Just a few days ago, we celebrated Labor Day in America. For many of us, that meant barbecues, sunshine, and one last taste of summer before the leaves begin to turn. But as I reflected on the holiday, I couldn’t help but think about that word itself—labor. What should we, as Christians, approach our labor?
The first official observance of Labor Day dates back to 1882 in New York City. A group of workers banded together, determined to push back against harsh workplace conditions. They took a day off—simply calling it Labor Day—and dedicated it to the working man. Twelve years later, President Grover Cleveland signed it into federal law, and we celebrate it still to this day.
Over a century has passed since Cleveland’s decree, and Labor Day no longer feels like an act of protest. It has become a cultural ritual—family, food, and a long weekend of rest. And that’s a beautiful thing! But even as I enjoyed the day myself, I found my mind drifting toward something deeper.
Because it isn’t just our nation that wrestles with labor. It is also a trial for our souls.
The Work We Cannot Do
I was recently watching a television series set in medieval Europe. As the story unfolded, I was struck with how pious their culture seemed. Everyone went to church. Everyone prayed. Everyone took communion and baptised their children. And yet, beneath the surface, there was a tragic misunderstanding about salvation.
The common belief in this show—and for many Americans today—was that the path to heaven worked a bit like a scale. Our Good deeds on one side, bad deeds on the other, and the balance would determine your eternity. Can you imagine living under that constant pressure? The exhausting weight of asking, Have I done enough? Am I good enough for God to let me in?
And then, just a few weeks ago, I heard something eerily similar. President Trump was being interviewed about the Russia-Ukraine war. During the interview, he made a brief comment—just one sentence—that caught my attention. Proclaiming that he wanted to end the war and save many lives, he also added, “I want to try to get to heaven.”
Many in the media praised his honesty, even his boldness to speak of faith.
But that statement revealed a devastating mistake.
The truth is, no act of labor—no matter how noble—can ever earn us eternity.
The Apostle Paul could not have been clearer on this fact, saying:
“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.”
(Ephesians 2:8–9, NIV)
Did you catch that? Not by works. Not by labor. Salvation is not a paycheck for your performance; it is a gift purchased by Christ.
The True Work of Heaven
So where does that leave us? If heaven isn’t earned by our labor, how do we enter it?
Paul’s answer for this is equally simple: it is by God’s grace and through our faith. We are called to believe that Jesus Christ is the embodied presence of God, sent to bear our sins on the cross. He is the one who did the work—once and for all.
That is the paradox of Christianity: the most important “work” in your life is not yours at all. It is Christ’s.
Yes, we are to serve the poor. Yes, we are to fight for justice. Yes, we are to give away generously. But we cannot confuse the fruits of faith with a ticket to eternal salvation. None of those acts can impress God enough to open heaven’s gates. Only Jesus can.
A Better Kind of Labor Day
So, as you think back on your own Labor Day—on the burgers, the brats, the barbecues—remember this: there is a truer holiday to be found. A better celebration. For the Christian, every day is a declaration that Jesus is our labor, and Jesus is our rest.
You don’t have to strive to earn your place in God’s family. You don’t have to carry the crushing weight of spiritual performance. The work is finished. The tomb is empty. And your eternity is secure—not because of what you’ve done, but because of what He has done.
Entering heaven is really quite easy.
Let Jesus become your Labor.
