Mrs. S., this is not working!

A young man’s exclamation instantly sent my brain into a feverish review of all potential things that could NOT be working, hoping desperately it’s something I already knew about. The day before we had opened up our house and our back yard to our neighborhood kids as hosts of Backyard Summer Club – a four-evening, volunteer-empowered event designed to give elementary age children an opportunity to meet Jesus in a fun, creative and inviting way. When fun and creativity collide with hordes of people of all ages, one should expect casualties.

What is it? I asked trying to sound calm.

There is a big pile of dog doo in the middle of your yard, and all these kids are running around barefoot!

I looked out and saw dozens of kids and teenagers throwing Frisbees and kicking balls around the backyard lawn. Somebody must have let the dog out and apparently failed to pick up after her.

Oh, my! Thanks for letting me know. I’d better get out of there right away.

I grabbed some plastic bags and rushed out of the door but unfortunately just seconds too late. For, there, in the middle of our yard, I found the dog pile all flattened and few steps away from it a little boy standing covered in shame and embarrassment.

Ewwww, he stepped into it! Cried out several others.

The boy’s eyes were quickly filling up with tears.

It’s O.K., hon – it could have happened to anyone. I’ll take care of it.

I ushered the unlucky winner of the The-Grossest-Thing-That-Happened-to-Me-During-the-Backyard-Summer-Club award to the side of the house where I rinsed out his feet with water. Majority washed off immediately, but there were some stubborn pieces that refused to let go of his soft pale skin. I stood there deliberating whether I should go inside and get some rubber gloves, not really wanting to touch it with my bare hands. But as I looked into his dejected face, it became evident what I needed to do. I bent down and started rubbing his feet and gently scraping the remainder with my fingernails. After we finished, I washed my hands and slowly put the hose back, watching him prance away with his feet sparkly clean to join the rest of the group in carefree play.

I lingered behind, soaking in the metaphor we’d unwittingly played out. Life indeed is messy. All of us, sooner or later, find ourselves in all kinds of doo. I don’t mind helping you out, but my willingness goes only as far as your mess doesn’t infringe on me. What I want is a sanitized, rubber-gloved version of Christianity. A Christianity where I can keep you at arms length, never getting so close to your ‘stuff’ to contaminate my fingertips. But, in that aloofness, I miss out on the magical transformation that takes place on the side of the house, where in the communion of filth and cleansing, by the time our feet and our hands are rubbed clean, our faces, just like the little boy’s are also lifted up and we are free again to join in the play with the rest of His children.


He made Him who knew no sin to be sin on our behalf, so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him. 2 Corinthians 5:21