Dirt

At this moment there is a small container of dirt in my office.

It has to do with the children's message on Sunday.  Wracking my brain for an idea for the complicated gospel reading about the man born blind, I thought about the mud Jesus put on the man's eyes.  Dirt plus water equals mud, I thought.  Surely we could riff on that for a couple of minutes with the children.

I thought I ought to go out and buy some dirt.  This is my way.  I am not proud to admit it.  My husband said, "Why don't you dig some up from around the church?"  But before I could retort to this perfectly sensible idea, one of my good church members was texting me about helping with the children and wondered if there was anything she could do.

"I need dirt," I texted back.

So I had dirt on Sunday morning, and a little bit of water, and I made a little bit of mud in a pie plate while asking the children about what was good about dirt.  They shouted out that things could grow in dirt:  flowers and vegetables and other things.  They thought about good things that we need water for too:  for drinking and washing and growing things.  We need water to live!  they said.

We need dirt to live too.

I poured a little bit of water on the dirt and asked what we made.

Everyone knew it was going to be mud.  Some thought it was cool, except when I asked about Jesus putting it on the blind man's eyes.  "Ewwww!"  said one little boy.

But a miracle happened.  Using dirt and water, Jesus made a blind man see.

Just water and dirt and Jesus.

We are made of earth too, according to the Bible.  Water and dirt.  It could be humbling.

And yet fearfully and wonderfully made.

Water and dirt and Jesus.  Miracles.  Each and every one of us, muddy, messy miracles.