I recently attended a funeral to support one of the leaders of our church. His grandmother died, and they were extremely close. Since she wasn’t a member of our church, I was relieved of the traditional pastoral functions expected at a service. I had no other responsibilities than to worship God, fellowship with those gathered, and offer support and encouragement. I was also hoping to have my mind filled and my spirit fed.

Thankfully, those hopes were exceeded. During the service, I heard a penetrating insight that I quickly added to my philosophy of life. Sometimes you hear an observation, an anecdote or a quotation that crystallizes in an eloquent and unforgettable way something you have always thought or believed but couldn’t quite express. Well, that’s what happened for me at Mrs. Kelly’s funeral.

One of her co-workers was describing the incredible impact that Mrs. Kelly had on her life. For 30 years Mrs. Kelly was the director of the Radiology Lab at one of the largest trauma centers in Southern Los Angeles. In this role, she was primarily responsible for recruiting, training, and managing other lab technicians. The woman who spoke was one of the lab technicians that Mrs. Kelly had trained. She said that one of the lessons that Mrs. Kelly constantly drilled into her head was not to be just a “button-pusher.” She was instructed not to just push buttons, but to understand why she was pushing them. If she understood why she was pushing buttons, Mrs. Kelly told her that she would always be valuable, would always do a good job, would always feel better about the job, and would always be able to find a job.

Her story was an oratorio to my ears and a symphony to my spirit, I do not like button-pushers. Button pushers know how to do something, but not why they are doing it. Button-pushers take short-cuts. Button-pushers are neither comprehensive nor thorough. Button-pushers take the easy way out. Button-pushers are satisfied with the superficial. Button pushers are not curious. Button pushers never reach their potential. I don’t like button pushers.

I met my first button pusher during a rehearsal at our church several years ago. The band was reviewing a song and the keyboardist kept mangling his part. Finally, I asked him what the problem was. He said that he couldn’t play that particular song because the song wasn’t in his key. That made absolutely no sense to me, because I assumed that a keyboardist understood and could play every key on the keyboard, hence the name “keyboardist.” But that’s when I discovered that there is a difference between a pianist and keyboardist. Although the latter is based on the former, the keyboard has a feature that the piano does not. The keyboard has a transposer. A transposer is a button that automatically change the key. Ergo, you do not have to know or understand every key on a keyboard in order to play it. You can just push a button and the keyboard will make it sound like whatever key you want. A piano isn’t as forgiving. A piano has no buttons. You either know the keys or you don’t. There is no question that buttons simplify tasks. And I do not object to the simplification of tasks, per se. But buttons can also conceal incompetence, shelter laziness, and promote sloth. And for those reasons, I don’t like button pushers.

In college, we were encouraged to do whatever we did so well that no one living, dead, or yet to be be born could do it any better. Our instructors were trying to encourage mastery, proficiency and skill. These attributes are enduring, and reflect God’s desire for us to be and to operate at our best. When Solomon was making preparation to build the temple, he wrote to his father’s friend Hiram the King of Tyre, and made the following request. In 2 Chronicles 2:5-7, Solomon wrote:

This must be a magnificent Temple because our God is greater than all other gods. But who can really build him a worthy home? Not even the highest heavens can contain him! So who am I to consider building a Temple for him, except as a place to burn sacrifices to him?

So send me a master craftsman who can work with gold, silver, bronze, and iron, as well as with purple, scarlet, and blue cloth. He must be a skilled engraver who can work with the craftsmen of Judah and Jerusalem who were selected by my father, David.

Solomon wanted “master craftsman” to build the temple. Solomon wanted people who knew what they were doing, why they were doing it and why it mattered. Not dilettantes. Not hacks. Not button-pushers. Master Craftsman!

Whatever you do, take pride in it. Strive to be a “master craftsman.” Live, work, and serve as if you believe that cultivating mastery is one of the ways that we honor God, serve humanity, and impact the world.