Mysterious Theologian: Clare Josef-Maier, a diaconal minister and pastoral counselor at Lutheran Counseling Network in Seattle, WA.

This challenge comes from Ryan Josef-Maier to his wife (how well we know our partners): “Look at these travel-sore, wrinkled toes. Be glad you can’t smell them (the website I took this from assures us that they smelled awful). This foot, and another quite like it, has been stuffed in a sweaty sock and shoe for 13 hours, and in constant friction for that time, writhing against its fetid cocoon. Where, oh where is God in this foot?”

Prayer to the God Revealed in Feet… Really Gross Feet

Dear God,

In Christ, You tended the (undoubtedly repulsive) feet of your disciples. I wish you had not done that, because now I have to avoid church on Maundy Thursday. (Especially when one is in ministry, people expect you to get excited about foot washing. Why? I am a servant to Your people in plenty of other ways – we needn’t get so literal when it comes to foot washing being the thing we all do now.)

But I wonder sometimes… if I claim You as the Ground of my being, how am I accordingly transformed?

If we are Your hands and feet in this world, surely you love your feet more than I love mine. Would You ever think of me the way I do of others’ feet? Or treat us, your hands, the way we abuse the labor of our own hands?

I seek You, revealed here in these most abused of feet. And I ask that You remind me of love. I claim you as my Ground, and you love feet (and the people whose feet they are, including me), so… it must be somewhere in me to love feet, too. Maybe not as well. But when I fail, you are there to remind me.

Sincerely, Clare

P.S. Really though. You could’ve baked your disciples cookies.

Mysterious Theologian:  Ben McKelahan

This challenge comes from Emily Scott of St. Lydia’s in Brooklyn, NY, who sent me the following:  “Havard Discovers three of its library books are bound in human flesh.”  Apparently this was a fairly common 17th century practice called Anthropodermic bibliopegy in which human skin was used for the leather cover of books. The practice was popular for anatomy text-books (autopsies provided cheap leather) as well as for folks who wanted to commemorate themselves after death. But the very first known instance of a book being made out of human flesh is of a 13th century French bible.

Prayer to the God Revealed in Anthropodermic Bibliopegy

Eternal Word, in the beginning you spoke creation into being. In the ruins of Babel you promised to make one family a blessing to all the world. In the desert, you commanded your people to justice and mercy.  But sometimes words are not enough; and so, in a feeding trough for animals, you became flesh and dwelt among us. And on the cross, you let us flay you so that your flesh might became the cover of the book of your love.  When blood-splattered hatred threatens to blot out your good news, your flesh protects the words of peace. When our sour tears blind us to your words of hope, still we touch your flesh which covers them and remember your sacrifice.  When winds of change threaten to scatter your words of wisdom, still your flesh silently holds them together.  Through your word you made us in your image, but by sharing our flesh, you bind us together as one. Unite us together, O God, that all your peoples might form a living Bible in you. Amen.

Mysterious Theologian: Paul Arensmeyer, a recent graduate of Starr King School for the Ministry who proudly claims both the label of Universalist and Disciple of Christ. And is working toward ordination with the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), I am an artist, and I am an advocate for people who’s lives appear grimy and gross,but who are neither themselves; our neighbors who live on the street and in homeless shelters.

Oh God of mystery, who is always within, around, and among us:

What’s in this “meat” stuff?
Is it plant or animal?
What kind of animal?
What part of the animal?
What, exactly, is a bi-product?
I’ve heard rumors of chicken lips, pig butts,
and animals treated so badly they’re barely
animals.
I don’t like to think about that.
It could be true.
But sometimes, when the budget’s tight,
I can shut out the voice in my head that tells me
that its gross, and bad for me,
and be grateful that it’s a mystery,
and that it fills my belly.

(And what about you, God?)

What is your nature?

Are you a being or a concept?
What sort of being?
Who’s concept?
What is “your will”?
Some say you are angry, and judgmental,
and would have us treat others as less than
human.
I doubt that, even though it could be true.
I need a God that is kind enough to love
even those things I might find grimy.
When I listen to the still, small voice
that comes from my gut,
I’m grateful to rely on the mystery.
It nourishes my soul.