Holy

Holy Shit. 

These were the first words that escaped my lips when I walked into church Saturday morning, which was better than the vomit escaping. The smell of shit was strong enough to kick in my gag reflex and instantly make me open all the windows and search for the source.

In the morning rush for families to leave the church before the food pantry guests arrived, a trash can full of dirty diapers was missed and allowed to stew in stench. 

After swearing some and throwing a hissy fit about what a pain it was to clean out the trash cans and also unclog a bonus nasty toilet, I thought of how our dear Palestinian exchange student Nadeen would tell us only God is holy so "holy guacamole", "holy cow", and "holy shit" were all offensive to her Muslim ears.

But maybe shit is holy, especially the stench of hospitality offered to families who are experiencing homelessness and trying to find some stability so they can work on the hard stuff of life. The families we walk with are so brave and patient. It's hard to move towards sustainable housing when the steps feel so overwhelming. We can only take the hard stuff one step at a time and our families courageously keep stepping. 

Maybe the shit is holy, because the stink and inconvenience of life is often where Jesus hangs out. He's known to hang out on the margins, in the midst of the hard stuff of life, with those who have seeping wounds, broken hearts, and crushed spirits. 

We had a full house this last week with seven of our guests under the age of three. That's a lot of diapers.

I realized how pathetic my pity party was as I remembered our families trying to juggle little ones, trauma, and homelessness.

We've been taught to avoid discomfort and inconvenience (consumerism and convenience often go hand and hand), but this avoidance disconnects us from each other and fails to prepare us for the hard stuff of life. 

I remember asking an imam in Dearborn how they could possibly expect families to get to a burial within 24 hours of death and his response was, "Death is inconvenient." 

I think about that quote whenever I gripe about being inconvenienced. I try to change my thinking to celebrate whatever inconvenience I'm facing and how it better prepares me for death. Yay! 

There was a saint once who practiced sucking maggots out of the wounds of beggars so nothing would repulse her any longer. I'm not there, but I feel like cleaning up the diapers has moved me at least a little closer to holiness.