Working Toward the New Creation

2 Thessalonians 3:6-13

Now we command you, brothers and sisters, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, to keep away from every brother or sister living irresponsibly and not according to the tradition that they received from us. For you yourselves know how you ought to imitate us; we were not irresponsible when we were with you, and we did not eat anyone’s bread without paying for it, but with toil and labor we worked night and day so that we might not burden any of you. This was not because we do not have that right but in order to give you an example to imitate. For even when we were with you, we gave you this command: anyone unwilling to work should not eat. For we hear that some of you are living irresponsibly, mere busybodies, not doing any work. Now such persons we command and exhort in the Lord Jesus Christ to do their work quietly and to earn their own living. Brothers and sisters, do not be weary in doing what is right.

Amidst all the chaos and cruelty that’s been going on over the past few weeks, namely the government shutdown and the refusal of the federal government to release funds for SNAP benefits, I panicked when I read the second part of verse 10 of our passage today: “…anyone unwilling to work should not eat.” Good God, what am I gonna do with that in this climate?! The author of 2 Thessalonians continues to have a harsh, frustrated, and downright angry tone, as he’s had in our passages over the last two weeks. I’ll give him a little grace in that things were not going great at the moment— you might remember what we talked about last week: that because some people had been deceived by false prophets and rumors or had simply misunderstood the prophesy about Jesus’ second coming, thinking that Jesus was already back; so, on the one hand, you had people panicking because they were sure the end times were underway and they had been left behind, never to see their loved ones again, and so he was trying to calm his readers, assuring them the end has not come yet, everything is okay. This week, our author is dealing with the folks on the other end of the spectrum—those who thought the end times were here, and because of that, they could stop doing their work for the community; they could stop contributing, because what’s the point, right? So to be fair to our angry author here, he is dealing a lot, trying to put out lots of little fires.

When it’s written at the beginning, “living in idleness,” a better translation might be “living in disorderliness” or “living irresponsibly.” It can be assumed that idleness—some folks not working, not pulling their weight—was a part of the disorderliness, but it was not the only thing that was going on here. And this focus on work—this isn’t some kind of proto-Protestant work ethic, it’s not akin to work requirement like some states require for SNAP or Medicaid; it’s much simpler than that. It’s builds on what the author’s been saying throughout this letter—that we have to remember the traditions and the roots of our faith. Last week, in chapter 2 our author wrote “Stand firm and hold fast to the traditions that you were taught…”, in order to calm his readers down, particularly those who were afraid Jesus had already returned, and they had been left behind. This week the specific traditions he’s alluding to are those of the apostles of old. The book of the Acts of the Apostles is all about work—it’s about work that the apostles did to serve God and spread the Good News that Jesus brought. And there was joy in that work. I always love preaching on Acts, because it was this golden age of early Christianity—the apostles were riding the high of the resurrection, healing people, breaking bread with people,  growing in faith and in numbers… Acts 2:44-47:

All who believed were together and had all things in common; 45 they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. 46 Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, 47 praising God and having the goodwill of all the people.

This was the work. They shared everything, they gave everything that they could. They were truly one body in Christ, and their hearts were full. This the work and the energy that the author of 2 Thess wants to get back—this feeling of utter bliss and certainty that you’re practicing your ultimate call in life. But at this point in the history of early Christianity, things had obviously taken a turn. There were disagreements. There were confusions. There different cliques and sects breaking off—they were no longer acting as one body. So this is what our author here was bemoaning—the lack of communal energy, the lack of real solidarity, within the community.

…we were not irresponsible when we were with you, 8 and we did not eat anyone’s bread without paying for it, but with toil and labor we worked night and day so that we might not burden any of you. 9 This was not because we do not have that right but in order to give you an example to imitate.

“This was not because we do not have the right,” he writes. So he’s confirming there that all people do have the right to food, the right to be fed. The key is—one should want to work for one’s food. One should want to work for one’s place in the community. The author of this letter wanted to work, and intended for this work to emulated. Apparently, that was not happening. Now, again, this is not some kind of bootstrappy sermon, I promise—it’s not about you working for the sake of having some kind of moral high ground over other people. It’s about working for something greater. It’s about working for an earth as it is in heaven.

In verse 12, when it’s written that should those who have been irresponsible should “do their work quietly and…earn their own living,” this could be more literally translated as they should “eat their own bread.” On the surface, this may seem to contradict all that’s being said about the solidarity and support of living in community, but it really just means that they need to be pulling their own weight—and it was also likely a purposeful reference to Genesis 3:19—after Adam and Eve eat of the tree of knowledge, God says, “by the sweat of your face / you shall eat bread…”, meaning, you will now have to labor for your food.

