"Muddy People"

Pastor Nagle
02/27/2005

“Muddy People” Rom 5:1-11 John 4:5-42 The Third Sunday in Lent February 27, 2005
It’s been a stormy time in California lately. Have you kept up with all those landslides? Whole hillsides give way and hundreds of tons of mud sweep over everything in its way. Bury houses and cars, and people. Worst of all, bury people. You know, if there were a landslide, I’d hate to be a rescuer. Not because it’s muddy and messy and sticky hard work. Not even because it’s so emotionally draining. But because, when the landslide covers so many people, it’s hard to know which ones to save. I mean, covered with mud, they all look the same—and how are you to tell which ones deserve saving? It would be nice if they had some identifying mark. And really, those who wear a cross around their neck are easy. I’d know what to do about saving them. But what should we say about the others? There’s an awful lot of people out there. And a lot of people out there who are awful. Awful people. Muddy people.
Today’s gospel story tells of Jesus’ encounter with one such muddy person. Jesus and the disciples were traveling through Samaria, considered by Jews to be a sinful place, a renegade place, a forsaken place. Good Jews were in Samaria only if they couldn’t avoid it. But there they were, Jesus in the center of that town, while the disciples had gone off to get supplies. But Jesus wasn’t all alone. There came a woman to draw water from the well. The long conversation they had forms the bulk of today’s third lesson, a conversation which upset the disciples when they returned. I wonder which one of the disciples whispered into Jesus’ ear, “Lord, in case you haven’t noticed, that’s a woman you’re talking too. And in our society, men don’t talk with women. More than that, Lord, she’s a Samaritan woman.” But Jesus himself said, “Even more than that, she’s been married five times. And probably isn’t a widow. And is living with some man who’s not her legal husband.”
So the disciple probably said, “Well then, Lord, you’d better watch your reputation. Be aware of what people might say if you start associating with people like that. Oh, and Jesus, don’t forget to wash.” But Jesus said, “Which do you mean? Should I wash myself because I have been with her, or wash her because of who I am? And should I wash her body or cleanse her soul?” But the disciple didn’t hear that, let alone understand that, because he was by now moving as far away as he could, lest by touching a muddy person he might become a muddy person himself. And there was some sense to his hasty exit, because no one likes to get muddy. And the risk is that if you’re muddy, if you’re ever too muddy, people won’t be able to tell much about you. If you’re too covered with mud, they won’t be able to figure out if you’re supposed to be rescued or not. Which is ironic, isn’t it—that someone who works so much with muddy people might get so muddy that other rescuers wouldn’t know whether or not to save him.
Of course, mudslides happen in places like southern California or western Carolina. We don’t have to worry about stuff like that here. Except in a symbolic way. When one of life’s hillsides gives way and covers over everything in its path. When something crashes down and sweeps away what seemed normal and usual and nice, making it nasty and awful and deathly quiet. Has something like that ever happened to you? Has it ever happened to someone you know? Can you imagine it happening any time soon? Not a literal landslide, but something that crushes peoples lives, that covers them over, buries them under, where in silence, they wait for someone to rescue them. At work, in the neighborhood, in your extended family, might it ever happen that you’d be present at the right time, or the wrong time, just in time to rescue someone muddy?
If so, what would you do? I’d like to think that you and I would dig in. But you know, I just bought this new pair of shoes, and mud stains. And I’ve worked hard to get my nails looking this good. And I’m really behind at the office and my family likes it when I spend time at home. And besides, what do I know about landslides? Surely there are something like landslide professionals. People who know what to do. People who want to do. Who don’t mind working with muddy people. Do you know where in the phone book you find the number for anybody who doesn’t mind working with muddy people?
