Fuzzy Theology

Funny the things you miss when you step away from the comforts of the world. Having lived in Florida for the past forever, I know how to prepare for surviving for a week (or more) without what we now consider to be basic needs.

Like air conditioning.

Like a hot meal.

Like warm, private, showers.

And now, after the latest hurricane has passed over our state, it reminds me just how important those utilities are – and how often we take those for granted. And it also reminds me of how we felt as we entered into Day Five of our week-long, high-adventure camp where survival – and basic necessities – weren’t a guarantee.

If you’re new to our story, be sure to click here to read the first episodes and get ready for a healthy dose of human dignity.

Our base camp was tucked away in the beautiful mountains in eastern Tennessee, with picturesque sunrises and sunsets over the tree-lined valley.

But that’s where the beauty stopped.

Especially when it came to our cabins, each one little more than slats of plywood nailed together with holes cut in them for the windows and doors. One, flickering light, illuminated the doorway, but other than that there was no electricity. Our bunk beds were stacked three high and if you sneezed too hard would wobble like the deck of a sinking ship.

We stored our luggage in open cubbies that we shared with the local wildlife from a family of brown tree mice to graceful spiders and their silky webs. I never knew what – or who – I would find when we stepped into our cabin each night. (For more about that story, click here)

And if you had to use the bathroom, a hike through the darkened woods awaited you.

And the showers.

Oh, the showers.

And while I realize, I was blessed enough to have the opportunity to wash with clean water, it took a healthy dose of humility to get clean.

Because at camp, personal hygiene was somewhat of an optional choice. And while we were only away for seven days, we were living in the middle of the woods in the middle of summer.

Rock climbing, horseback riding, whitewater rafting, ropes courses, mud slip and slides down into the valley.

It didn’t take long before we all needed to shower.

And I was confronted by four very different, very memorable shower experiences. Each more absurd and embarrassing than the next.

But as youth ministers, we would gladly become Fools for Christ.

If you’re prone to cringing out and second-hand embarrassment, turn back now. If not, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

#1 – The Missing Curtain

It must have been the first or second day of camp when my fellow youth minister and I decided to venture to what were were told were the adult showers. It seemed like half a mile walk through the forest before we arrived at the small bathroom off the well-worn path.

Truly, that should have been our first sign.

The bright lights of the bathroom were in contrast to the yellow flickering lights we’d seen outside our cabins and near the mess hall. It looked promising.

But really it was luring us into its trap. All that glitters isn’t gold and all that’s brightly lit in the middle of the woods is really there to torture and torment you for decades to come.

There were two shower stalls in this bathroom, directly opposite each other, and as we approached we realized our situation.

For one stall, there was no shower curtain.

No problem. We’d just make sure the other was closed.

I took the shower without the curtain. I could be fast. I wasn’t worried about someone walking in – we’d thought ahead to lock the door. Although, in hindsight, the lock probably wasn’t working either…

My friend took the other shower and pulled the shower curtain open to reveal…

Only a third of a shower curtain still remained.

Where the other two-thirds went is still a mystery, but the length we were left with gave us little to hide behind.

It was the fastest shower I’d taken in my life and we both vowed to find a better shower in the future.

Surely, this couldn’t be the only shower on site.

#2 – The Crowded Room

Our next shower adventure brought us to the middle of camp, and into a slightly more modern bathroom. My friend and I had woken up extra early to ensure we slipped into the main shower area before anyone else was awake.

The stall I chose was tiny with barely enough room to lift my arms without brushing the walls with my elbows.

But it seemed vastly better than the shower I’d had the night – at least this one was private.

No sooner had I turned on the water, than the door to the shower room swung open and in spilled the thundering feet of fifty souls ready for their chance to clean in hot water.

Very hot water.

With steam.

SO. MUCH. STEAM.

With all the stalls blasting blazing hot water into the small room, and with no windows to let the steam escape, the room turned into a sauna in seconds.

There was no hope in getting dry inside the room, and no hope of leaving the room unless I got dressed.

If you’ve ever tried to wiggle into jeans (shorts or otherwise) in a stall the size of a take-out container, you can imagine the struggle. But add to that perpetually wet skin and you have a slippery, clingy, recipe for disaster.

The clothing stuck.

I slid.

The curtain did little to hide my grunts and thrashing.

