If you asked me what the most important part of any workplace I’ve ever been employed at was, I wouldn’t say the benefits, the pay, or the leadership. Like many of us, I’d say it’s the people I work with. I’m a community-driven person, so when I told people I knew that I was leaving the only teaching job I’d ever known—a private Christian school—and moving into teaching at one of the public schools in our region, they were understandably confused. Usually, people move in the opposite direction, and I’d heard from many that the community isn’t the same in secular places. But there I was—about to leave. I didn’t have a job offer or a plan; I had simply heard God’s voice telling me to move on to my next place. And I was scared.
As I’ve learned, being a Christian in a Christian workplace is, in many ways, easy. You show up unafraid of sharing your faith with kids or coworkers. You know that almost everyone echoes your beliefs and that there won’t be pushback. However, sometimes our message about Jesus—about life—felt so stale, so canned. The students I taught had heard the same message their whole lives, and it was often a faith shared by their parents. I was saddened by how many kids had questions that weren’t being answered—or who didn’t actually believe but felt unsafe to say so. How many had experienced genuine trauma and didn’t feel like they could talk about it because Jesus was supposed to be the fix for everything? I loved them as best I could through honesty and by opening the door for conversation, trusting that the Holy Spirit was working in their hearts and in mine. And now I had to go.
As a five-year “veteran” of the teaching profession, I was in no way the most experienced person committees would be interviewing, nor did I have any experience outside the walls of the place I’d worked until then. I had been raised in a private school myself, then had gone to a public high school, so I knew firsthand the joy public school could bring for kids like me who might not have fit the mold. I was worried, though—because I’m human—and because I’d listened to the fears of others who said public schools these days were scary. I’m glad to have been wrong.
After only one round of interviews, I got a job at a middle school close to me! I was so thrilled that I screamed and jumped around like a toddler on a sugar rush. I was doing it! I remember gushing to God and my family about how happy I was. The summer was full of a strange mixture of nerves and anticipation as I decorated my classroom and tried to make sure I was as ready as I could be. I prayed for my students and for myself to be prepared, feeling like Fraulein Maria about to meet her new charges in The Sound of Music.
September came in all its newness, and I started work. To my surprise, I found kids who were just as funny, kind, wounded, and thoughtful as at my previous school. I was delighted to be working alongside compassionate, empathetic educators who genuinely cared about the well-being of each of their students. But the strangest part for me was finding my genuine place in this new community.
Sharing faith through work and reaching our community with the Gospel should begin with how we act, then follow with what we say.
Pretty much every place I had worked before was Christian in some way. In this new, secular environment, I was pleasantly surprised to be welcomed with open arms as part of this new faculty family. I loved the ins and outs—problem-solving when a kiddo was having a hard week, bemoaning our lack of adequate prep time, and talking about our hopes and aspirations for the kids we shared. But the most interesting conversations to me were the ones where my colleagues shared about the faith they had lost as kids or the ways people in church had hurt them. I found myself strangely inclined to lean in.
I think a lot of Christians (myself included) have been taught to “always be prepared to give the reason for the hope you have” (1 Peter 3:15). I grew up with a heightened anxiety, having heard stories of kids who didn’t share the Gospel with a friend who then ended up dying by suicide (let’s hope that was an apocryphal scare-tale). I didn’t want to be the reason someone went to hell! I was told it was on me to always be ready with a salvation message, but it never quite felt right to shout someone down with Jesus.
Somehow, though, I missed the second part of that verse: “but do this with gentleness and respect.” It turns out it’s not our job to shove Jesus down people’s throats—or to defend God. He’s pretty good at doing that Himself (see the entirety of the Old Testament).
I wrestled—and still wrestle—with what to do in these situations. How do I show up as a person of faith in a workplace that isn’t Christian, where I’m allowed to practice my faith but not necessarily discuss it openly? How do I listen to and follow the Holy Spirit’s promptings? How do I show up for my coworkers authentically?
Sharing faith through work and reaching our community with the Gospel should begin with how we act, then follow with what we say. Middle school students have excellent “baloney sandwich” detectors (if you catch my drift). They know when you aren’t genuine or when you’re just saying something to placate them. Adults are gifted in this detection, too. If we Christians echo Jesus with our words but then gossip, judge others, or speak hatefully about groups we don’t understand, people will remember that far more than any sermon we mention on Sunday.
Middle schoolers are much more willing to engage once you’ve proved you care—by cultivating a relationship with them, having fun together, and taking a genuine interest in what interests them. Adults are the same. Our faith shines brightest when it’s lived out. In Franciscan teaching, this aligns with the saying, “Preach the Gospel at all times, and when necessary, use words.” How do you care for the obnoxious coworker who’s the pariah of the office? How do you take care of the tasks no one else wants to do? How do you show up as a servant? This is how we share the Gospel and truly love others.
In my workplace, it’s taking time to hear an eleven-year-old tell me about an obscure rule in a video game I’ll never play—and seeing his smile of relief at being listened to. It’s keeping a stocked snack drawer that kids know they can help themselves to anytime, because many of them are hungry. It’s having conversations with kiddos who are acting out—reminding them of their dignity and belonging, no matter what. It’s answering the same question from one of my neurodivergent students for the tenth time in a class period with calm patience. It’s taking time to help a coworker who struggles with tech issues—again—without complaining or rolling my eyes.
In your workplace, things may look different than mine. Maybe you work with adults. Perhaps you’re in customer service. You could work at Boeing. The beautiful part is that all our workplaces are our communities, full of people to reach and care about. Think of how much good we could do by showing up ready to love and share the Kingdom through our actions, our time, and a little bit of extra effort. Your actions really can change things for one person. And just like Jesus, we’re all about reaching the world—one person at a time.