More Beautiful Than Words

Harold Smith

Lakelight Board Member

Former President and CEO, Christianity Today

True confession.

In my younger work life, any thoughts of marketplace beauty were limited to the arrangement of bric-a-brac on my desk and, perhaps, the overall aesthetic of the building I happened to be working in. Over time, of course, that austere view slowly changed, as my publishing career developed and I understood more and more the power of words and design to communicate clearly, compellingly. And yes, even beautifully.

In this regard, I recall the day the editors and designers of Christianity Today spent interacting with Cullen Murphy, then managing editor of The Atlantic. A surprisingly humble man in spite of the journalistic and literary esteem afforded his magazine over its long history,  Cullen took great care to underscore the work involved in crafting “beautiful” content. A total of 14 re-writes is what, on average, each Atlantic article would undergo, he told us—a number that had all of us editors gasping for air! (And here we thought a third rewrite might be pushing an author—and us—too far.) But then it was such artistic wordsmithing that set his publication apart from so many others. And even today, The Atlantic’s content wins accolades; with a 2022 Pulitzer Prize for Feature Writing going to staff writer Jennifer Senior for her powerful September 2021 cover story, “What Bobby McIlvaine Left Behind.”

Of course, my waxing about editorial and design beauty speaks of an aesthetic that is hard to quantify—other than in the recognition that an author, designer, or publisher gets for whatever is defined as excellence at the time. (And it’s a definition that invariably changes over time.) Moreover, balancing off the kudos given these acclaimed works of literary and visual art are a legion of expected naysayers. All to say “one man’s ceiling is another man’s floor” as songwriter Paul Simon so aptly put it.

So perhaps whatever beauty there is in the end product of our work is in the eye of the beholder. But then, that overworked cliche belies what I eventually came to realize when I gravitated from “simply” crunching copy to managing CT’s fleet of quality communicators: That right in front of me were expressions of beauty that in one way or another point back to the source of all true beauty. Namely, God himself. My coworkers—the talented women and men declared “very good” on the 6th day of Creation—were the very ones I was now privileged to lead and direct in their own professional flourishing. Even as they daily encouraged me in mine. Together creating—in spite of our fallenness—an environment where God’s beauty could be expressed in and through the gifts endowed his creation.

God’s love is the source of all beauty, wrote 4th century church father St Augustine. And as such, it is a timeless, ageless beauty. One not limited to a creative exclamation point or a momentary feeling or a single experience or even the eye of the beholder. No, as Augustine himself found out, through faith and virtue, even he could reflect the origin of all true and permanent beauty.

And such is our opportunity in the workplace: To both reflect God’s beauty and, by our example, ignite the spark of that beauty found in all those made in the image of God. In our words of encouragement. In the selfless support we give our coworkers in utilizing their giftedness to its fullest extent. In the unconditional love and respect we show our coworkers in their good and bad days. And in the celebrations with those same coworkers when they experience a professional and personal flourishing over a job well done.

It is in these tangible day-to-day expressions of beauty that we can ultimately leave the life-changing and eternal mark of Christ on those we labor with. As they, in turn, begin to more and more catch a glimpse of the God who has entrusted them with unique talents with which they might express his creation beauty.

I think of my father’s own work life in this regard. Not that I ever heard him use the term “beauty” in describing his work at Ford Motor’s Dearborn Assembly Plant (although I thought the 1955 Thunderbird he brought home one day to show off “his” handiwork was the coolest thing ever!). But there’s perhaps no better term to use when looking back on his impact on his fellow co-laborers.

One particular story powerfully captured this for me and continues to challenge me in my interactions—my work—with others.

A little over 20 years ago, Dad lay dying in a hospice bed in his home outside of Detroit. His final days found a steady stream of individuals from all walks of life stopping by the house and asking if it would be alright to peek in on Dad as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Neighbors, area pastors, and former coworkers wanted to see the man who had marked their lives with God’s love. And yeah, God’s beauty.

One of those coworkers was a man named Norm. He came to the house early one evening, saying he had just flown in from Florida to spend a few minutes by Dad’s bedside. I welcomed him in and waited while Norm quietly looked in on my father. I remember hearing him pray by Dad’s bedside.

I wanted to ask Norm why he had come such a distance for just a few minutes of time, knowing that Dad could not respond to his expression of love. So when he came out of the bedroom, I had him join me in the family room to talk.

Norm, who is an African American, said he had grown up hating any and all white people. So when he came to work at Ford’s, he was immediately put off by the fact that his supervisor—my father—was white. Norm told me he knew right then and there that this working relationship simply wouldn’t work.

Norm talked about his on-again, off-again interactions with my father: Norm’s endless complaining, his unceasing profanity and anger. And yet, he now paused almost in awe over what he would say next, “Your dad never responded in kind.” He then looked at me intently to emphasize his point, “Harold, your dad never responded in kind.”

He then went on to tell me how Dad would invariably seek to help him with his work, offering his own experience and wisdom to help make Norm a better, more efficient automotive engineer. Pouring himself out on this coworker’s behalf whenever he could.

Norm said he finally asked my dad why he was doing all this, especially knowing how hard Norm was to work with. And my father’s response: “Because of Christ. He first loved me so now I can love you.”

To say the least, those were not the words Norm was expecting. But they were words that over time would give Norm a purpose. Would change his approach to work. And to life. Words that would ultimately bring God’s beauty into a man once filled with hatred.

“That is why I had to fly up here and be with your dad one more time,” Norm concluded. “He’s a beautiful man. He loved and respected me while I was at my most unlovable.”

The entire person of Christ, one author has written, is like one diamond; and his life in every dimension leaves one lasting impression. Beauty.

Would our lasting impression on those we work with be no less.

© Harold B. Smith | This article was first published in Lakelight Monthly, May 2023 Edition