Witness to Good Work

by Robert Mixa

During the Easter break, my wife and I did some spring cleaning and prepared the yard for summer. As we pulled our tools from the shed, I was reminded of my late father-in-law, Wiktor Nakielski, who passed away just three months ago. He had not only given me the tools, but he built that shed from scratch exactly one year earlier.

My father-in-law was a welder by trade. He was one of those men whose intelligence was in his hands—able to build or fix almost anything. I've always admired that quality in men—envying, in a way, the satisfaction they seem to find in their work. It's a satisfaction born from tangibly contributing to the world. Their usefulness is immediate and obvious,unlike the often ambiguous value of so much "knowledge work" people are pushed into today.

Perhaps it's time we re-examine the necessity of such abstract labor—not only because artificial intelligence threatens to replace much of it, but because of the growing despair and anxiety within the white-collar class.

Today is the Feast of St. Joseph the Worker— also known as International Workers' Day or May Day, which I only recently learned commemorates the Haymarket Affair in 1886, in Chicago. In 1955, Pope Pius XII placed this feast on May 1 to coincide with the secular holiday, presenting St. Joseph as both worker and father.

Yet the dominant forms of labor in the West today seem far removed from the craftsmanship associated with St. Joseph in ancient Palestine. Catholic social teaching has long offered a critique of this disconnection—insightful works like Romano Guardini's Letters from Lake Como, John Paul II's Laborem Exercens, and Josef Pieper's Leisure: The Basis of Culture provide a rich foundation for reimaging the meaning of work. Sadly, these writings are known to only a small circle,but that circle may be growing. Modern society has forgotten the dignity of work—but the life of my father-in-law and the witness of St. Joseph remind us what real work means.

I graduated from college in the middle of the global recession of 2007-2010, and I was naturally anxious about finding stable work. I was fortunate to be supported by my parents and to be hired by Bishop Robert Barron, first as a research assistant and later in a marketing and sales role. I loathed the latter. Though it was related to "evangelization" because we were selling the 10-part series Catholicism, it felt hollow. I longed for the satisfaction I had known in more hands-on jobs—where I could see the fruit of my labor and, like God on the seventh day, rest.

Around that time, I found Shop Class as Soulcraft: An Inquiry into the Value of Work by Matthew B. Crawford as an audiobook at my local library. I must have listened to it five times during my monotonous daily commute.The book became formative for me—much like C.S. Lewis' The Abolition of Man, another work I listened to many times during this period of my life. Crawford's book, however, also awakened a sense of resentment: why had I never been exposed to the trades or crafts in school?

Thankfully, my own father was a handyman. Though he worked an office job, he secretly resented it. On his days off, he would tackle all sorts of projects around the house—building things, car maintenance, yard work, repairs, winemaking—and he would invite me to participate. Like my future father-in-law, my dad even built the backyard shed. As a kid, I often looked for ways to get out of helping. But now, I wish I had shown more interest. My father's middle name happens to be "Joseph", and I have always linked the two. I am more appreciative of what my father did now that I realize that most guys my age never had this experience with their fathers. This is more of an observation than a criticism.

When I met my wife, one of things I admired about her was her working-class background. More specifically, she comes from peasant stock—a family that held onto many farming traditions even as they became industrial laborers during the Communist years in Poland. Their lines of work gave them no tolerance for nonsense, protecting them from so many of the delusions knowledge workers, in their pride, often believe. When I met her parents for the first time, I felt an unexpected sense of belonging,despite the language barrier.

I spent most of the summer before our wedding in my wife's hometown, and much of it working in the dzia ł ka, (allotment garden). It reminded me of my great-uncle Paul, a veteran of World War II and the son of Croatian immigrants. For years he kept a vegetable garden behind his home. I was so taken by my in-laws’ działka —I was reading much Wendell Berry at the time—that I requested we take our wedding photos there after the wedding Mass. You should have seen the surprised looks on the gardeners' faces when my wife and I arrived in our formal clothes.

My father-in-law was a master gardener. He could get anything to grow. Much of the family’s food came directly from the land, and had the grocery stores emptied, they would have managed just fine. He built the działka house himself, and he and his wife took great pride in it.

Wanting us to have something of our own, my father-in-law insisted—despite a long battle with cancer— on building a shed for my wife and me at our little home in Krzywaczka. It was during his final visit that he took us to the hardware stores and bought me the Bosch tool set. He told me this was how he wanted to be remembered. I am not confident in my abilities yet, but I will do my best to follow his example, and my own father’s example too - to become a handyman, and to find joy and pride in the work of my hands.

Opportunities to enter the trades abound, even for those who love the humanities. The College of St. Joseph the Worker opened not too long ago, offers students both a BA in Catholic Studies and training in a skilled trade—carpentry, HVAC, plumbing, or electrical work—all with strong career prospects. I would have jumped at such a program had it existed when I was a younger man. Likewise, shop class is making a comeback in many American high schools. The tide seems to be turning.

Young people are eager to learn. Recently, I showed my students the documentary Good Work: Masters of the Building Arts. The boys were captivated, and some even lingered after class just to chat, which is always a sign that something has resonated. Most of them will not enter the trades because their parents and friends will never encourage them in that direction;but perhaps they may carry the ethic of tradesmen with them: a no-nonsense commitment to work that is real, tangible, and useful.

This kind of work also builds camaraderie in ways that white-collar work often does not. What moved me most at my father-in-law's wake was the presence of his work colleagues. They came together as a team to honor him. It felt like something out of a war film—brothers-in-arms saluting one of their own. One younger coworker told my wife how grateful he was that her father had taught him to weld. The ancient, sacred system of mentors and apprentices was apparent.

In the final years of his life, my father-in-law became intensely devout. He had always been a man of faith, but after his cancer diagnosis, he lived almost like a monk. During a visit, I would often find him kneeling in prayer.

One day, after one of his long prayers, I asked him, "Who is your favorite saint?"

"St. Joseph," he replied after a pause, with quiet intensity.

Wiktor and my wife praying in front of the Icon of Our Lady of Ostra Brama in Wilno

St. Joseph, not only the guardian of the Incarnate Word, but the patron of a happy death. The doctor who was with my father-in-law when he died early in the morning,providentially at the same time he used to attend morning Mass,remarked on how peacefully he passed, saying she hoped for such a death herself. St. Joseph must have been with him in his final moments, just as he had been with him on the jobsite all his life.

Today, on this feast, let us ask St. Joseph's intercession—on behalf of Wiktor, and for the larger purpose of restoring the dignity of work. May more people, especially the young, find themselves immersed in good, honest work. And may they, when the time comes, be able to meet death with the peace that comes from a life well lived, that is, a life occupied in fruitful labor.