Dirty

Being clean is a dream. And I'm not just talking about here. Sure, people here routinely spit on the sidewalk. They'll pick their nose, roll up and flick the boogers, and then offer to shake your hand. Little kids run around in split pants, pooping and peeing everywhere. It's a little disturbing, actually, since you realize these kids sit everywhere that you might sit: on benches, on restaurant chairs, in a taxi. The other day, something big left a present in our stairwell. The stench was suffocating, there were flies everywhere. We didn't examine the evidence too closely, but I'm pretty sure it was an adult. So, at first glance, maybe it's pretty clear to you what I mean when I say "Being clean is a dream." But what I mean is that you really can't be clean, here or anywhere else for that matter. And lest you think I'm alluding to some sort of deeper, metaphysical meaning, I'm not. What I am trying to say is that it is impossible to be physically clean. When we talk about being clean, it is always relative to something. When I talk about whether I am clean, I'm comparing my current state to the state I'm in after taking a shower. But is that truly clean? What does it mean to be clean? If being clean means removing every speck of dirt, poop, sweat, booger, and dead particle from my body, I'm pretty sure that I'm not clean. I'm just not that thorough. Even if you used this as the standard of being clean (which is moderately low) and told me that you exceeded it, I would tell you, after you exfoliated with a pumice stone, after you filed your nails, after you trimmed your nose hairs and blew your nose, after you plucked various places on your body, after you applied Old Spice to your underarms, after all of this, I would still tell you that you weren't clean. If you are a human being, your body is in a constant state of regeneration and production. It is making new skin, new hair, new mucus; all to protect us. Our body is also constantly flushing out things that will harm us: that's why we spit, poop, pee, sweat. And all of this stuff is the stuff we are constantly try to get rid of in order to be clean. So, the moment you stop plucking, trimming, washing, rinsing, wiping, shaving, exfoliating, scrubbing, you're dirty all over again. And, I guess, to be human is to be in a state of unclean. In evaluating whether someone is clean, what we are really trying to figure out is: Is this person as clean as I think a person should be clean? When you're in a place where everyone (or you assume everyone) shares your sense of being clean, it's not much of an issue. But in the past year, it's become more of an issue for me. I've noticed that I have started to notice people smells around me, usually commenting on them, in my head or aloud, in the negative (like I don't have a smell). Or talking about how dirty outside is (like I'm not dirty). It's painful to admit, but most of the time, I'm more interested in pursuing a dreamy, unreasonable, even hypocritical ideal of clean. I'm more interested in examining someone to see if they have dirt and smelling them to see if they have an odor, more than being with someone that is like me: dirty and human, more than knowing them and embracing their humanity. I'm not saying that showering is wrong. Or that we shouldn't spend any time grooming. Or that exfoliating your skin is somehow a tool of the devil. It's a good thing to be, relatively, clean. But when I develop a horror and aversion to someone because of their perceived uncleanliness, when I am unable to pursue a relationship with them, to interact with them because I'm afraid of getting my apartment dirty, if this becomes the obstacle in knowing them… Perhaps this is why the story of Christ is so powerful. Here is a person that was clean, not just without sin, but clean in every sense of the word. He didn't smell bad, there wasn't any dirt on him. And then he became human. When we talk about loving Him and embracing Him, would we be so eager to have Him speak directly into our face, knowing that He didn't have access to a Sonicare toothbrush or Colgate Icy Mint toothpaste? Would we be put off shaking His hand, knowing He had just walked for days sweating profusely under an unrelenting sun, knowing that there wasn't a toilet paper roll to be found anywhere for thousands of miles or thousands of years? Would we cringe as He embraced us, knowing that He had touched lepers and beggars? I would hope that I wouldn't, but I'm ashamed to say that I think I would.