Satisfaction in the Small

Dearest Rachel –

There’s an old story, most likely apocryphal, but ordinary and plausible enough to have a grain of truth at its core. When I say “old,” I mean nearly a millennium since it is said to have happened, as a matter of fact; you’ll recognize it as we go along.

The story centers around a boatman making his way up the Seine, with produce and flowers from the farmers in the provinces to sell in the markets of Paris. At some point, shortly before reaching the city center (such as it was in those days), he notices a bustle of activity on one of the banks. Workers rushing to and fro, clearing a space here, setting up scaffolding there… all rather unusual to the boatman’s eyes. So he pulls up alongside the shore and calls out to a group of men who seem to be engaged in laying stones not to far from the waters’ edge, and thus within shouting distance.

“Ahoy, mes amis! May I ask what’s going on?” He singles out a particularly industrious-looking worker, on his knees setting a stone in place. “You, sir! What are you doing?”

After a moment of the man coming to the realization he’s being addressed, and then trying to absorb what sounds to him an absurd question, he calls back to the boatman, “I’m laying bricks! What does it look like I’m doing?”

The boatman pulls a face for a moment before rolling his eyes. Well, ask a silly question, I suppose, he thinks ruefully to himself as he poles his craft further along. Still, I think I could have figured that out for myself. Still wondering about the commotion, he hails yet another group of workers with a similar question. By now, the men he is alongside and addressing are standing, and several layers of stone have already been set, to the point where the boatman can only see them from the waist up. Still, one manages to call back to him, “We’re building a wall,” which elicits a nod from him as well. A little more detail, but not quite what he’d been looking for in terms of an answer.

As he continues along the river, the wall grows higher, and it appears to him that what workers he can see are already on scaffolding at this point for him to be able to see them on the other side of the growing wall. Still curious as to what purpose this work will serve, he asks one of the men the question for a third time.

This time, he receives the answer he’s been seeking, and what an answer! “We’re constructing a cathedral for all of Paris – perhaps all of France! – to come and worship God in.”

The story – presumably about the initial work on the foundation of Notre Dame – is supposed to represent the value of looking at the big picture when approaching a job or task. It isn’t just a matter of the individual task, or even the combined effort of the team, but rather the ultimate result of the entire project. There is supposed to be more focus on the end goal as opposed to the little increments that get you there; too much emphasis on the latter, and you suffer from tunnel vision that causes you to miss out on the former, which is much more important in the long run.

We praise the last bricklayer for his long-term vision, but it gives me pause. Would he have seen the fruit of his labors? If he got in on the literal ground floor, no, nor would his son or even his grandson. In fact, it took a hundred and eighty-two years to complete, although it’s listed as “largely completed” in just under a hundred, in 1260 A.D. Perhaps his great-grandson might have been able to hear services in it, but he would have received no such benefit himself.

This may be coming from the perspective of a twentieth/twenty-first century man, from a time of instant gratification, where even great edifices can (and indeed, need to) be built in a relatively short time (although you and I are familiar with notable exceptions, like Barcelona’s Sagrada Familia), but the idea that the focus should only be on the finished project seems insufficient. Yes, the collective end result is a masterpiece that will stand for eons to come (although at present, how much the cathedral is or will be used for its intended purpose as opposed to being a tourist attraction is up for debate, but that’s beside the point), but is that enough to sustain the bricklayer amidst his toil?

Personally, I wonder if we, in our own lifelong bricklaying efforts, shouldn’t be allowed to take satisfaction in the small, even as we try to keep the big picture in the back of our minds. Every brick is a task complete, and we ought to be able to be pleased with each piece that falls into place, as opposed to only thinking in terms of “it’s only good once it’s complete.” Every step of our ten-thousand mile journey can be a good one; it’s not always necessary to wait until it’s over to judge it. It can – and should – be enjoyed along the way.

Of course, when considering this in terms of our spiritual journey (I am, after all, talking about a church being built), it’s not for us to find fulfillment in it. The church’s mission is to constantly reach new people and disciple them, not become a comfy social club for those already in it. The bricks represent the means by which we do so, and while it may be a concern worth being aware of to focus too much on this brick or that one, we have to remember that each brick is important in constructing the whole. I know it turns the parable on its head, but I think we might have been reading it incorrectly the whole time, anyway.