Time for a Mud Bath

Dear friend,

Thinking the other day about you and me. We work in a business where we tend to see people for their utility. Often, I here one or someone else describe a non-performer as a piece of shit. I get it. I understand. You're tired. Maybe even exhausted. And when expressing derision, it's the spitting of words that's quick, easy, and understood.

There was another time when spitting was a sport. Back in the day-- Jesus day-- to be precise, the way you implied complete disgust was spitting on the ground at the feet of someone in an argument.

This was so ingrained into the culture that it comes up in one of the miracles of Jesus. There's story told about Jesus healing a healing a blind man that illustrates this point so well. To my knowledge, it's the only miracle that Jesus did in parts. In Mark chapter 8, if you want to read along, Jesus has a man brought to him by some people who beg him to touch them man. Many of the miracles Jesus did were through the power of the simple power of touch. But here Jesus does something different. The Dusty Book literally says Jesus leads the blind man out of the village, and spits on his eyes. first, before we get to the weird moments, notice that Jesus takes the man for a walk. Probably because blindness was accepted where he sat. Get what I'm saying? Sometimes you have to step out of an environment to realize that the way you've been living can actually be different.

And then it happens: Jesus spits. Hawks a loogie in the dude's eyes. Probably a juicy one. Jesus was never into half-way expressions. Wait... What? He spits in his eyes. Why? That doesn't seem like polite version of Jesus I've got in my head. He spits in the man's eyes. Not loving at all.

Except that it's the immaculate expression of love. In that day, to spit in public was the sign of total derision and disgust. It was a statement that you would tolerate no more. Jesus spitting into the man's eyes is an act of love. Because he's not spitting on the man. Instead, he is spiting on the pain and the brokenness and the blindness. Jesus has some amazing direction to his spit.

So he does the miracle and everyone one goes home rejoicing, right? Not quite. Jesus actually takes a pause here, and asks, "Can you see anything, now?" The man replies, "I can see people, but not clearly. They look like trees walking around.." So it's then that Jesus lays his hands on the man and completely restores his sight.

That dramatic pause has always caught me. How often do I see people who look like trees walking around? For their utility? Or their upkeep? Or their value for a project? Or the fact that they're in the way? Trees are actually headed toward dust. Or paper. Or fodder for forest fires. Or furniture at Daniel's Amish Furniture store but get your order in early because they're not especially quick although they are definitely worth waiting for. Trees are destined for dust. But people. Not so much. What if the people around you are the only thing that doesn't turn to dust?

Consider the opposite for a moment... If people aren't permanent, there is no single moral, ethical, or religious argument for treating them like anything other than a commodity. George Orwell saw it coming in Animal Farm. Think Evolution is responsible for treating people better and better over time? First of, we've got the little problem of system entropy that rears its ugly head, but I'll let the kids from the Biology and Physics departments wrestle that out. But if we're truly evolving in that way as a species, we'd be growing out of out of our need for government and there would continually be less laws. How's that working out?

No, I at least am convinced there are many things we do every day that testify to an idea of human permanence that exist below the surface of our daily lives. (Hold on while I buckle my seat belt.) Even as we're plowing through life tearing down the forests of people around us, we come up against touchstones that testify to our desire for more time. Ever been to a graveside service? The people most involved (they're usually sitting in the front row) are either in grief or gladness, but if you asked any of them, they'd want one more conversation with the body about to be lowered into the ground. Even the people who would have brought their own shovels had it been within social convention are deep in conversation with the deceased.

So maybe it's time to step out of the village and see things differently. I know it's possible. Because that's my story. I hope someday it's yours.