Dear reader, you know that my last two weeks has involved an extended stay in hospital. The initial Doctor had ordered absolute bed rest. Within 8 hours, I had given orders to my sister, and found myself in bed with phone, iPad, laptop, and iPad keyboard — everything that I needed to be able to work from that bed. I couldn’t feel good about just lying there resting. I desperately needed to feel that I was accomplishing something — that I was productive — even as I was trying to prepare for a huge surgery, and the recovery to follow.
There’s a certain holiness, I’m convinced, in crossing something off a list. That tiny motion of the pen — the triumphant slash through “send email,” “call plumber,” or “clean the drawer of unidentified keys” — is accompanied by the faint sound of angels humming a victory chorus. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I ceremonially mark off “write sermon,” only to immediately add “revise sermon,” “polish sermon,” and “pray sermon actually makes sense.”
We live in an age that worships productivity. If the Apostle Paul were writing today, someone would have marketed his journeys as “Paul’s Seven Habits of Highly Effective Missionaries.” There’d be an app for his epistles (“Track your discipleship progress — get push notifications from Corinth!”). And yet, I suspect the Lord, gazing down upon our colour-coded calendars and bullet journals, might sigh lovingly and say, “Children, I created you to be human beings, not human doings.”
Let’s imagine, for a moment, the divine take on our to-do lists.
1. “Have you considered adding rest to that list?”
God, you may recall, managed to create the entire cosmos in six days — and then rested. Not “checked email during a quick Sabbath breather,” not “caught up on unread messages from the Seraphim Slack channel,” but rested. No wonder the commandment to keep the Sabbath holy sits right there with all the other big ones; the Creator was serious about rest.
Yet here we are, elbow-deep in productivity hacks, trying to fit a Sabbath in between “fold laundry” and “update expense spreadsheet.”
It’s as if we fear the world will stop spinning if we take a nap. The truth, of course, is that the world will keep turning — and our neighbours will probably appreciate us more if we’ve had a good rest.
2. “Whose glory is this list for?”
We love the satisfaction of being “on top of things.” But the Kingdom of God operates on a different kind of logic. The first shall be last, and the last shall — well — probably still be behind on their emails, but they’ll be loved nonetheless.
Productivity, at its best, is stewardship: doing what needs to be done so love can flow more freely. At its worst, it’s pride in disguise — our way of proving to the world (and perhaps to ourselves) that we are indispensable.
If God can run the universe without our constant help, perhaps we can trust the divine economy enough to occasionally sit down, breathe, and simply be.
3. “I didn’t create you for checkboxes.”
When Jesus called his disciples, he didn’t hand them a clipboard. There was no “Mission Objectives” spreadsheet:
- Recruit twelve apostles
- Feed multitudes
- Walk on water (stretch goal)
- Defeat death (deadline: Easter)
Instead, Jesus invited them into relationship, into the unpredictable rhythm of grace — sometimes active, sometimes contemplative, always purposeful. The divine to-do list is written not in ink but in love, and its first line always reads: “Be present.”
4. “Productivity is not holiness.”
This one hurts. We often equate being busy with being faithful. Parish priests are notorious for this — after all, there’s always another meeting, another sermon, another pastoral visit, another email thread titled “Quick Question” that turns into a 47-reply theological debate about coffee hour logistics.
But holiness is not busyness. Holiness is attention — attention to God, to others, and to the moment right in front of us. Sometimes that means getting things done. Sometimes it means letting them go.
5. “Grace, not guilt, should guide your day.”
Perhaps that’s the heart of it. God’s list for us isn’t about tasks, but about trust. The work that really matters — the forgiveness given, the kindness offered, the prayer whispered over a cup of lukewarm tea — is often invisible to our planners. Grace doesn’t need a checkmark. It only asks for an open heart.
So next time you find yourself staring at your endless list, take a cue from our divine Editor-in-Chief. Cross off “save the world” — that’s already been handled. Add “give thanks,” “take a walk,” “laugh,” and maybe even “do nothing for five minutes.”
Who knows? You might just discover that in God’s eyes, the most productive thing you can do is rest in grace.
In conclusion:
If there is a heavenly to-do list, I suspect it looks something like this:
- Love God.
- Love neighbour.
- Nap if necessary.
And perhaps, in the margins, written in divine handwriting:
“Don’t worry so much. I’ve got this.”
A Prayer for the Theology of the To-Do List
Gracious and patient God,
You who shaped the stars and then took a day to rest, teach us again that Your Kingdom does not run on deadlines, calendars, or colour-coded charts.
We confess that we often measure our worth by what we accomplish, and forget that You delight in us simply because we exist.
Forgive our frantic striving, Lord, and calm the restless ticking of our inner clocks.
When we are tempted to worship productivity, remind us that You call us not to perfection, but to presence — to sit at Your feet as Mary did, to breathe deeply, to remember that grace cannot be scheduled.
Bless our lists, O God, but bless them lightly.
Let them serve love rather than pride, and help us to see each task, great or small, as a chance to join You in the quiet work of compassion.
When our day is done and some boxes remain unchecked, teach us to rest without guilt, trusting that the unfinished work of our hands rests safely in Yours.
Through Jesus Christ, who accomplished the greatest work of all — and still took time to pray, to walk, and to share a meal — we offer this day, and every day, back to You.
Amen.