Tracking Mud
/by Rev. Eric Folkerth
I snapped this picture of a splotch of mud on the carpet at Church, just after everybody left worship Sunday. It’s part of a trail of mud down the center aisle that extends from our 1215 Door all the way up to the chancel area.
We had a lot of visitors with us on Confirmation Sunday; our first officially planned Sunday back inside our sanctuary since March of 2020. So I don’t know who tracked the mud inside.
Might have been a kid.
Might have been an adult.
Heck, *I* might have tracked it in, for all I know…
It doesn’t matter for the point I’m making here.
The point is that two immediate thoughts raced through my brain when I saw it. They happened within milliseconds of each other. Far quicker than you can read them on this page.
I thought:“Oh, dang. Somebody tracked mud in the sanctuary.”
And then: “Thank God! Somebody tracked mud into the sanctuary!!”
Many of you know local churches well, and have either been a part of Kessler Park or other congregations for many years. You know that in far too many churches there might even be a serious “freak out” that happens over a splotch of mud on the carpet.
Pre-pandemic, you know that in far too many churches the following things might actually happen:
Disturbed parishioners would call their pastor talking about the desecration of the holy space and how they found it “impossible” to worship and pray.
A committee would be formed.
Meetings would be held.
Ideas would be tossed out, on how to prevent the future scourge of muddy feet.
The church would then buy the newest, best door mats.
(After an extensive search of reviews on Amazon and Yelp…)
The Church Trustees would buy a plastic runner for the carpet.
Or, disposable shoe coverings for everybody’s feet.
(Kept in the narthex, next to the umbrella stand…)
The ushers would be instructed to “check feet” as folks came in the door; and would be provided with a “sample script” of what to say, should they discover a future offender.
Some ushers would express discomfort in being asked to do this.
Given this, printed signs would be tastefully placed on all exterior doors, and the verbiage on them would also become a permanent paragraph in the bulletin announcement section.
This would come after several committee meetings to carefully craft said verbiage.
But, after much discussion and many weeks, the gist of the agreed-upon wording would be: “Please check your feet.”
The pastor and/or the head of the Trustees would make an announcement before the start of next week’s service, about how we all need to be more careful, about how the sanctuary is a holy space, and how everyone needed to be on their best behavior and “watch yourself.”
In sum….the inordinate amount of energy, concern, and precious time expended to combat the scourge of a splotch of mud…would be STAGGERING.
(Again, please understand. I am not talking about KPUMC, specifically. I’m asking you to pretend with me about what happens in far too many places…)
Friends, I hope you know where I’m going.
The pandemic year has reset everything. It’s peeled back layer upon layer of “the way we’ve always done things” and left those layers rotting in the gutter to be washed away by these spring rains.
Churches —any church anywhere— can no longer afford to waste their time on such nonsense.
Yes, I called it nonsense. Because in the event that your thoughts are still back on the mud itself —worried about what to do about it— I want you to focus on just how dire things really are.
Churches were already struggling pre-pandemic.
For decades, Churches have wrestled with their sense of calling or purpose, or how to attract and keep young folks, or how to become more diverse; all while the percentage of church-going Americans plummets, year-on-year.
Time and time again, Churches everywhere have an insidious way of “majoring in the minor;” wasting away what Mary Oliver calls our “one wild and precious life” solving problems that aren’t the problems.
Or, even worse, solving “problems” that are actually signs that you’re doing your job.
I mean, mud in the sanctuary means PEOPLE in the sanctuary. It’s an outward and visible sign of an outward and visible grace.
— It’s a sign that children, youth, and their families might be coming in the door.
— It’s a sign that some *new person* (who doesn’t know your rules and customs) might’ve come in the door.
— It’s a sign that the world is complicated and real, gritty and challenging —filled with ethical and social justice issues all of humankind wrestles with every day— and that people are desperate for community, connection, and support, and somebody to wrestle-through these same issues.
— It's a sign that, after fourteen of the longest months of our lives, somebody is IN the sanctuary, tracking in mud.
— It’s a sign that the world is far, far less tidy than the pretend world we too often play at inside a sanctuary’s walls.
That mud…is a sign of hope.
So, please don’t worry about the mud. Sometime this week, after it’s dried, I feel more than confident somebody will break out the vacuum and it will all be cleaned away.
But long after it’s gone, keep looking at this picture.
Keep reminding yourself of how it’s a sign of HOPE.
After a year of pandemic, there’s really only *one* response we can make to mud on the church carpet…
“Thank God! Somebody tracked mud into the sanctuary!!”
