Hands, Faces, Feet, Skin, Asses and Elbows -or- There Are Reasons Why We Have These Things, and We Shouldn't Be Afraid to Use Them

When I played football in high school (I know what you’re thinking, but stick with me), we used to have to run a 400 meter lap within a certain time at the end of tough workouts with our position groups. Whenever the offensive line ran together, it was less running and more a mess of heavy breathing, jogging, and sweating. Or, as our coach described it, “When you guys run, it’s all asses and elbows flying around trying to make something happen!”

Our Story, the one that ranges from somewhere between before all of this and after all of this, is not a story of ideas and optical illusions. It is not puffs of smoke, well-placed mirrors, and Europe’s “the Final Countdown” blasting at unreasonable levels. We are made to believe, quite by accident, that this Story in invisible. That it’s main conflict, plot, and characters operate in some disconnected spectral and historical realm of which we encounter only as helpless observers or miserable victims. We are easily goaded into a faith of far-away-land and the sweet by-and-by—a faith of theologies and philosophies in important books, within important volumes, on important shelves, which are kept and dusted fairly regularly, but which are far too high for jokers of out stature to reach, and far too indecipherable for us to try to engage with.

This is not the case. Our Story is a story of people with skin on. Our Story is a story of dirt, feet, hands, and faces. Our Story is a story of asses and elbows, my friends. Asses and elbows. Our Story is about sweat and tears. Our story is about deep breaths and bowel movements. It is about blood and dirt and ashes.

Somehow, we turn the asses and elbows into pretty ponies and straight, shiny teeth. It’s not real.

We talk about poverty and the hurting lives of our neighbors and the purpose of the church and we spout sexy ideas, concise action points, and reasonable excuses. But where are our asses and elbows?

Our elbows are far from doing anything about it and our asses are planted squarely in our comfortably padded seats (whether those seats are desk chairs, couches, bicycle seats, leather captains chairs, or bar stools).

“It’s just not practical.” “The problem is bigger than anything I could do.”

The Story that so many of us claim is about dirty hands, sunburnt faces, feet kicking up dust, sweat-soaked skin, elbows flying and asses talking, walking, and carrying heavy loads.

We have disconnected this from ourselves over time, space, and out of ease. We put nothing behind the story in the here and now. No asses up and moving and certainly no real elbow grease.

Elbow grease might be a part of the problem.

What the hell is “elbow grease”? The elbow is far and away one of the creepiest parts of human anatomy. It has no feeling—no soul. You can pinch it until your fingers hurt and turn white, and it still gives no significant nerve firings of electrons to the brain to notify the collective being of Yourself that something bad is happening. Is the elbow that hard-ass, or is it arrogant and gritty to a fault, trying to prove a point to the rest of the body (particularly the sensitive areas like the small of the back and the eyeballs)? I’ve never been aware of any grease emanating from the elbow, and I’ve never even known the elbow to be an area of regular or common sweating. I think it should be mentioned that I’ve found grease ON my elbow, but never FROM my elbow. It should be noted that the grease ON my elbow is not “elbow grease,” but rather various types of chicken grease, car grease, French fry grease, chili grease, and bean-n-cheese taco grease.

For me, this highlights a problem. We talk about this non-existent, false substance “elbow grease” when it comes to putting some work into something. We must apply this false “elbow grease” to get some difficult things done. “Elbow grease” is the metaphor that we choose to apply to putting in serious work.

Maybe the fuzziness of this metaphor is what keeps us from doing anything about the Story now. Maybe we should be more explicit, and use a more direct metaphor. Maybe we should say that we need to apply our hands, feet, and asses to the work of the Kingdom. Maybe we should just say that we need to get up off of our asses and be the Kingdom, without excuse or false reasoning.

Let’s get up off of our asses and follow Christ. Not meet up with Him when it’s time to get into Heaven, but follow him through the slums and the back country. Follow him into the houses and hospitals. It will be messy. It will not always be easy or pretty. But that is our story. In our following, we have and will be “all asses and elbows.”

Let us go into the world. Let us kick up dust as we walk. Let us get dirt on our hands and sweat on our backs. Let us know the taste of dust in our mouths and hands touching hands, faces looking into faces. Let us walk wildly into that world and let people look at us, criticizing the vigor with which we walk. Let them say, “they’re all asses and elbows.”

Our story demands that we do things all wrong, that we walk into the places that need it most, even when it is hard and heavy to do so.