(First published July 29, 2011)

They drew lots. That’s how groups of priests ended up working the late shift. It’s how anyone ends up working the late shift. Hardly anyone picks it. Instead, work instead of sleep picks people.

The novices. The newbies. The exhausted. The ones who draw the short matchstick, the broken one.

Every night, fulfilling duty.

It’s not just priests in the temple in Jerusalem who work the late shift. Some of you are wondering why the clock shows single digits in the am range right now.

The child cried. And you are sharing peanut butter and juice communion with a two-year old. Some noise rattled you, and now you are awake, remembering the ache that twenty-two years hasn’t completely healed. Your body awakened you, or the last glass of water did, and now you review yesterday’s work, your child’s future, your friend’s infidelity, and your uncertain hopes.

And you pray.

In part out of habit. In part out of obligation. In part out of hope that God is listening. In part out of confidence that he is.

You are on the third shift. You are the temple.

Some nights, though not all, when you listen past the sound of the cicadas and air conditioners, you hear singing. Almost whispered. Just outside the window.

Praise the LORD, all you servants of the LORD
who minister by night in the house of the LORD.
Lift up your hands in the sanctuary
and praise the LORD.

May the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth,
bless you from Zion.

You look out, half expecting to see the people on their annual pilgrimage to Jerusalem, tenting in your backyard, ready to see the temple in the morning. This song acknowledged that some people work by praying all night.

Instead, you realize it’s God. Awake. Aware.