Into the Filth

Warning: this blog post deals with some nasty stuff. If you have no stomach for discussions of bodily fluids, I suggest you skip this and go have a cup of tea instead. And if you do read on, please also have a cup of tea. Whatever you choose to do concerning the following epistle, please include tea in your plans. It will make your day better.

Last week, I wrote the following unedited email to my husband in response to his inquiry about how my day was going and his hope that our daughter was getting over her bought of constipation:

My Dear Benjamin,
Good morning! I (twice) helped Monica poop a little bit of dry stuff. And by helped, I mean I put a clear trash bag over my hand and pulled the chunks out of her bum while she pushed and screamed. It did seem to relieve her a little. I bought some apple/pear juice this morning and gave her some (it's supposed to help with constipation) but she threw it all up over her and me. So we lost more liquid.
It's kinda been a gross morning.
I'm off to go for a walk in the woods. I need to remember that somethings in nature are beautiful....
I love you,
Caitlin

For those of you who may be concerned, Monica has since gotten over her constipation issue. In fact, we had one of those forget-baby-wipes-we're-going-straight-to-the-shower events a couple days ago, so all is well.

Pulling feces out of my baby's bottom is not the only gross encounter with bodily fluids and excrement we've had over the last nine months. For starters, the kid used to pee not only before we changed her diaper, but during the process as well (something about the air hitting the skin of little people convinces them that now--right now--would be a good time to pee). So there's been some urine-soaked episodes in which whole outfits, three diapers, the changing pad, the couch cushion, and our own clothes needed washing.

And then there's the snot. If you've ever had to suction a baby's nose...well...God bless you, and may your eyes forget what they've seen.

There's also the spit-up. I used to wear clean clothes every day. Now I look at a pair of jeans and think, "That's not too bad. It'll do." There's not enough water in Greece to wash as much laundry as I'd have to do if I changed every time some regurgitation landed on me. So I wear clothing that's mostly clean--except for the spot here, and there, and that one streak over there.

The vocation of caretaker serves as a constant reminder that humans are fundamentally leaky creatures, that the muscle control that keeps all these liquids inside is a fragile thing, not easily gained and all too easily lost.

But there is a profound kindness at work when one of us will bear the filth of another. When I gave birth to Monica, I hemorrhaged quite badly. By the time the doctor had sown me up and the bleeding had stopped, there were sizable puddles of blood on the floor. After he came over to congratulate me on Monica's birth, he smiled warmly and said he would return to check on me again in a little while after he had changed his pants. I looked down and noticed that his clothes were soaked with my blood. At that moment I was particularly struck that this man had willingly and joyfully allowed himself to be covered by my gore for the last hour or so; it was such a deeply merciful sort of charity.

There's a story in the gospels of Christ taking off his outer garment and washing the feet of his disciples. Every time I've heard it retold in church, the speaker usually remarks on what a menial job foot-washing was back in 33 A.D., and the audience is supposed to react to these sermons by thinking, "Ewww, he washed their feet! Feet are gross. Yuck." But we seem to focus too often on what Christ was washing, and not so much on what he was washing off. It is one thing for me to say I washed my baby's bottom. That's unpleasant enough. It is quite another to say that I washed feces and urine off her bottom. It is, I suppose, disgusting to think of washing the feet of twelve men. But it is even more so when we think of what Jesus must have washed away. Sweat and dust are nasty, but this is ancient Palestine here. We're probably also talking about pieces of animal excrement and splashes of human urine--foul, slimy, stinky filth.

I feel a kind of kinship with Christ as foot-washer when I clean various bodily fluids off my daughter. Some of us have tangible filth that we must wash away on a daily basis. But when I was a high school teacher, I was dealing with filth, too. No, I wasn't changing diapers, but some students came in besmeared with the grime of a broken home, the dirty shame of abuse, and the dung of parental anger. Teachers willingly expose themselves to the muck their students drag with them, and--by showing love and kindness--we try to wash away what filth we can.

This filth seeps into every profession, not just that of a teacher. We each carry filth within us. I am sometimes callous, sometimes rude, often judgmental, and even more often lazy in doing good. Whatever we find ourselves doing, we're going to be exposed to the spiritual filth of others and the filth in ourselves.

But something can happen in that exposure: a kind of magic alters our hearts. When Monica was in the midst of her constipation, she was in so much pain that she would periodically double over and scream while she pushed. I found myself praying that God would relieve her little body and help her to poop. It seemed a bit humorous to be praying that a baby would have a bowel movement, but then the thought struck me, "This is how you become more like Christ, by caring about the menial problems of a little person who can never repay your love." This is the coming of the kingdom of God into our hearts: when we love enough to care about the filth that plagues another and the pain that goes with it, especially when that person is very insignificant in the eyes of the world.

When we willingly touch the filth of others and put aside our grimy self-importance and putrid superiority, then we become clean of our own foul vanity and learn the truth of the Beatitude: "Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God."