Down and Dirty

Last night after our Lenten service, we had a little accident at the church.

Oh, it was quite minor.  You see, during the construction of the fellowship hall, those who laid the pipe put a cutoff valve right next to the driveway beside the building.  More than once, someone has accidentally driven over the valve cover and busted the pipe.  It happened again last night.

Ordinarily, this wouldn't be much of an issue.  We'd just cut the water off and wait until morning to fix things.  However, there is one problem: the church and the parsonage come off the same water source.  Shutting the water off for one shuts it off for the other.  Now, I am positive my family and I could make it without water for a night, but it wouldn't exactly be the easiest thing in the world.   Fortunately, my congregation members understand that.

We jumped into action quickly...beginning with me.  Since the parsonage is right next door, I grabbed my sharpshooter (it's a shovel for those of you who might not know) and started digging down to the broken pipe.  Within a matter of moments, I had dug down to the leak.  At this point, I didn't look much like the "saintly, scholarly" pastor.

I had mud up to my elbows.

I had mud covering my jeans.

My boots were wet and muddy.

And I loved it!

I miss doing things where I get dirty and grimy.  Growing up, I spent numerous hours on my grandfather's farm.  Whether it was chopping cotton, getting Johnson grass out of the grain, or working on farm implements, by the time I was done, I was dusty, grimy, dirty, with sweat and dirt stains on my clothes and stinking to high heaven.  And yet, despite all this, I could look at what I had done and have a sense of accomplishment.  There was visible evidence that I had done at least something.

I know there are some who would trade places with me in a heart-beat.  They'd gladly give up their jobs to be able to sit at a desk and type and read or drive to visit people in their homes.  They'd love not having to break a sweat all day long.  I understand such sentiments.  I truly am blessed to be in such a position.

However, there is something holy about digging around in the dirt.  There is something holy about using your muscles to accomplish tasks.  There is something holy about seeing the results of your labor--something I don't always get a chance to see.  There is something holy about getting down and dirty.

Within an hour, we had everything fixed.  Several congregation members pitched in with pipe and couplings.  Water was restored to all places.  Soon, I was showered and clean.  I wonder how long it will be until the next time church work will require me to get dirt under my fingernails once again?