Sweat

Women don’t like to sweat. When it drips off our foreheads and soaks our clothes, we immediately develop a plan for its demise. We need to know that it is a temporary state, that our femininity will still be in tact as soon as we shower and wash it off of our body. We anticipate the feel of clean skin, the comfort of dry clothes, and the aroma of freshly washed hair.

We like to be appealing and attractive, and sweat doesn’t seem to fit the bill.

Have you ever seen that scene in “Along Came Polly” where Ben Stiller is playing basketball with an obese man, and ends up being smashed up against his sweat-covered chest? The disgusting secretion splatters into the air and lathers itself liberally across Ben’s cheek. You can hear it smothering him, covering him in a liquid slime. It doesn’t take an obsessive compulsive character like Ben Stiller’s to conclude that as much as we don’t like being covered in our own sweat, there’s something even more disgusting about being covered in someone else’s.

But today, I must disagree.

After seeing David sweaty again last night, I was reminded of how attractive sweaty can be. When sweat drips from his face or covers his arms, I smile. Even more than that, I delight in it. His sweat declares that he’s a man. His sweat reveals that he’s worked hard. His sweat represents the exertion of his strength. And his sweat means the most when it was shed on my behalf – when he fixes a pipe, shovels the driveway, or cuts down a tree. His sweat is poured out for me. It is the sweet aroma of sacrifice, of service, of love.

Jesus did the same. In Luke 22:44 it says, “And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground.” Jesus’ sweat was poured out for me. He prayed so earnestly that he became sweaty and his sweat was like drops of blood, indicative of the ultimate sacrifice that would soon be made on my behalf. His body was most likely soaked in this sweet liquid, and moist spots surely formed on his garments. His eyes filled with emotion, his face reddened with anguish, exertion, and sacrifice. He knelt on the ground, made a choice, and went to the cross.

His sweat, too, holds an amazing attraction to me today.

When I see David covered in those droplets, I think I see Jesus. And I did last night after he helped several strangers dig their cars out of the snow. When he returned to me, waiting in the warm and comfortable car, I reached over and touched his arm. Soaked. Not with snow, but with sweat. Soaked with strength. Soaked with service. Soaked with Jesus. I could have easily taken one of those sweat-slathering hugs right then.