None of us really wanted to be stuck behind a broom or bending over a dirty toilet, but for the sixth time in a week, we were cleaning the camp facilities.  The summer intern assigned as my cleaning partner paused from sweeping river sand off the common-room floor and leaning on his broom said, “This sure doesn’t feel like what I signed up for.” 

He was thinking of the day he applied for an internship at Discovery Ministries.  Back then his brain was full of the idea that working at an adventure camp would be all thrill seeking and daring, expedition leading mixed with the subtle glamour of being a bona fide, rock-climbing instructor.  Canoeing, camping, climbing…YES!  Plunging toilets, restocking paper towels, and sweeping up the place…NO!  This young minister-in-training had a point, and as I considered the discrepancy between his expectations and reality, I shared one of the most valuable lessons I had received as a Bible college student. 

My college courses had teemed with learning opportunities to the point where even decades later my mind swam as I remembered the fine oration of top-notch professors, the mentorship of such a godly cloud of witnesses, and the depth of biblical learning the courses presented.  However, as I vacuumed another bunkroom floor, littered by candy wrappers left by idling teens, I remembered one of the best learning opportunities afforded me in Bible college—the day I hired on to the campus custodial crew. 

My first day they put me with two veteran custodians, James and Bill.  Well past middle age, James had been a successful Iowa farmer, and Bill had worked on the assembly line in a tire factory.  Both men had come out of retirement to make a little extra income, and both men brought experience along with a seasoned work ethic.  James seemed to approach every job as though it was of great importance, and from Bill I never heard an irritated word, just saw a happy smile.  They trained me how to spray down toilets and sweep up dust and showed me the best times of day to vacuum the dorms, but the most important lesson was one they modeled for me.  I would be cleaning the bathroom when, in the next stall over, I would hear one of them scrubbing away grime and softly singing hymns from his childhood.  In this simple act, I witnessed a real-life trade secret of the Kingdom that all my expensive college classes had been trying to teach me in theory: at the core of our life in Christ resides not merely a willingness to do the dirty acts of service, but to actually find enjoyment in it.

Jesus is a jovial custodian at heart.  I wonder if he felt like this was what he signed up for.  Instead of entering the city of Jerusalem upon a muscular steed, the conquering hero, the Son of the Living God Almighty he ministered to ignorant masses in backwater villages and obscure countryside’s mentoring low pedigree country bumpkin disciples.  And what he did was so unexpected, often flipping the script on His hearers.  Remember the times He reached out to touch untouchables?  Or the time He said to allow the little children to interrupt a meeting?  Jesus wasn’t scrubbing a latrine, but the humility He expressed on those occasions is the same.  Oddly, he seemed to enjoy himself immensely as he humbled himself before humanity.  Similarly, there was the time described in John chapter 13, just before He went to the cross.  The table was set, everyone had gathered in the room and the providential pieces of God’s plans were in place. That’s when Jesus, knowing He had the full attention of heaven, got up from the table, took a towel and basin, and became a janitor.  The disciples thought they had seen it all, but before their very eyes, Jesus stooped to new levels to wash the mud from their toes.  In this confusing and lowly scene, the main character demonstrated yet again the essence of God’s heart.  God, who deserves to be seated on a throne and worshiped by everyone and everything that ever was, is, or will be, instead took His place as the meek and lowly custodian.  As strange as this seems, it is deep godliness. 

As the camp intern and I continued cleaned, we reminisced about how God the Father actually cleans and re-cleans our hearts.  Our sanctification process requires a diligent and consistent heavenly Custodian who will identify the blots and stains and apply the elbow grease to disinfect our soul.  We understood then that when we repeatedly and joyfully do our cleaning jobs well, we are becoming more like God in His character. 

There is a day coming when every knee will bow and tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.  The sky will peel back, the thunder will roll, and everyone who is on the Lord’s side will shout for joy. Those who are not will still bow, and they will regret that they, too, did not make this custodial King their God.  We will kneel then as we kneel now with the opportunities to complete simple and mundane acts of worship, like cleaning toilets.  When we serve cheerfully, our knees will be familiar with this posture—the posture of kneeling to clean a toilet, bending low to sweep up the dust, preparing for a coming King. 
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The intern and I went back to our cleaning.  He took up his broom, smiled, and began sweeping dirt in the far corner of the chapel.  As he swept, I could hear him singing.  

“Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, 
knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward.
You are serving the Lord Christ.”
Colossians 3:23-24

Sweaty forms huff and puff, doubled over gasping for breath as perspiration drips from furrowed brows.  Succumbing to fatigue, some simply flop down in the dust of the camp entrance.  Most moan, groan and beg for water.  No, this is not a zombie, apocalypse or a reenactment of a P.O.W. camp.  It’s the scene twice a week following the camp instructors’ training run.  And one things for sure, even if we aren’t all in top physical shape at least we’re unified in our collective suffering.  I like to think of it as training for perseverance sake, but to most of our first-year interns, they are reconsidering their decision to come to DM!  They will usually ask me the inevitable question that people going through hardships ask “Why are we doing this?” 

That’s a good question, one I try to answer by pointing out lots of great reasons such as:  this will build your stamina, and you may need to run for help when you are leading an expedition, or running will build character.  These are good reasons, but to be honest, to keep running the race, to keep applying the discipline required to get up early and go for a jog, one needs more than an externally focused reason.  To push through when the going gets tough we need a reason that hits deep.  We need something to take hold of—a prize.

One of the reasons I love the writings of the apostle Paul is that he uses many analogies to which I can relate…like running.  He mentions running and racing quite a few times in scripture. In Philippians 3:12-14, he bids us “Press on, to take hold of the prize.”  As a long-time distance runner, I find this passage has become one of my favorites, and what Paul is saying resonates in me with deep encouragement. 

Here Paul is admitting that he’s not arrived at the finish line yet.  He’s still in the race, but he’s figured out how to endure.  First, he says to let go of the past and look toward the future.  I’m reminded of another reference to running in scripture. Hebrews 12:1-2 instructs us “…to throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles us and run the race with perseverance, fixing our eyes on Jesus….”  That’s letting go of the past and looking toward the future—a future with Jesus. 

I’m encouraged because I can easily become haunted by a past riddled with mistakes, failures, and regrets.  Without the liberty I have through Jesus, I would find myself existing only in the errors, never learning and growing from them.  The Lord is such an optimist when it comes to our redemption and sanctification.  He wants to draw our attention to the blessings of the future, the finish line. 

The importance of the morning running came apparent for two of our instructors recently as they told the story from DM’s latest expedition.  The first few days on the trail were pleasant—too pleasant by their estimation to make for a good challenge.  The participants needed something more to awaken spiritually, but the instructors didn’t know what to do until near the end of the expedition.  The group, struggling to find their way with maps and compasses took a wrong turn that resulted in their being totally disoriented in the wilderness and far behind in their itinerary schedule. 

The instructors lovingly but firmly informed the group that they would need to press on together and do whatever it took to reach the next destination before making camp.  The result was a very long hike that took most of the night.  What the exhausted group didn’t know was that at this destination awaited a beautiful valley with a little creek.  It was there they would spend the next 24 hours in a restful, intentional time of spiritual solitude.  The instructors were particularly glad they had trained themselves physically by completing the morning runs, but even more encouraged about why they needed to press on…so they could help the group capture the prize, a rare and precious time with God. 

Continuing in Paul’s message in Philippians, the reader finds an answer to the deeper reason for us to press on.  We press on not just to leave behind the past mistakes and not entirely so we can embrace that heavenly home, but to take hold of Jesus in a way similar to how he has taken hold of us.  We are not running for ourselves or by ourselves.  We are with Jesus.  He finished the race at the cross, bridging a way for us to take hold in unity with the Father, and He stepped out of the tomb leaving it empty so that we could take hold of real life itself.  This is relationship, and He’s not just inviting us to it; He’s holding onto us in it.  So in this race as you press on, are you taking hold of him? 

As I hung in my harness and dangled over the 80-foot expanse—a “guinea pig” for the afternoon’s rescue simulation, I felt the nagging lure to take control of my situation and cling to the rock.  What’s more, I gained a new-found appreciation for one of the oldest wilderness skills in the book.  We were at a recent rock-climbing rescue training, and I was about to get a lesson in the basics.
 
When it comes to nifty outdoor skills, I sometimes overemphasize the majestic complexities of creating an orderly itinerary through the wide-open, backcountry wilderness for novice city slickers.  Other times it’s a more straight-forward, egocentric, impression-management skill like maneuvering down a cascading, class three rapid to show off my open canoe prowess.  Then there is the gritty, elegant dance up a 5.10 crag like a bicep bulging, ballerina precariously placing every foot with great intentionality, every narrow finger crimp with efficiency—this is a flaunt-worthy skill.  But when I found myself dangling from a 10 mm climbing rope just waiting to be rescued, I suddenly realized that the skill I take for granted the most, the skill I use the most, and the skill I depend on the most when all the chips are down, is tying knots!

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