B E H I N D / T H E / B A R

D I R T Y ::

When I was a kid I low key enjoyed getting dressed up for church.  Mom & Dad always made sure that I had clean, pressed, and “dressier” clothes than my “school” clothes for church.  I called them my “church clothes.”  I could run, play, climb, pretend I was Superman with mom’s red apron tied precariously around my neck . . . in my “school clothes,” but NOT in my “church clothes.  They’re were to be kept nice & clean. I can still hear my momma saying “Shannon!  Don’t get your church clothes dirty!”  

Here’s the thing though, church clothes were somewhat prohibitive.  When all the other kids were outside after church running around the building, climbing the church flag pole – not me – I stayed away from that frivolity because I would get my church clothes dirty – and that could mean trouble for my backside later.  

As I grew, and began to pastor – the value of “church clothes” diminished greatly.  I’m not driven as much as I was  to wear suits, ties, and uncomfortable leather loafers.  I prefer function over form.   However,  I still prefer to keep my clothes clean and unsoiled, especially if I’m going to stand in front of a room of listeners.  I don’t want them distracted by a coffee spill on my shirt, or an ink stain on the pocket of my pants.   

But a few months ago – I discovered that I still had somewhat of a “church clothes” mentality.  

One Sunday morning, a RiverChurch family member was sharing with the body about an upcoming ministry opportunity in a state prison.  He was encouraging us to give, write letters of encouragement to inmates, or bring boxes of home made cookies so he could deliver them to the prisoners when it was time for the outreach.   

While he was talking, my buddy Thomas (who had, per usual, the night before had a little too much of the sauce) came staggering right up to the front where the man was talking and laid a dollar bill on the podium.  Thomas’s words were mostly unintelligible, but I heard him spout off his identification number from his days of incarceration, and he left his dollar bill as a way of saying he wanted to support this particular ministry effort.  He staggered away to the cafe side for a few minutes, and then he came staggering back in the room as if he wanted to say more.  

In stealth mode, I jumped up from my seat and intercepted Thomas before he could interrupt the speaker again.   I carefully walked him back to the cafe side and said, 

“Thomas, you can’t walk up like that when someone’s talking.”  He  looked at me and started crying, weeping actually.

“Shannon – I’ve been in there.  I know what it’s like.  My prison number was  . . . . .  They need to know, Shannon!  They need to know.”  

All I knew to do in that moment was hug Thomas, agree with him, that they did need to know – and I did.  His wet face, draped in dirty oily hair, lay against my shoulder for a few seconds more and then he returned to his seat and sat there for the rest of the gathering – quietly.   

I turned around to ready myself for the delivery of the sermon –  when out of the corner of my eye I noticed some sort of spot on the front side of my shoulder.  I looked down and realized that my nice clean shirt was now wet, and stained from Thomas’ tears and other facial fluids, and for a split second I thought “OH NO!!!!! MY CHURCH CLOTHES ARE DIRTY!”

I didn’t have time to do anything about it, so I walked right up to the front to deliver  my sermon, preaching my heart out with a nice big snot stain on my shirt – that ironically no-one in the room seemed to even notice.  

Thomas actually preached a sermon to me that day.  He made me think of how Jesus was known for eating with “tax collectors and sinners.”  

The very Christ, I claim to follow got down in the dirt and wrote a message to an adulterous woman.  

He spat in the dirt to make mud that he would apply with his own hands on the eyes of a blind man in order to heal him.  

He touched people with flesh eating diseases – with his bare hands.  

Jesus most certainly had dirty church clothes, and He probably didn’t think one thing about it.  I think He actually . . . had fun getting his church clothes dirty.  More fun than the guys standing around him with long robes, big tassels, and well you know. . . fancy church clothes.  

So I’ve stopped worrying so much about getting my church clothes dirty.  

How about you?  

Are you getting your church clothes dirty?  Or are you scared to?  You’re not going to get in trouble if you do – at least not with your Father.  He’s okay with it – in fact I think He actually likes it when we get them dirty.  

I guess I should qualify shouldn’t I?  

Dirty in the sense of getting in the middle of the mess with that person that needs a shoulder to cry on, a person to eat a meal with them, or someone to bind up their wounds, or maybe give them a place to stay for the night. 

It’s what Jesus would do.

So . . . go ahead GET THOSE CHURCH CLOTHES –  DIRTY!

It’ll be fun.