Scrub Daddy Kingdom

Serving others through menial tasks

This article is part of the Claritas spring 2024 issue, Home.

By: joaquin arroyo

I start by cleaning the sponge. In my kitchen at home, I know exactly how far back I must pull the faucet’s handle for the water to become almost hot enough to scald my hands. After I wait a few moments for the water temperature to rush to equilibrium, I grab my sponge that always greets me with a smile—literally, I only use Scrub Daddies—and rinse it. I squeeze the water from its grip and rinse again, continuing this cycle until I deem it clean enough. I then anoint it with a dollop of soap, lathering its surface and taking care to ensure my sponge holds the optimal balance of soap and water.

I grab a cup. I fill it halfway with water, dump it, scrub its inside, lather its outside, and let it sit in the sink basin so the suds steep into the glass. Next, I scrub some forks, a few knives, maybe even a couple of spoons, and I let them sit in the suds. It’s not until I feel my sponge lose some of its lather or I start to run out of sink space that I begin to rinse and dry the dishes. 

Plates and bowls can be interesting to clean, depending on what my family cooked for dinner, but I never begin cleaning them with my sponge. For how could I treat my most beloved Scrub Daddy with such disrespect? I can’t bear to see his face dirty for no good reason, so I resort to using my own hands to brush off dinner’s debris. I only scrub again once I've deemed enough food scraps have been removed.

Finally, there are pots and pans. They always seem like a nuisance to clean—especially after I think I’m done washing, only to find I still have to wash these unwieldy vessels—but I am often pleasantly surprised at how relaxing I find cleaning them. Despite the abundance of elbow grease required, I joy in the scrubbing. 

I like washing dishes, but I don't like washing dishes because I like washing dishes. I mean, sure, I like the feeling of warm water on my somehow constantly cold and clammy hands, I like the tactile sensation of scrubbing, and I like the small sense of pride from making dirty dishes clean again. These, however, are all auxiliary reasons. None of them, nor even the sum of them, irresistibly attracts me to the sink and sponge… but something else does.

I have experienced similar attraction towards other toilsome drudgeries. For example, at tournaments with my high school wrestling team, I liked to fold my teammates' clothes—not because I found folding clothes fun, but rather because something about the way they mindlessly threw their sweat-saturated hoodies beside the wrestling mat drove me to do something about it. Granted, nothing monumentally good came when I folded their clothes, but it seemed to me an opportunity to do a small, good thing. I would come to discover that, according to my teammates, my actions actually helped them wrestle better. When I took care of their clothes, they could focus on their match. But, most importantly, they just enjoyed the fact that I was doing a small gesture for them. 

Similarly, I experience joy in washing dishes for others because I like to tangibly improve the lives of others. I recognize that washing dishes is a small thing: there is nothing terribly grandiose about the ho-hum nature of washing dishes. It's a small task, but one I approach with care and proficiency, for I take heed to remind myself that the one who is faithful in very little is also faithful in much, and one who is dishonest in very little is also dishonest in much, as is written in the Gospel of Luke. [1] 

The sentiment I carry towards washing dishes is similar to something Helen Keller (allegedly) said: “I long to accomplish a great and noble task, but it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble. The world is moved along, not only by the mighty shoves of its heroes, but also the aggregate of the tiny pushes of each honest worker.” In this way, I make a conscious effort to remind myself that the meticulous execution of small tasks lays the foundation for accomplishing greater ones. 

Just look at Jesus: He claims to be God incarnate, but that doesn’t stop Him from washing the feet of His disciples. This menial act of service was reserved only for the lowliest servants in ancient Jewish culture; yet it is God Himself who humbly cleanses the filth of humanity. In these examples Jesus reveals the unique upside-down nature of the Kingdom of Heaven, where those who exalt themselves will be humbled and those who humble themselves will be exalted. [2] The ones who humbly scrub, like Jesus washing the feet of His disciples, shall inherit His Kingdom. 

Jesus extends this act of self-giving love to His disciples, stating that if He, their Lord, has washed their feet, they must similarly wash the feet of others. [3] This call to service in the small things is one that I try to incorporate into my act of dish washing. Perhaps this is not so different from the words of Marcus Aurelius, who discerned his call to work as pivotal to his mortal identity. Aurelius writes, “Don’t you see the plants, the little sparrows, the ants, the spiders, the bees doing their own work, and playing their part in making up an ordered world. And then are you unwilling to do the work of a human being?” [4] Similarly, if I seek to follow after the call of my Lord Christ, then washing dishes for others is not simply a nice addition of what He has called me to do in this life but actually the core of what it means for me to follow after Him. Of course, I can’t clean all of the dishes in the world, but at least I can clean the dishes of my neighbors.

But am I really washing dishes for others, or am I just doing it for myself? What if I only wash dishes for the validation I receive from my friends? In his letter to the Romans, Paul the Apostle touches on similar doubts by recognizing that everyone is sinful. In fact, he doesn’t merely recognize that all people are sinful, but claims that “None is righteous, no, not one; no one understands; no one seeks for God. All have turned aside; together they have become worthless; no one does good, not even one.” [5] If this is true, then I have deceived myself. I don’t truly wash dishes to help others, I wash dishes for myself. I don’t really care about practically loving others through my actions, I just use it as a means to make myself look like a good person.

Does this mean there is no hope for any good? Are the good things done in this world merely illusions? Is it time to set our sponges down? In the same letter to the Romans, Paul claims that all have fallen short of the glory of God. But there is hope. Because of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, anyone can be justified by faith in Christ. [6] With faith in Christ and Christ alone, anyone can be made righteous. This idea fundamentally changes the motivation behind my actions for others: I choose to serve not as a means for validating myself for being a good person, for no one truly seeks to do good, but because Christ has called me to serve others. I can now serve others freely, and my service becomes an expression of the joy I have in Christ’s self-giving love and sacrifice for me. My life of service for others is made worthy through faith in Christ alone.

To follow God is to restore and cleanse this world through our actions and vocational pursuits, as much as we can. Just as Jesus washed the feet of His disciples, we must wash the feet of others. Just as the Holy Spirit dwells within us to transform our hearts into a worthy home, we must transform this earth into a worthy home through loving others tangibly. Just as God reorders our desires according to His perfect and holy law, we must reorder this world through our dishwashing endeavors and our clothes-folding callings. For God does not undervalue our acts of service and love, especially when we serve others in His name. [7] 

[1] Luke 16:10

[2] Matthew 23:11-12

[3] John 13 

[4] Aurelius, Marcus. Meditations, Books 1-6.

[5] Romans 3:10-12 (Psalms 14; Psalms 53)

[6] Ephesians 2:8-10

[7] Hebrews 6:10