Yesterday’s discussion about John the Baptist dunking Christ in the Jordan triggered a very specific sensory memory for me: my recent stint at Mercy Hospital.
Now, anyone who has spent more than forty-eight hours in a hospital bed knows the hierarchy of human needs quickly shifts. Forget the remote control or the “gourmet” chicken broth; what you eventually crave with a primal, desperate intensity is a shower.
There comes a point in a hospital stay where you aren’t just a patient; you are a petri dish. Between the adhesive residue from heart monitors that refuses to leave your skin and the general “hospital funk” that settles into your pores, you start to feel like a piece of vintage furniture that’s been stored in a damp basement. Getting the grime off your skin and the oil out of your hair isn’t just hygiene—it’s a resurrection.
I’m convinced the early church fathers must have had a similar moment when they formalized the rite of confession. They understood that the soul, much like a patient, gets sticky.
I wasn’t raised Catholic, so I’ve never stepped into the wooden box, but I’ve watched enough movies to suspect the psychological payoff. I imagine that walking out of confession feels exactly like that first long, hot shower after playing a full four quarters of football in the mud. You go in smelling like the earth and your own poor decisions, and you come out smelling like Irish Spring and a clean slate.
There is a profound, almost clinical relief in getting the “dirt” off your chest. We spend so much time walking around in the “mud” of our daily lives—grudges we’ve polished, white lies that have started to tarnish, and general spiritual lint—that we forget what it feels like to be actually clean.
As we stare down the barrel of a New Year, it’s the perfect time for a deep-tissue spiritual exfoliation. Think of it as taking a long, hot shower in God’s waters. My advice? Don’t just stand there and let the mist hit your face. Scrub. Don’t hold back. Let the water run until the gray suds of last year’s baggage finally go down the drain.
Be thorough. Don’t let one speck of “hospital funk” or ego-grime cling. Step out into January dripping wet, slightly pruned, and—for heaven’s sake — refreshed.
1. In God we trust
2. In health we must comply
3. Fear has never been the enemy
4. Not coming first is the great disappointment of family
5. Would not change anything is life’s great delusion
6. Go slow to go fast should have been a lesson learned over 60 years ago
7. Understanding all the definitions of ‘fried’ is a must
8. ‘Cancer free’ are the two most misleading words in our language
9. Out soul is who we really are but we waste much Prescott’s effort trying to be something different
10. Every day is a gift to be savored
Not sure what prompted this but only took 5 minutes so it must have been floating around somewhere on the fringe of my cerebellum. Certainly you stimulated/inspired it so you get partial credit/blame! 😉