Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me.
–Psalm 51:10
It all started with a file I couldn’t find. Then, somewhere along the way, it became a spiritual exercise.
Usually, though my office is filled with piles of paper, I can find what I’m looking for in a reasonable period of time. And because this is true, I’m able to convince myself that I really am an organized person. Yes, there are piles that have yet to be sorted, but I know them. I know what’s in them. They’re fine.
Until they’re not.
I couldn’t find the file, so I started sorting through the piles, which led to sorting through the drawers, which led to a remarkably effective means of procrastinating writing my Holy Week sermons.
Today, I cleared everything that I could carry out of my office. I knocked down the cobwebs. I scrubbed the floor. On my hands and knees, the scent of the Pine-Sol carried me back to our home in West Union. There, days before giving birth to our youngest son, I scrubbed the floor of the bedroom with my mom by my side. Am I laboring to bring something to birth now? Is that what spring cleaning is all about? Is that what God is all about?
After I’m done writing, I’ll begin sorting through everything that I moved to the hallway. What will return to the room? What is no longer needed? What’s clutter? What’s a keepsake? What used to be helpful, but no longer works? Cleaning is more than just cleaning. Cleaning is complicated.
There have been moments in life that have compelled me to do some spring cleaning, not of my office but of my life. Have you had some of those moments? Times when you were prompted to assess what was still helpful? What was no longer needed? Times when you were forced to face the truth instead of continuing to cling to an illusion?
I am not as organized as I want the world to think I am. I’m getting there, but I’m not there yet. That misplaced file made me recognize the truth. Just like the invitation to a conversation about white privilege makes me recognize my complicity, and an argument around the table makes me recognize my fear of conflict, and an injury makes me recognize how hard it is to accept help, and ice cream in the freezer makes me recognize my lack of self-control.
The recognition can be painful.
I was tempted to take all those piles and send them to the shredder without even sorting through them. That’s how desperate I was for a fresh start. But it turns out there’s value there—value hidden in the piles and value hidden in the process of working to organize them.
There is value, too, in you.
Yes, there are likely some things you’ve gathered along the way that are no longer helpful. Coping mechanisms probably aren’t intended to last a lifetime. But there’s a whole lot more worth saving. And in the process of looking clearly at what is, God is bringing to birth in you what will be.
In this Easter season, may the God who brings astonishing joy out of the depths of sorrow be at work in the clutter and in the keepsakes. May the God who calls you by name assure you that you are worth saving. May the God who creates within us clean hearts prompt the kind of spring cleaning that raises us to new life.