I Am Clean

I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean . . . I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.

—Ezekiel 36:25–26

Four days of tent camping in the Wyoming wilderness is good for the soul. But it does nothing for personal hygiene.

By the time our family returned home from the trip, a thick layer of grime covered every square inch of our gear and bodies. I doubt the boys noticed, accustomed as they are to dirt and stench. I, on the other hand, was quite certain I’d become unrecognizable, both in sight and scent.

On the upside, we all smelled the same brand of horrible.

As soon as we unloaded and unpacked, I sprinted to the shower. I couldn’t peel off my clothes fast enough. Within a minute I stood, eyes closed, under a downpour of steaming hot water, where I stayed for a half hour.

I couldn’t imagine anything feeling better. Hot water coursing over every inch of my head and body, removing dirt, both seen and unseen. Grime falling off me and disappearing down the drain, leaving a fresh soapy scent behind. By the time I finished my shower, my pink flesh nearly sparkled.

Clean! I’m clean!

Of course, by the following morning, I needed another shower. And another the next morning. And every morning after that. My day-to-day dirt isn’t nearly as noticeable as my camping dirt, thank heavens. But I need daily showers just the same. In spite of my best efforts, I can’t avoid filth. I need help staying clean.

Perhaps this is why I marvel at God’s promise to make me clean. I know my propensity to get dirty. I know quite well that today’s shower won’t eliminate my need for one tomorrow. Even a half hour of scrubbing with soap won’t keep me from soon being in the same need. And yet God promises the kind of shower that eliminates my grime, once and for all.

White as snow.

God promises to make the filthy, clean. Once and for all. Without the need to scrub ourselves free of our grime. But believing this isn’t my only struggle. There’s another: believing—to my core—how desperately I need it.

By midmorning most days, I’ve already come face to face with my dirt. I mean, what else can ignite an impatient mama like the before-school routine? Fighting children, complaints about breakfast, drama over what to wear and how to style an eight-year-old’s hair. It’s enough to make my Dr. Jekyll shrink and my Mr. Hyde appear.

Even so, I soothe myself with reminders of my good deeds. The muffins I baked, the laundry I folded, the dishes I put away, the lunches I made. I even organized a before-school prayer. I’m not that bad after all, am I? So I have a little bit of dirt. It’s not much compared with the next guy.

How quickly I forget that it isn’t the amount of filth but the mere presence of it that robs a person of her purity. I spend very little time thinking about my need for a cleansing because I’m busy justifying the dirt I still carry. But the effort to appear clean works about as well as slapping perfume over a stinking corpse. It doesn’t mask the smell; it only complicates it.

There’s no doubt that we have a God who has not only offered us the promise of a soul-shower but also has the means and heart to follow through on it. But before we can fully appreciate the gift, we must know fully how much we need it. Only when we’re aware of our grime are we likely to accept the cleansing God offers.

David’s prayer of honest admission is a beautiful example to follow:

I confess, God help me, I’m unclean. Body and soul. As are you. Even our best efforts to do what is right and good come up short, time and again. And unless we see the filth, we cannot escape it.

But for love, God offers to make us clean. Whiter than snow. Step into His mercy. Surrender to the shower of His grace. Watch the grime fall off and glorious cleansing come.

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,

Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;

Streams of mercy, never ceasing,

Call for songs of loudest praise.

—ROBERT ROBINSON, “COME, THOU FOUNT OF EVERY BLESSING”