Holy Mess

Crushed cheerios on the floor. Sticky strings of spaghetti on the chair. Flakes of parmesan on the table. The residue announces clearly, “children ate here.” As I do on most nights, I sigh as I pick up the broom and reach for the dustpan. Ughh.. Such a mess!

“Such a mess.” This refrain or some variation on this theme sounds forth from many homes most days. Our lives are such a mess to clean up. But sometimes, on rare occasions, the Holy Spirit infuses the mess with a sense of divine clarity.

Tonight as I pushed those food bits into little piles, my frustration ebbed a bit. I realized that mess is the proof that we are that we are living. We come into this world in mess. I’ll never forget the words of the midwives at the birth center almost seven years ago: “Having a baby here is like having a baby at home except you don’t have to do the laundry.” No doubt about it, birth is messy.

Our loved ones who have died leave behind all the pieces of their life, sometimes in complete disarray. We are left to clean up the piles of papers, drawers of clothes, food in the fridge, trinkets and so much other stuff. The great sadness is that as we sort through a lifetime of belongings, we discover that this person will not be present with us any longer in the messiness of the every day. A cleaned out house seems unnatural. It can be unbearable.

In these days of vaults, space-capsule caskets and full-service funeral homes, death seems less messy, but those who have re-discovered “green” funeral practices honor that death is messy; we become the dirt and dust, that stuff we don’t want wiped onto our clean, swept floors. “Remember, that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”

The Holy Spirit moment for me tonight was in the realization that this God I try to believe in embraces the mess. It is holy mess, holy ground. Kathleen Norris calls the this combination of the routine, mundane routine and God’s presence "Quotidian Mysteries."  We think we need to escape to the pristine mountain or the immaculate chapel to find God and yes, God will be there, too. But what is truly amazing is God in the place we leas expect: in a messy birth, in a tortured death, in an earthen tomb. For in a mystery that still confounds me, God brings new life out of the mess.  Next time I sigh, perhaps I’ll recall God’s presence in those sighs too deep for words. Emmanuel­ ­— God with us, even and most of all, in the ordinary, holy mess.