Jesus Loves Tidy

The campus minister at Bellarmine University when I earned my bachelor’s degree there was Father P. J. McGuire.  I lost touch with him several years ago after giving up the practice of sending Christmas cards in an attempt to simplify what had become a chaotic, commercial season of unnecessary stress.  He lives in Milwaukee, so when the annual greeting cards stopped, so did our connection.  I regret that very much.

I vividly remember the time he led a weekend retreat for a bunch of us college students.  We stayed at a tranquil retreat house in a rural setting not far out of town, and he had one rule for its upkeep – clean up after yourself.  He had a way of playfully reminding us to wash our own dishes and strip our own beds that made me giggle every time:  “Remember, Jesus loves tidy!” 

The Last to Arrive

Most of us had arrived there early that first evening and were well into the retreat activities when a second contingent arrived much later that night.  There were two guys and two girls, only one of which was known to me.  He was tall and handsome, and Father P. J. shook his hand warmly, a huge smile across his face as they entered.  He was clearly very happy that this young man and his friends chose to attend.

But the foursome wasn’t at breakfast the next morning.  I learned that they had seen the weekend less as a time of quiet reflection and more as an opportunity for a drunken hook-up.  Father P. J. had thrown them out during the night.  Although I didn’t see the departure scene myself, I could easily imagine P. J. with the fire of Irish anger reddening his cheeks, his fists clenched and jaw tightened, telling them to get the hell out.  It was the talk of the table over coffee and Cheerios that next morning. 

The Fury of Flooding

The first Sunday of Lent this week comes with its own get-the-hell-out kind of message.  In the first reading, God addresses Noah after the infamous rains – 40 days and 40 nights worth. Having just wiped out all but him, his family, and the floating zoo, God promises to never again destroy all life by flood.  Personally, I do not believe Noah and the ark historical realities.  But I do believe that the story about them conveys a different kind of truth.  It holds a mirror up to the universal human need to be purified, to be wiped clean, to be stripped bare.  Such cleansing hurts.  But it also heals.  As every kid with a skinned knee has learned, cleaning the wound is painful but necessary.  All that might impede healing must get the hell out.  Jesus loves tidy.

The Dryness of Desert

Then in the gospel reading, Jesus spends 40 days and nights in the desert being tempted to abandon his calling.  This time it isn’t water that cleanses; it’s desert.  The dryness of baked earth is needed to suck the juice out of any self-doubt or anxiety Jesus may have had.  All that might impair the mission must get the hell out.  Jesus love tidy.

Lent is the get-the-hell-out season of the liturgical year.  It’s time to get rid of the beliefs, attitudes, and expectations that keep us from our best selves.  It’s time to let go of the relationships that no longer give us life.  It’s time to give up that grudge or forgive that slight or adjust that misguided goal.  All that might undermine the fullness of life must get the hell out.  Jesus loves tidy.