The Theology of Poop Scooping

Meditation is hot right now. "Mindfulness" is the buzzword of the era, with books and videos encouraging us to "live in the moment--appreciate the NOW." You can be of almost any religious persuasion and practice meditation--it only takes silence and some solitude (except in yoga classes!).

Classic Christianity has long encouraged meditation as a spiritual discipline.

I, unfortunately, have been the kind of Christian who tends to have long stretches of non-discipline interspersed with spasms of self-righteousness (that are very annoying to anyone within arm's reach). I have tried all sorts of Bible reading plans, prayer charts and lists, and "quiet time" strategies. To be honest, the majority of my life has been spent THINKING about doing these sorts of things, and then feeling guilty that I wasn't having much success.

I've realized lately that one reason I'm glad I'm getting old is that I can look back and see how pathetic most of my attempts at "spirituality" have been. Hindsight is a liberating thing. It has taken me this long to grasp that I will never be a spiritual giant; I will never lead an amazing ministry or create a social movement--I'm beyond that point already. As my husband and I joke--it's too late to be famous, and the only other alternative is to be infamous. Which we really don't want.

Which brings me to poop-scooping.

My part-time job as a "farmer" at an educational farm here nearby Washington, D.C. is really the culmination of all my dreams, believe it or not. After years of trying to decide what I want to be, this is where I ended up. Visitors to the farm often will say, "You must really love your job!" and "This must the be best job ever!" I think they are referring to the cuddling bunnies part of the position.

However, if I had to tell you which part of this career is the most valuable to me, it would be...

yes--the poop-scooping.


Every day...day in, day out....season after season...animals continue to defecate all over the place instead of using the porta-johns and bathrooms we would gladly provide them. No matter how many times we lecture them on the benefits of personal hygiene, they insist on urinating in the middle of their living quarters and plopping in the center of their bedrooms.

So--we scoop. Daily, weekly, monthly, yearly, we scoop that poop into wheelbarrows and small dump trucks and remove tons of excrement to be turned back into soil. The never-ending march of "s**t" (pardon my French, but that's what it is!) probably is the single-biggest consumer of our valuable time.

So how, you ask, does poop-scooping enrich not only the soil, but your spiritual condition?

Not to change the subject--

But I just finished reading a book called "Transforming Our Days: Finding God Amid the Noise of Modern Life." The author (Richard Gaillardetz) tries to encourage the reader to evaluate how modern technology effects how we experience the grace of God in our lives:

By devaluing the more mundane spheres of human life, transforming human goods into mere commodities, relieving us of all 'burdens,' and assisting us in the mastery of time itself, technology makes it increasingly difficult to be open to the grace and blessings that come to us in our basic human activities.

He makes many fascinating points about the nature of a Trinitarian God and the human need for communion, etc. But the one thing that struck me as a 'poop-scooper' was his encounter with his newborn twin sons in the middle of the night:

In the first few months we were up repeatedly in the night to feed the babies and change their diapers. I recall awakening in the middle of one particular night and being grasped by a profound awareness that has been always something difficult to describe. I realized that right then, changing my son's diaper, I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing; I was engaged in an action as vital and fundamental as any I would have in my life. It was a mundane action (a tad unpleasant), part of the daily routine that generally went without significant discussion in our lives. But that basic action of care for our child engaged me in one of life's most vital relationships, a parent nurturing a child. That encounter with my son was a moment of communion and surely a graced moment. 

I had wondered why my poop-scooping mornings had seemed so serene and calming. It finally washed over me...I was performing a task that at its heart was a loving service and a conduit of God's grace to me. I am quietly, rhythmically,  methodically moving the piles from one place to another while thinking...

• I am so thankful for these creatures that God has created to bless our lives...
• I am so grateful for the fact their digestive systems appear to be working well, and they aren't sick...
• I am grateful I can make this area more pleasing to look at (and smell!) for our visitors... 
• I am grateful for a body that works well enough to handle a manure fork and rake; I can walk, I can lift, I can see...
• I am thankful for the song of the birds, the caress of the wind, the murmur of the trees, the rhythm of the raindrops on my hat...
• I'm so blessed to have a husband and family who let me take this low-paying but highly emotionally rewarding job...
• I'm really glad that no one is standing over my shoulder and telling me "you missed a spot..."
• I'm grateful for the fact no one is listening to me talk to myself (except for the animals, who promise never to pass on secrets...)
• I am thankful for my co-workers who are always willing to take over when my old body parts refuse to go on.

And I serve.

I clean up after the horses (whose noble predecessors have given their lives in thousands of wars they had no part in starting)...

I clean up after the cattle (whose relatives die by the thousands every day to give us Big Macs and Sunday roast dinners)...

I clean up after the donkey (whose meek ancestor carried my Lord into Jerusalem)...



So, yes...I do meditate.