I’m sure someone somewhere thought I was wrestling a bear. But no, I was just trying to get decent before the shower curtain betrayed me.

And when I finally stepped from stall, I was a hot, sweaty mess with my clothes sticking to my body in odd ways and in desperate need of another shower to clean myself from this shower.

#3 – The Out in Nature

Third time is the charm right?

Wrong.

The third set of showers started off promising as always. The bathroom leading to the shower room was well-lit with nice vanities and mirrors.

But the door leading to the showers might as well have been a door to another world.

Because as soon as we opened it, we stepped out into the world.

Or rather, into a shower room without a roof with trees growing in the middle of it.

Now, before you go and romanticize this shower situation telling me that showering in nature was a beautiful thing, let me paint a picture for you.

The stall I chose, the only one available, had a massive tree trunk sprouting out from the middle of it. Where I was supposed to stand, or how I was supposed to wash without using the tree as a loofah was beyond me.

But I was up for the challenge. At least this shower had a full curtain, and it wasn’t in a room so filled with steam I couldn’t see in front of me.

I waved an embarrassed hello to the earthworm I was sharing my stall with and began my shower, dancing around the thick trunk hoping it wouldn’t scrape my back too much.

It wasn’t until I was washing my hair, tipping my head back to rinse the soap out, that I realized I wasn’t showering alone – aside from the earthworm that is.

You see, above the bathroom and overlooking these showers, I spied a cabin window.

And from that cabin window, I heard noises.

People noises.

Shuffling.

Talking.

Laughing.

Like a scene from a nightmare, I struggled once again to dress over damp skin, keeping my eyes glued above me.

#4 – The “Are You Finished?”

You’d think that there couldn’t possibly be another shower story from the same camp.

You’d be wrong.

Because my final shower found me back in the open air showers. They’d promised us no one was in the cabin any longer.

We believed them.

I took my place beside the tree, now grateful it took up half of my stall. My earthworm friend had long since dug its way out.

But maybe – just maybe – this shower would be uneventful.

And no sooner had I stepped under the water than the shower curtain flung itself open revealing a very annoyed, very naked woman on the other side.

I immediately apologized because what else was I going to do in that situation. Like “I’m sorry for surprising you by being in the shower you maybe thought was empty.” Or “I’m sorry you’re clearly annoyed by my presence here.”

Instead of apologizing, or looking away, or – I don’t know – closing the shower curtain realizing someone was in it, she held it open, stared me down and asked, “Are you done yet?”

Clearly not.

What followed was an awkward staring contest followed by an equally awkward shuffle as I reached to take the curtain from her and close it.

But that was my last shower at camp.

I’d survived missing curtains, earthworm shower buddies, rooms like saunas, the giant tree, the window overlooking us, and the show-down with a strange woman.

And it got me thinking about the act of cleaning – something we often take for granted.

In John’s Gospel and during the Last Supper, Jesus kneels before each of his Disciples, taking their feet and washing them. The feet I’d always imagined were most likely not the feet Jesus encountered during this holy event. And – after having survived a week in the woods with questionable shower experiences – I gained a new perspective on the act of washing someone’s feet.

The Disciple’s walked everywhere. They weren’t transported in clean cars like today or wearing shoes which protected their toes. No, their feet carried them through dirt, over sharp rocks, and through mile and mile as they followed Jesus while he preached during his public ministry. Their feet were filthy, most likely with cuts and sores all over them.

And the fact that the Son of God would kneel before his Disciples, taking those feet into his hands and washing them clean was a much bigger deal.

It speaks to God’s infinite love for us.

To his infinite mercy.

And the fact that each person carries with them the human dignity we receive from being sons and daughters of that King.

A King willing to kneel in the dirt to wash the filth from his Disciples’ feet.

And while our physical feet may not need the cleansing that Jesus’ Disciples did, the Son of God is still here before us, ready to wash us of whatever needs healing, whatever needs cleansing in our lives.

For as embarrassing, as challenging, as confusing as it may be when we allow God into our hearts, letting him illuminate the corners of our soul, we become washed clean – a new being in God’s light and love.

But none of that happens without a dose of humility.

Simon Peter said to him, “Master, then not only my feet, but my hands and head as well.”

John 13:9

Thank you for joining me on this slightly embarrassing journey this week. If you are reading this, I have prayed for you. I would love to hear from you! Share a comment or join me on Twitter @FuzzyTheology.