I'm reaching out for your support as I navigate the next steps of my book project. Publishers are interested, but they're looking for a strong "platform" – followers, likes, shares, etc. It feels a little cringy but it’s the nature of the thing. So, any following and liking you offer would help my proposal float to the top? Thanks in advance! Now, onto the email. - Bryan

Here Fritz Eichenberg sends a clear message about the redemptive nature of work. It’s good news, you could say. Work often feels like toil (courtesy of Genesis three no doubt). But work existed before sin (Gen. 2:15) and is the only way beauty can ever exist. We like to say at Anchor: Nothing of significance has happened without a corresponding level of commitment. So, here’s a list of some folks that had to see it through and have found beauty on the other side.

• It took Michelangelo four years to paint the Sistine Chapel.

• It took Leo Tolstoy six years to write War and Peace.

• It took the builders of China’s Great Wall over 2,000 years.

We are all working on some great story. It is our story. We are all working on some great piece of art, it is our life. God, you may be encouraged to know, is a co-conspirator in your efforts, but it is your effort that he’ll use.

The most frustrating part of exhausting work is that nearly everything labeled “exhausting” could also be labeled “Something That is Incredibly Important that You Must Never Quit.” Parenting, a healthy marriage, a substantive job, building a home–literally and figuratively–each of these will leave you so thoroughly fatigued that you’ll regularly have to fend off the desire to phone it in. 

Thomas Clarkson, a man you’ve probably never heard of, was unswervingly bent on ending slavery in England. This drive is best described by his friend, the 18th-century poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who coined Clarkson as England’s "the moral steam engine." A casual look at Clarkson’s life shows the metaphor’s accuracy. Singular in focus, relentless, and powerful, he’d lecture, write, and recruit for abolition’s cause. He’d visit various ports in person to gather firsthand  evidence of the horrendous institution manifested in cracked whips and worse. These firsthand accounts would later be used to deal slavery's defeat. Clarkson was relentless, only satisfied with stopping if the destination was reached.

And, for all this, he was compelled by scripture. If all humans bore the image of God and Paul said there was no difference between “slave and free,” then what actual grounds did the whole damnable institution rest on? Money, of course. So, when a bunch of bishops in England’s “House of Lords” voted to not-abolish slavery you can imagine Clarkson’s disbelief. God himself, we must imagine, looks upon his own and groans. 

It takes around a mile and a half to stop a steam engine. But, if you put up brick walls and dig pits in its path, it’s safe to assume you could stop it sooner. That’s exactly what they did with Clarkson. Defamation, slander, legal barriers; Evil’s whole quiver was employed. Clarkson, exhausted by these traps, would wind up experiencing the type of fatigue that binds you to your bed with tears. With his momentum slowing to a halt, he’d write to Coleridge, telling him,

I don’t even know who I am or what I am. I’m not sure if I believe. I see this thing, that the spirit of God searches our spirit. I read John, but I have no idea anymore of the divine.

I’m wondering if you’ve written that letter? 

Burdened by important but wearying work, many things begin to slip. Exercise and fresh air are quick casualties. Friendship too, is slashed from the calendar and consigned to concept alone. Sleep, blown away like grains of sand. We begin eating in dashes, oftentimes to just escape into a brief caloric high. Perhaps we raise our voices at people we love. An occasional evening drink becomes three every night. A loss of will is the next to go. Perhaps we stop talking altogether, folding ourselves within ourselves like poisoned dough. If you have written this letter, or one like it, you’ll know that the very act of writing it is often the last bit of courage you can muster before quitting. 

But Coleridge would write back to Clarkson, 

I understand that at the moment you feel you have no idea of the divine. But let me remind you that you yourself are a divine idea [...] God thought you up. The risen Jesus Christ in whom all things go [...] is speaking you, Thomas Clarkson, into being. [...] Try not to be an impediment in the speech of Jesus.

If you ever find yourself doubting the existence of oxygen you may need someone to gently slap you, look you in the eyes, and say, “You’re breathing! Aren’t you?” Clarkson, Coleridge seemed to think, needed this slap. There’s no record of Clarkson’s response. But slavery would be abolished in England in 1807 and the abolition had Clarkson’s fingerprints all over it. He’d go on, until his death in 1846, seeking slavery’s end throughout the world.

What work are you in the middle of that, on the wrong day in the middle of a hard month, you’d be tempted to “quietly quit”? Where does it hurt? Don’t minimize either the pain or the work’s importance. Parenting can feel as difficult as ending slavery. The papercuts and light bruises of a job can ache as much as anything a President has dealt with. 

With this in mind, and if you’d allow me, may I play Coleridge?

Each day the Word speaks you into morning’s daylight. There is a half-finished sentence that is yours to write. Any worthwhile ending will be costly but there is no beauty without this cost. Look each word in the eye. They will take the form of a child’s forgotten lunch that needs to be delivered at the expense of you being late to another meeting. The verbs will send you bounding, often too quickly, and your grammar will suffer and people may notice. But, there will be the commas, moments alone, and the occasional and surprising ten minutes of silence. In the end there is the potential of your day being a line of poetry, crafted in some blurry partnership between you and God that is beautiful; the type others keep reading long after you die. So, try not to be an impediment to these worthy words of Jesus. 

What you need to know is that every week Jake comb’s through his memory and the wild world of the interweb and he offers you the coolest stuff. Don’t sleep on this stuff. On the right is Yellow Rat. He makes clothing you wear if you want walk around certain parts of certain cities and fit in.

Coulter Jacobs also makes cool stuff. These tattoo inspired drawings were done without lifting the pen from the paper. That puts a cramp in my hand, just thinking about it. But, again, he’s—as they say—on the edge of what you’d call the trendz.

Derek Thompson, a staff writer for The Atlantic, often provides thoughtful reflections on social media, teen anxiety, and AI. In a recent episode of his podcast "Plain English," he talks with Darby Saxbe of USC about the pendulum swing of mental and emotional health, from coping through drink and avoiding discussion in the post-war 40s and 50s to our present moment, where not only is there permission to discuss mental health openly but, especially through social media. There is an immersive experience of untrained influencers offering non-stop advice on self-care and mental health. Thompson acknowledges the importance of open dialogue on these topics but expresses concern about the prevalence of self-diagnosis, the merging of mental health issues with personal identity, and more.

Call it a weakness, a penchant for pushing boundaries, or perhaps a pastoral curiosity, but I appreciate witnessing individuals of faith coloring outside the lines as a natural expression of their faith journey. One such example is Nick Cave. I've previously highlighted him here for his Red Hand Files, which serve as his artistic and spiritual version of "Dear Abby." Cave makes an appearance again because I recently discovered his book "Faith, Hope, and Carnage," where he takes a somber and sage-like look at his own addictions and fragility, leading him to a place of real, albeit hesitant, trust in Jesus. Among its many awards and praises is a commendation from the former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, who called it "the most compelling book of the year."

Furthermore, you may not have heard of Frances Spufford, but his recent book "Light Perpetual" made the initial list for the prestigious Booker Prize. However, it is his earlier work, "Unapologetic," that currently captures my attention. Although it was published in 2012, it remains worth exploring. Spufford begins by recounting the realization he had when his daughter was six: that he would soon have to explain to her that their family, being practicing Christians, was a rarity in 20th century London. What follows is a "sweary" but incredibly charming, compelling, and personal argument for why someone might believe in and love God.

See you next week.