Institute for Faith & Work. I joined the Denver Institute board because of my enthusiasm about encouraging all Christians to consider the implications of their faith on their work.
by Chris Horst | Mar 12, 2013 | Blog |
Thirty first-graders sat in a circle on the floor. One by one, they each shared tenderly.
“I love Marcos because he is a great soccer player,” Shanté shared, fighting back her emotions.
“I love Marcos because he sometimes doesn’t hit me when he’s mad,” Lucas remarked.
“I love Marcos because he makes us laugh,” Diego reflected.
It was Marcos’ last day in 107, my wife’s classroom. And his fellow first graders shared their favorite Marcos memories as a tribute to the boy who was with them for the first half of the school year. They spoke candidly, not skirting around the reality: Marcos wasn’t well behaved. In fact, he was a full-on troublemaker. But he was “107”. He was a friend. And they knew Marcos for who he was, not the trouble he caused.
He lugged a heavy reputation with him to his first day of school. It was his first day in 107, but not his first time in first grade. He had been held back for another go around. And he quickly lived up to his billing—chucking chairs, hitting students and disregarding Mrs. Horst’s instructions with regularity.
Marcus has lived through more pain in six long years than I have my entire life. As a child, his father pitted him against his older brother in the cruelest of ways. He would often provoke Marcos and his brother to physically fight each other for a bag of Doritos. Like a cockfight, he heckled as the two punched and wrestled each other.
In and out of foster homes, Marcos carried so much pain into 107 that first day. And many times, he acted out of his wounds. Wounds deeper than any little boy should have. Behind the tough guy façade, though, Marcos was still a little boy. And a very tenderhearted one at that.
While many days were tough, the glimpses of hope surfaced increasingly through his semester in 107. I remember Marcos fondly. Once, I brought our two-year-old son, Desmond, in as a surprise classroom guest. Marcos and Desmond hit it off instantly. Marcos read book after book to Desmond, disregarding instructions to return to his desk because of how absorbed he was in the stories he read. He was Desmond’s hero that day. And mine too.
During his last-day tribute, Marcos’ foster mom brought cupcakes for him to give to his classmates. He handed them out with pride, forgetting to even serve himself. As he proudly hugged each of his fellow students on his way out, the mood was somber, yet hopeful. Marcos was 107. And these were his friends.
This is what we should be about. Marcos arrived with a label, but left with a strut. He belonged. He didn’t leave with straight laces, but he left knowing he was loved. At our best, Christians reclaim what the world says is not worth the trouble. We are never without hope. We look past what is and see what could be.
It might be in a classroom, with a sensitive troublemaker like Marcos.
It might be in a thrift store, where people coming out of prison and homelessness are given a chance to work.
It might be in real estate, where a developer pieces together underused properties and brings a bold new use to the land.
It might be in the delivery room, where parents lovingly welcome Down syndrome children, a choice made by just eight percent of parents with Down syndrome babies.
It might be in Jesus, who cobbled together a rough-hewn team of fishermen, tax collectors and hotheads to start his Church.
Barry Clark – Weston Snowboards
Or, it might be someone like Barry Clark, a friend and entrepreneur who saw opportunity where others saw ruin. I am excited to share Barry’s story. It’s a classic story of American small business, with a healthy dose of Colorado blended in. But more than that, it’s a story of a Christian seeing hope where others saw desolation. I encourage you to read it. And to see the beauty amidst the brokenness in your classrooms, commutes and communities.
The drive up Interstate 70 through the Rocky Mountains is almost apocalyptic, the sprawling forests lining the highway appearing lifeless. The mighty lodgepole pines normally paint a grandiose evergreen backdrop, but today they stand dead in their tracks. Foresters call the killing of Colorado’s pines in recent years a “catastrophic event.”
But fire is not the culprit. Pine beetles consumed millions of acres of Colorado’s pine trees over the past ten years. With their food source now mostly depleted, the beetles are gone, but a visible reminder of their feasting remains.
I-70 spans the Rocky Mountains, guiding visitors to Colorado’s charming ski towns. Outdoor enthusiasts the world over gape at the devastation caused by the pine beetles. But Barry Clark, who has traversed this highway weekly for over 25 years, sees more than ruin.
Read the full story at Christianity Today.
by Chris Horst | Dec 18, 2012 | Blog |
We all love a good entrepreneur story. These stories are threads in the fabric of Americana. From the barbershop owner to the bold inventor like Henry Ford, we love these stories. At their genesis, at least. But do we love when these businesses become big? What about when they start interacting with other businesses in the global marketplace? Do we believe free markets are good news for the poor?
