The Dirty Side of Worship

It is just unacceptable that Jesus refused to fit into this sensible mold of what a Messiah ought to look like. He didn’t dress right, look right or even eat right—according to the top authorities of proper etiquette of Second Temple Judaism. It’s perfectly understandable we’re a little bothered by the sight of people with dirty hands, unkempt hair or missing teeth. We try not to make it too noticeable when we simply choose to sit in another row. Well, here’s the reality: Jesus insisted on reaching out and wrapping His also-unwashed hands around the ugly and the unwashed.

It’s not like Jesus didn’t care about being clean. He knew real dirt when He saw it. And He didn’t like it. Not one little bit. But the dirt He saw is the kind we usually ignore. Jesus would look around this table full of fastidious men, the religious elite, with clean robes, manicured hands and perfectly combed beards, and He would see all the unwashed dirt. They saw his fingernails. He saw their hearts.

“You all think you look good on the outside,” He said once. “But when I look at you, I see all kinds of disgusting filth—but it’s all on the inside. And that’s where it’s the most dangerous. A little dirt under your fingernails is not the problem. It’s the dirt you leave unnoticed and unwashed that’s inside you. That’s the dirt that matters” (Luke 11:39).

Jesus had some pretty funny ways of thinking. Maybe no one told Him the important thing for Christian leadership is to look good. Churches aren’t going to hire ugly pastors. Maybe Jesus never read Dress for Success. He didn’t seem overly interested in washing up before lunch or hanging out with people from the low end of the gene pool, but He was deeply troubled by the unwashed hearts of the religious leaders He saw around the table.

Still, if I’d lived back then, I don’t know if I would have been happy taking Jesus to church when He was a kid. What if He was a lot like my oldest son? Can you picture that? Wrinkled robe. Messy hair. Dirty hands. What if Jesus had been the kind of kid who, no matter how much you cleaned Him up, got to synagogue looking like He hadn’t washed in a week or changed clothes in a month? And then you’d see him with the other kids. Messy Jesus standing with all the other nice squeaky-clean kids ready for the Bible lesson.

“That’s our Jesus,” Mary whispered to the older woman standing next to her. “He’s the one on the left.”

“Yes, dear, I see. I’m sure He must be a handful. Shame He could not get cleaned up for worship. Maybe you can see to that next time you come.”

“But,” Mary tried to explain, “you just don’t understand.”

“Cleanliness is next to godliness,” the older woman smiled a knowing smile at Mary.

Mary was growing a little impatient. “I will tell you one thing, if there’s any child, in fact, anybody here this morning who is clean enough to worship, then Jesus …”  Mary trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. She’d run into this before. No use trying to explain the unexplainable. At least not yet. One day.

This coming Sunday, many of us will wash up before going to a time of worship where no time will be spent reflecting on moral failures, in word and deed, and confessing our sins in the presence of a holy and all-knowing God as a part of worship. We will spend more time with soap than sorrow. We will clean up what doesn’t really matter and hardly give a second thought to the dirt that does.