I picked up a book this week that I hadn’t looked at in a long time, Makoto Fujimura’s Art and Faith: A Theology of Making. Fujimura is a painter, but also a theologian— he’s a Christian himself, and many of his paintings are inspired by his faith. The book is about creativity and art and creation, and there’s a section in his book called “Redefining Work.” He writes of Adam and Eve before the Fall:

Logic will lead us to conclude that even in a sinless world, imagination, which Adam exercised when he named the animals, existed then and exists now to forge the future—and continual creativity will be at work in the coming world. Before the Fall, we were all artists and poets.

He goes on:

God, who makes humans in God’s image, expected Adam and Eve to do the same [work of gratuitous love]: to create out of their love of Eden. Whatever Adam and Eve would have created, it would not have been to fix the world which did not yet need fixing, but to make a gratuitous gesture of love. Even after the Fall, work was not cursed, but was a way to make toward the New Creation. [i]

Work is not cursed—it is a way to make toward the New Creation.

So this is not a sermon about the morality of working. This is not a sermon about bootstrapping and fighting our way up the any kind of employment ladder. This is a sermon about what work should be. This is a sermon about what a community in Christ should be, and about what the world should be. It’s about remembering that the apostles found joy in the world they were doing because they knew they were working for something bigger than themselves, and because they were supporting each other. They were making sure everyone was fed, both in and outside of their community. They were lifting each other up during difficult times of uncertainty and persecution. They were fulfilled. Believe it or not, and I know it’s hard to believe because of our author’s tone and choice of wording in this letter, this is, ultimately, what he was going for here. This is the reason he was so angry and frustrated—this kind of joyful, steadfast, unshakeable work just… wasn’t happening. People were discouraged, anxious, confused… Now, similar to last week, do I think the scathing tone of this letter, this strategy of scolding is the best way to get this community to start doing the kind of work the apostles did? No. No, I don’t. But, I guess it’s the thought that counts.  

We live in a society right now that claims to value and reward work ethic, and yet those working multiple jobs still don’t make enough money to be able to afford to feed their families without SNAP benefits, and people are then stigmatized and judged for needing those benefits. We live in a world that claims to value and reward hard work, and yet we call those standing on their feet fast food jobs, standing on their feet for 8+ hour stretches “unskilled workers.” We live in a country that claims to value and reward work ethic, and yet ICE agents are violently rounding up hard working immigrants with legal working papers and disappearing them to who-knows-where. It’s no wonder that our world right now is not so dissimilar to that of 2 Thessalonians— rumors and lies flying and disrupting progress and harmony, people giving up and giving into apathetic, divisions and uncertainty spreading, creating confusion and chaos.

How do we create a world in which all people can work with dignity? How do we work towards this new creation that Fujimura writes about, in a world in which so few people are privileged to be able to work a job that gives them dignity, respect, and a living wage? Well, I think, first and foremost, we can’t give into apathy; which is hard, because these days, it can seem to so many people, that work is indeed, a curse. As Fujimura writes, “Now, our imagination is distorted; we are unable to truly imagine, and we cannot see God face to face.” So that’s what the work is now—it’s working to know that this doesn’t have to be. And we have to have faith that we can bring about a world in which it’s not— a world where everyone has their place and where no one is above anyone else; a world that is worthy of Jesus’ return, so that time will come when all work will be acts of gratuitous love. And that work starts here, in this place. It starts here because it’s a place separated from the drudgery of the everyday. It’s a place where, for a moment, we can escape the hustle and bustle of a world that is run by consumption and money, and enter one whose goal is be do the work of gratuitous love. It’s a place to reset and remember—to remember the real work we are called to do—work that doesn’t feel like work; work that is in pursuit of something bigger than bigger than yourself, bigger than any individual.

I’m thinking of the community Thanksgiving coming up— a time in which those from Hartland’s two faith communities will labor together to create a meal free for all, and those who labored for the meal, and those who simply come to the door hungry will sit down and eat together— strangers and neighbors, friends and acquaintances. This is a perfect emulation of the work of the apostles. It’s this kind of creativity and joy that we must always strive for—that radical notion that all people deserve sustenance, shelter, company, and love— it’s the practice of radical hospitality and inclusion and a deeply divided and exclusionary world.

“Brothers and Sisters,” our author writes at the end of our passage today—“do not be weary of doing what is right.” The readers of this letter were tired. They were confused. They were anxious. I get it. Aren’t we all these days? But we mustn’t be so weary that we shirk our duties— we mustn’t be so weary that we give up on the work of gratuitous love. It’s in this place that we can let our weariness go. It’s in this place that we can come together  and support and uplift each other to do that joyful and fulfilling work of the apostles so many centuries ago. It’s in this place that we can remember and believe that even in a world this broken, the work we do here is not cursed—because the work we do here is creative and it is rooted in the gratuitous love of Christ. It is the work of the New Creation. Amen.

[i] Fujimura, Makoto. Art and faith: A theology of making. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2025. Page 64-65