My experience tells me we do not. Indifference is normative, as if commerce exists almost as a nonfactor for the poor. Scorn is the most-vocal response to free market capitalism. I conjure distasteful images when considering concepts like multinational corporations, Big Business, factories, and globalization. Among the images I summon are sweatshops, the 1%, boycotts, child labor and executive caricatures like Mr. Burns.
To combat these images, we create pithy “alternatives” to appease our concerns, frontloading the questionable concepts with nicer adjectives. Small business. Social enterprise. Local business. These clarifiers are good, but when it comes to alleviating poverty, they are tinsel and ornaments. The free market is our tree. When we add clarifiers, the danger can be that we miss the impact of plain ol’ business. Vibrant commerce–in even its most ordinary varieties–is the engine that lifts the poor out of extreme poverty.
By overwhelming margins, free market capitalism has enabled more people to escape poverty than any system in the history of the world. Yale University and The Brookings Institution released a staggering study to join the chorus of research validating this claim: In 1981, 52% of the world’s population was unable to provide for their basic needs like housing and food, living below the “extreme poverty line.” By the end of 2011, just 30 years later, that percentage plummeted to 15%.
Yale and Brookings state the chief reasons for the unprecedented drop are “the rise of globalization, the spread of capitalism and the improving quality of economic governance.” This is the “potent combination” behind the plunging poverty levels. It doesn’t mean the 85% of us above this line are living large—attending college, taking vacations and the like—but it does mean we won’t die from inexcusable and preventable causes like starvation and diarrhea. It makes me wonder: How can we respond to this with indifference or scorn? Why aren’t we shouting this from the rooftops?
Entrepreneurship is not a white lamb, however. Let’s not forget the despots who enslave little girls and trade them across borders like they are bags of grain. These unfathomably evil traffickers are, well, entrepreneurs. As are the drug runners. And we don’t have to look far to know economic prosperity doesn’t alone prosper. And it is in this human brokenness–certainly not unique to any economic system–where immense opportunity lies for the Church, people like Rick who actively war against these evils.
Like all of us, I love to share a good entrepreneur story and I’ve shared many this year, some here and a few at Christianity Today’s exciting This is Our City project. I’ve shared these stories—from pigs to bike helmets—because they are worthy of it, stories replete with bold risks, profound justice and stirring impact.
Entrepreneur in Zimbabwe (source: Luke Boney films)
My grandpa loved people well and it showed in the way he ran his business. Ethan Rietema and Steve Van Diest upend the mattress industry by providing a restful buying experience. Reyna overcame blindness to start a business that now provides for her family. Brian saves lives by selling solar lamps to hundreds of thousands of families around the world. Steve Hill and Jim Howey breathe dignity into what appears to be an ordinary warehouse. These leaders—on construction sites, shop floors and in strip malls—take the mission of God forward. They are not our extras. They are not supporting actors relegated to check-writing and church volunteerism. They are members of Christ’s body, tasked with very important jobs to do.
These remarks are adapted from a talk I gave in Washington, D.C. at Entrepreneurship in the Developing World, an event hosted by the American Enterprise Institute: Video | Polished Transcript. The event was a response to Bono’s recent “humbling” observations about the role of entrepreneurship and capitalism in helping the poverty-stricken communities of the developing world.
by Chris Horst | Oct 17, 2012 | Blog |
Update, Oct 18: Dinesh D’Souza has resigned from his role as President at The King’s College according to Christianity Today.
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It’s the worst type of story. Yesterday, World Magazine published a shocking account about Dinesh D’Souza. Christianity Today summarized the scandal:
Dinesh D’Souza, president of The King’s College and a well-known evangelical author, faces questions from his board over his relationship with a woman he introduced as his fiancee in late September, according to World magazine. The problem? D’Souza, who has experienced a “meteoric rise in the evangelical world,” is still married to his wife of 20 years, Dixie. World reports that D’Souza and his wife filed for divorce on Oct. 4, but D’Souza appeared at a September speaking event in South Carolina with a “young woman, Denise Odie Joseph II, and introduced her to at least three people as his fiancée.”
D’Souza not only introduced her as his fiancée, but he also shared a hotel room with her at that same speaking event. The King’s College has launched it’s own investigation into the issue, but the facts we know now–and D’Souza’s own words–are self-indicting and will have major repercussions for his university and the credibility of his witness. I don’t amplify Mr. D’Souza’s missteps to gloat in them. I do so to mourn with him, his family and the ministry of The King’s College in the midst of this ugliness. And I do so to unearth the uncomfortable questions:
How can we help our Christian leaders finish well? How many more Christian leaders need to publicly collapse for us to get serious about its implications?
