There is a quiet but firm wisdom in the sayings of the masters. When Hyakujo declared, “No work, no food,” he was not merely speaking about discipline in a monastery. He was touching something far more universal. It is the reminder that effort is not a curse but a part of what makes life meaningful. Hakuin, another great Zen teacher, carried this further when he said, “Meditation in the midst of activity is a thousand times superior to meditation in stillness.” Both are asking us to let go of the idea that spiritual life is somewhere far from the tasks of the day.
For many, there is a dream that holiness and clarity only come when we are removed from the noise. They imagine that if we could set aside our chores, switch off the phone, and escape the press of people and deadlines, we would become serene and wise. This dream is tender but not true. The Zen teachers remind us that wisdom is not a vacation from reality. It is reality met fully. It is the taste of tea as you drink it, the sound of a broom on the floor, the feel of tired hands finishing the day’s work.
Christian thought offers its own voices to this. Mother Teresa often spoke of work as prayer, saying that each act, however small, could be offered to God. The Benedictine motto Ora et Labora places prayer and work side by side. Meister Eckhart told us that it is not the place or the role that makes us radiant but our being. Across cultures and times, the message repeats: do not divide the sacred and the ordinary. They belong together.
The Illusion of Escape
This unity of action and spirit feels simple, yet it is not what we are taught. Many of us grow up thinking that the higher life requires retreat. We picture mountains, monasteries, or silent rooms as the places where truth is found. We imagine that the best way to become close to God or to insight is to withdraw.
But monasteries themselves tell another story. The monks of Zen temples rise early to cook, clean, and tend gardens. They walk among people. Christian monasteries run schools, brew beer, bake bread, study texts, and welcome strangers. They do not escape life. They enter it differently. The tasks are the same as those of a village or a household, but the attention is different.
When Eckhart says that being is what matters, he is stripping away our categories. A scholar in a library and a farmer in a field are both near the same truth if they are present and sincere. It is not the job title that matters but the quality of the heart behind it. In this way, the Zen saying and the Christian motto meet: a prayer can be a chant or the swing of a hammer. A meditation can be a walk to the market.
Profitable in the Deep Sense
To speak of profit in a spiritual context may seem strange. The word often calls to mind money, business, or competition. But profit can also mean increase, growth, or fruitfulness. A profitable act is one that gives something back, that multiplies value rather than wastes it.
Work done with devotion, whether paid or unpaid, creates this kind of profit. A mother raising a child, a monk cleaning a corridor, a nurse helping the sick, a teacher opening a mind, all are adding to the richness of life. They are sustaining something larger than themselves. The profit here is not in bank accounts but in a world more cared for, more ordered, more alive.
The opposite of this is what troubles us when we see leaders exploiting faith or generosity. When religious figures use their position to gather wealth, or when organizations become more about prestige than service, the sacred is distorted. Buildings rise, leaders grow rich, followers become poor. The problem is not the building or the salary but the spirit behind it. When the goal shifts from giving to gaining, the work loses its center.
Public Sector and NGO Paradox
Something similar can happen even without greed. Consider the public sector, the NGO, or the NPO. These are filled with people who often care deeply and work hard. Yet the structure itself can create problems. Budgets arrive not through selling or earning but through allocation, taxes, or donations. The money is “given,” and so the sense of necessity is softened.
When people are not required to generate the income they spend, the discipline of value can fade. It is like a planned economy. Goals are set, projects are launched, reports are filed, and yet the communities do not always grow stronger. It is not because the workers are lazy or foolish, but because the feedback loop is weak. If a bakery must sell bread to survive, it will quickly learn what tastes good and what does not. If an aid agency spends grants, the results are less clear.
This is why many projects that look fine on paper struggle in the real world. The designs are clever, the reports are neat, but the people they are meant to help do not feel the change. Without a sense of earning, even the brightest minds can drift. That is why “profitability,” in the sense of sustainability, matters. Not to make money but to make meaning. To teach communities not only to receive but to grow.
The Consultant’s Dilemma
The same tension appears in the world of consulting. These firms gather some of the most capable people, trained in analysis, theory, and strategy. They produce models and frameworks, they speak to executives, and they earn large fees. Yet there is an unease here, a sense of distance.
The consultant is not the baker whose bread will be praised or returned. They are not the farmer whose harvest fails or feeds. They create a beautiful plan, a convincing presentation, but the risk belongs to the client. The firm is paid whether the advice transforms the business or fades in a drawer.
This does not mean consulting is worthless. Fresh eyes can see what insiders miss. Good advice can save a company. But the structure often rewards performance over outcome. The consultant’s food is not tied to the harvest. Hyakujo would ask: where is the work that feeds you? Hakuin would ask: are you in the midst of the activity, or watching it from a distance?
The Uneasy Glow of Big Institutions
The feeling grows stronger when we look at the largest institutions. The UN, the World Bank, major religious bodies, international NGOs. Their scale is impressive. Their staff are educated, their resources vast. They tackle problems that few others can even approach.
Yet here too the distance shows. The offices are often comfortable, the travel funded, the salaries secure. The communities they serve may live with uncertainty and scarcity while the planners fly home at the end of the week. It is not wrong to pay experts well. It is not wrong to use resources wisely. But the gap can make the mission feel abstract.
When wealth and comfort surround the servants of the poor, questions arise. Are they remembering the spirit of “No work, no food”? Are they truly in the field of action, or insulated from it? The contrast is sharp. The ones with the problem cannot leave. The ones who help can. This is not to condemn every worker or leader, but to remind us that privilege requires extra care. Power and resources must not dull our sense of the fragile lives we claim to serve.
Re-centering Work as Offering
So what do we do with these tensions? Perhaps the answer is not in a policy but in an attitude. The masters speak not only of discipline but of offering. Hyakujo does not tell us to toil endlessly. Hakuin does not ask for frenzy. Eckhart does not measure holiness by results. They all point to being present, responsible, and ready to give.
When profit becomes an offering, its nature changes. Money earned honestly and shared becomes a blessing. Knowledge used to build rather than only to bill becomes service. Even the act of working for oneself can become sacred when it feeds others too. This is why the ancient idea of tithing, giving back, remains powerful. It reminds the worker that gain is never only for the self.
The challenge to leaders and institutions is the same. Build, earn, teach, consult, govern, but hold lightly to the fruits. Let the work be more than a performance. Let it be prayer. Let the reward move outward. When this happens, the discomfort fades. We sense the dignity of those who work and give, not those who hoard or display.
Living the Lesson
For each of us, this can be simple. It begins by seeing our own work as alive, not as burden. A teacher’s lesson, a student’s study, a farmer’s planting, a parent’s care, a manager’s meeting. Each can be dull or each can be awake. The difference is whether we see it as mere survival or as service.
Ask quietly: What am I creating? Who is nourished by my labor? Would I be proud to offer this day as a gift? If the answer is hesitant, perhaps we are closer to consulting without ownership, or managing without care. If the answer is bright, even a simple day can shine.
The world will always have budgets, consultants, institutions, and leaders. They will always wrestle with distance and privilege. But they can also remember that the best leadership is service. The best plan is one lived, not only presented. The best work is that which could stand before God and neighbor alike.
To live this way is demanding, but it is also freeing. It tells us that no task is too small and no role too low. It tells us that each loaf of bread, each chart, each kind word can be holy. It reminds us that the fruit of our work, like our breath, is not ours to keep. It is something we pass on.
Image by JoeL63
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