It’s interesting to note that, after the Samaritan woman finished talking with Jesus, she ran into her neighborhood to tell people what had just happened. And lots of people ran back to the well to see if Jesus were still there. At least, he was a curiosity. At least, he was a mind-reader. Maybe he was a miracle worker. Should he be identified as a rescue worker? Yes, a professional rescue worker. Unlike us who, at best, are unofficial rescue workers. Maybe even reluctant rescue workers. Not reluctant just because we don’t want to get stained, but well aware of the risk. You know, if the first collapse caused all this trouble, maybe another collapse just like it would trap us. Granted, you have to feel sorry for people whose lives have gotten messed up. But does anybody really expect that we should get messed up helping them? Or even being in the area?
Besides, in the case of really bad landslides, everybody’s probably already dead anyway. That’s not crass so much as realistic. When you’ve had a mountain fall on you, any kind of awful physical, emotional or spiritual mountain, when you’re buried, you might as well die. And if you’re already close to dying, there’s not a lot that I can do. Or care to do for muddy people.
For, what if the troubles are of their own making? I’m sorry that your marriage broke up, but you know, you really did have an illicit affair. I’m sorry your health broke down, but you know, you really didn’t take care of yourself. I’m sorry your kids turned out so badly, but you know, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I’m sorry you’re all muddy, but maybe you should have thought of that before you lived where landslides are. I’m really sorry for all this, but I just don’t see myself having any responsibility for muddy people. Muddy people I can’t identify, or classify. Because, when people are muddy, you don’t want to save them because you can’t tell what color they are on the outside or what they stand for on the inside, can’t tell if they’re smiling or grumpy, honest or thieving, like us or not.
But the sound of our intellectual discussion is broken by the sound of digging. Not possible survivors digging out, but someone digging in, looking for muddy people. Jesus, looking for muddy people. Activity which causes us some distress. So, which of us should go to whisper in his ear, “Jesus, if you’re not careful, you’re going to get your clothes stained. Jesus, it’s an awful mess here and there’s not much hope. Jesus, if you knew the kind of people who lived where the mud flowed, you’d probably put down your shovel.”
But Jesus says, If you were under all that mud, wouldn’t you want someone to look for you? Well of course, though it seems to us that we wouldn’t be under that mud in the first place. But for the sake of argument, yes, Lord, we’d want someone to come looking for us. Which is precisely what was the subject of today’s second lesson. That Jesus came looking for the muddy. Actually, St. Paul said it this way:
“For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. Indeed, rarely will anyone die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person someone might actually dare to die. But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us. Much more surely then, now that we have been justified by his blood, will we be saved through him from the wrath of God. For if while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son, much more surely, having been reconciled, will we be saved by his life.” Saved by. Walked with. Talked to. Washed. Not because we were so good or obedient or holy or righteous, but because we were so muddy. Washed.
Another child of God is being baptized here this morning. Washed. One week after the last child was baptized. Several weeks before the next one. Lots and lots of people get washed here. So many people get washed here that I’ve been told, you know, we could get this baptizing thing done more efficiently. You know, do them all at once so we don’t have to drag it out every week. But you know, washing muddy people isn’t efficient; it happens one person at a time. Again today. With this muddy little guy.
Someone says, “You’d better not let his parents hear you say he’s muddy!” Why, is there a problem with him being muddy? But why else would the waters of baptism be needed to make him clean, if he weren’t muddy? Not as muddy today as next year. Maybe muddier still in a decade or three. Sometimes less muddy, sometimes more. But always living in the threat of mountains that may fall, but always living close to someone who cares enough to search for him. Without knowing how muddy, or why muddy or when, always caring enough to search for him and find him, and hold him close.
Have you always been held close? No, not all of you. Not all of the time. You have been troubled by your spouse, your children, your church, your mind. Trapped under the weight of a world that gave way and buried you. Maybe without warning. Maybe not. Maybe your own fault. Maybe not. Maybe as big a deal as someone else’s. Maybe not. Maybe suffocating, maybe not that bad. But aren’t you glad to know that someone will dig. Will dig for you without stopping until you’re found. Will rejoice and be glad when you’re found.
There’s an awful lot of people out there. And a lot of people out there are awful. Aren’t we. And yet the proclamation of the church is that our Lord comes to dig and care and save and wash and cry and rejoice and claim us as his own. The muddy people of God.