It is incredibly discouraging to learn about the moral failures of a prominent evangelical leader like Mr. D’Souza. And it’s not a new story. From Ted Haggard (President of the National Evangelical Alliance) to Bob Pierce (founder of World Vision and Samaritan’s Purse) to Tom White (executive director of Voice of the Martyrs) …we have read this heartbreaking story before. Christian leaders are not immune to sin. You can make a compelling argument that they’re even more susceptible than anyone else to collapse. We serve a God whose love for his children is unchanging and whose grace is always sufficient. And it’s because of our shared depravity that we have a responsibility as Christians to protect each other from succumbing to it.
Dinesh D’Souza (source: Amazon.com)
Mr. D’Souza’s situation makes me even more resolute about the importance of Peter Greer‘s forthcoming book, The Spiritual Danger of Doing Good. With Peter’s permission, I’ve posted a timely and important excerpt from the book’s introduction (releasing next year). Peter is taking a huge personal risk in penning this book, but I applaud him for the audacity to do so. When moral failures plague Christian leaders, it is magnified in the public eye. But the reality is, this book is one all Christians need. All those who are sinners, at least.
When I looked at Scripture for guidance, what I found troubled me. Only 30 percent of biblical leaders finished well. People who hear from God and even perform amazing miracles seem just as likely to blow it as everyone else.
Our renewed emphasis on doing great things for God, without focused attention on who we are becoming, might be pushing an energetic and service-oriented Church towards a backlash of spiritual disillusionment, faith fallout, and personal burnout.
I truly celebrate the renewed movement of service, and I am cheering for you as you go out and tackle the world’s greatest issues in the name of Christ. But I desperately want more than 30 percent of us to finish well. And to finish well, you and I first need to learn to live well. And to live well, we need to be willing to uncover the unique challenges and temptations that accompany our good deeds.
A prayer from the Valley of Vision:
Keep me ever mindful of my natural state,
but let me not forget my heavenly title,
or the grace that can deal with every sin.
Amen.
by Chris Horst | Sep 26, 2012 | Blog |
A few months ago I wrote a reflection on Steve Hill and Jim Howey, two friends who lead a metal fabrication business in Northeast Denver. That blog post grew into a full-fledged article that was published today on Christianity Today’s This is Our City project. This is Our City is my favorite online destination. Last year they profiled another favorite business of mine, Bud’s Warehouse. Here’s the summary of the project:
A new generation of Christians believes God calls them to seek shalom in their cities. These Christians are using their gifts and energies in all sectors of public life—commerce, government, technology, the arts, media, and education—to bring systemic renewal to the cultural “upstream” and to bless their neighbors in the process. No longer on the sidelines of influence, emboldened by the belief that Jesus loves cities, they model a distinctly evangelical civic engagement for the 21st century.
This Is Our City, a multiyear project of Christianity Today, seeks to spotlight in reporting, essays, and documentary video how these Christians are responding to their cities’ particular challenges with excellence, biblical faith, and hope. The six cities we are profiling differ dramatically from one another in size, economic climate, ethnic and racial composition, and in their history of Christian presence, leadership or abdication, at crucial moments. But they all have stories worth telling. Wherever we live, we can learn something from these cities about faithfulness to our own place.
It’s the ordinary-ness of Jim and Steve’s business that is the very reason their story needs to be shared. Across our country, entrepreneurs like Jim and Steve add immense value to our society. Quite simply, they just do business the right way: They create jobs, treat their people well, and innovate valuable products and services for their customers. It’s profound work, even if the images of rivets, sheet metal and factories don’t necessarily sing.
Steve Hill & Jim Howey at Blender Products, Inc.
I write extensively about poverty on this blog. An article on metal fabricators almost feels like a distant relative to the poverty conversation. But I don’t see it that way. Steve and Jim aren’t just “business guys.” They are urban ministers, justice workers and artists. Heroic civil rights activist, John Perkins, once said, “Jobs are the world’s best social service program.”
Perkins was right. When we reimagine the entrepreneur, we realize that Jim and Steve’s work is hardly ordinary. It’s heroic. And that’s why I’m thrilled to share it.
There’s a simple reason why manual laborers are called “blue-collar”: The color blue, it turns out, hides dirt better than the white seen in office buildings. But “blue collar” defines more than work apparel, of course. It defines industry, even a way of life. And its stereotypes are often unflattering. But a metal products manufacturer in Colorado is working to undermine those stereotypes, right on the shop floor…
To read the article, head over to Christianity Today.
