Mark Reidy: Doormat Jesus a moment of grace

In a recent moment of quiet an image came to me of Jesus as a doormat. My initial reaction was one of shock, after all I don’t think it is a portrayal that would stand up too well under theological scrutiny, but ultimately I came to see it as a moment of grace.

The picture was possibly triggered by the Christmas-time reminder of Jesus’ lowly entry into our world – born amongst the dirt and filth of an animal enclosure – but I suspect that the seed had been planted the previous evening during a conversation with a troubled young woman.
I have known “Heather” since she was a self-loathing 14 year old, who aimlessly wandered the city streets, avoiding authorities and laying her head down in whatever dark corner she hoped would be safe.
Removed from home at the age of three, because her mother chose to remain with partners who abused her children, Heather found herself lost in a series of foster placements. By the time she was eight, workers, who had been entrusted to keep her safe, had also abused her and she had emotionally withdrawn from the world.
She is now 19, living in a youth hostel and enrolled in a university course next year.
She is grateful that life has finally given her a break and is looking forward to a new beginning, however her enthusiasm has been tempered by perceptions of how others will receive her.
“Look at my arms”, she said, as she rolled up her sleeves, revealing a multitude of self-inflicted scars. Criss-crossing from wrist to elbow were permanent reminders, not only of her darkest hours, but also of the chains that bind her to her former life. “What will people think of me?” she pondered sadly. 
Heather understood that it would be difficult for people not to make judgements and assumptions about such obvious disfigurement, so she had investigated the possibility of spending most of her government compensation money on laser treatment, to free her from these shackles to her past.
Although Heather is well aware that money is never going to alter the pain that she carries, she hopes, at least, that she can hide it from others.
That is why, I believe, I pictured Jesus as a doormat – He is the only one who can take away the dirtiness that Heather, or any of us, feels inside. He was born into squalor, spent His life giving hope to the downtrodden and then chose to sacrifice it so that we can wipe away all the grime and mess that stain us. It is He who invites us to lay our sins upon His broken and abused body so that we can enter, unblemished, into the House of His Father.
I envisioned Him prostrate on the ground; trampled, bloodied, battered and filthy, with arms out wide as He took upon Himself all the dirt and ugliness that Heather had accumulated over her short but traumatic life.
So that she, if she chose to, could fulfil the words of St Paul – words that should be born again within each of us at Christmas – “Therefore if anyone is in Christ, they are a new creation; the old has passed away, behold, the new has come” (2 Cor 5:17).