The Care Team
“Most people don’t notice what I do unless it doesn’t get done. But I notice. I see the shine come back to a floor, the way a room settles after it’s been cared for. It might not be glamorous, but it’s honest—and it matters.”
— Maria, hospital housekeeper
“I unlock the school before the teachers arrive and lock it up after the last light goes out. In between, I make sure it’s clean, safe, and ready. The kids don’t always know my name, but they walk through a space I’ve prepared for their learning. That’s enough.”
— George, elementary school custodian
“You learn to read a room by the way people leave it. Sometimes it’s chaos, sometimes it’s neat as a pin. Either way, I put it back together again—like resetting the stage before the next act. It’s not just cleaning. It’s hospitality.”
— Leticia, hotel housekeeper
“Some people think cleaning is low work. But it takes skill to do it well—patience, rhythm, even intuition. I clean homes where I’ll never live, but I leave behind peace and order. That’s my gift.”
— Ana, home cleaner
“In a hospital, cleanliness isn’t cosmetic—it’s life and death. Every room I clean is a space where someone is hurting, healing, or saying goodbye. I don't wear a stethoscope, but I’m part of the care team.”
— Terrence, hospital EVS technician
— Maria, hospital housekeeper
“I unlock the school before the teachers arrive and lock it up after the last light goes out. In between, I make sure it’s clean, safe, and ready. The kids don’t always know my name, but they walk through a space I’ve prepared for their learning. That’s enough.”
— George, elementary school custodian
“You learn to read a room by the way people leave it. Sometimes it’s chaos, sometimes it’s neat as a pin. Either way, I put it back together again—like resetting the stage before the next act. It’s not just cleaning. It’s hospitality.”
— Leticia, hotel housekeeper
“Some people think cleaning is low work. But it takes skill to do it well—patience, rhythm, even intuition. I clean homes where I’ll never live, but I leave behind peace and order. That’s my gift.”
— Ana, home cleaner
“In a hospital, cleanliness isn’t cosmetic—it’s life and death. Every room I clean is a space where someone is hurting, healing, or saying goodbye. I don't wear a stethoscope, but I’m part of the care team.”
— Terrence, hospital EVS technician
The First Shall be Last and the Last First
The Bible passage "the first shall be last, and the last shall be first" (Matthew 19:30, Matthew 20:16) is a key concept, especially within the context of Jesus' teachings on humility and service. It highlights a reversal of earthly values where those who are esteemed and favored in this world may be the ones who are ultimately humbled, while those who are seen as lowly or insignificant may find favor in God's kingdom.
Mops in Heaven
In heaven, I am told, the cleaners are closest to the angels. And the financiers, if they are there at all, are furthest away. It was not that way on earth. There, the financiers were thought to be more important—makers of markets, wielders of wealth, movers of the world. But in heaven, where things are set straight, it is the cleaners who are lifted up.
By cleaners, I mean those who tidy, scrub, and disinfect—those who maintain cleanliness, order, and care in physical spaces. Custodians, janitors, housekeepers, domestic workers, sanitation crews, maintenance staff, and support personnel. The ones whose names you likely never knew, though you walked past them daily. The ones whose labor made your life livable. In heaven, they are known. They are the ones who prepared rooms for the sick and dying. Who cleaned up messes they did not make. Who arrived before others and stayed after they left. Who bore the smells, the spills, the stains, the silence. Who saw what others discarded, and still gave care. Who made space for others to thrive.
On earth, they were often invisible. But not in heaven. There, their work is radiant. Their mops are scepters, their gloves are vestments. Every floor polished, every trash can emptied, every toilet scrubbed is a hymn of service sung unto God. In heaven, they are honored not because they cleaned, but because they did so with patience, persistence, and often love. They did the lowly work—and made it holy.
In the process-relational view of reality, no moment is wasted. Every act contributes to the becoming of the whole. These cleaners—so often ignored—were in fact co-creators of hospitable worlds. They participated in the divine rhythm of care. On earth, they were paid little and thanked less. In heaven, their names are spoken with reverence.
And perhaps, just perhaps, when you arrive at heaven’s gate, it will not be Peter you meet first—but a cleaner, gently wiping down the threshold, preparing it for your welcome. If you are a cleaner yourself, you will kneel down and help him.
By cleaners, I mean those who tidy, scrub, and disinfect—those who maintain cleanliness, order, and care in physical spaces. Custodians, janitors, housekeepers, domestic workers, sanitation crews, maintenance staff, and support personnel. The ones whose names you likely never knew, though you walked past them daily. The ones whose labor made your life livable. In heaven, they are known. They are the ones who prepared rooms for the sick and dying. Who cleaned up messes they did not make. Who arrived before others and stayed after they left. Who bore the smells, the spills, the stains, the silence. Who saw what others discarded, and still gave care. Who made space for others to thrive.
On earth, they were often invisible. But not in heaven. There, their work is radiant. Their mops are scepters, their gloves are vestments. Every floor polished, every trash can emptied, every toilet scrubbed is a hymn of service sung unto God. In heaven, they are honored not because they cleaned, but because they did so with patience, persistence, and often love. They did the lowly work—and made it holy.
In the process-relational view of reality, no moment is wasted. Every act contributes to the becoming of the whole. These cleaners—so often ignored—were in fact co-creators of hospitable worlds. They participated in the divine rhythm of care. On earth, they were paid little and thanked less. In heaven, their names are spoken with reverence.
And perhaps, just perhaps, when you arrive at heaven’s gate, it will not be Peter you meet first—but a cleaner, gently wiping down the threshold, preparing it for your welcome. If you are a cleaner yourself, you will kneel down and help him.
A Theology of the Mop
- Bodily labor has a special kind of dignity that is unique and beautiful – A practical application of Whitehead's idea of the "withness of the body," recognizing that bodily work, no matter how small or mundane, carries an inherent dignity in its relational and embodied nature.
- Work for the sake of the good of others is valuable in its own right, even when they do not recognize it – The theology of the mop honors work done for the benefit of others, affirming that its value is intrinsic, not contingent upon recognition or reward.
- Mundane work carries spiritual significance – Even the simplest tasks, like mopping, are imbued with spiritual meaning as acts of relational care and transformation that contribute to the well-being of others and the world.
- Transformative act in the ordinary – The mop is not just an instrument for cleaning; it is part of the creative transformation of the world. In the process-relational vision, every act, no matter how small, is a moment of transformation, contributing to a greater harmony.
- God’s presence in the task – In the theology of the mop, God is not distant from the task at hand. God's immanent presence is felt in the worker's actions, guiding and participating in even the most mundane acts.
- Work as a form of deep attention and mindfulness – The act of mopping provides an opportunity to focus on the present moment, turning the task into a practice of mindfulness. It offers a chance to connect with the world, body, and self in a sacred, attentive way.
- Relationality and the interconnectedness of life – Mopping illustrates the interconnectedness of all beings, with each action (such as the mop interacting with water, dirt, and floor) reflecting the relational dynamic that underpins all of life in a process-relational worldview.
- Caring for the world as an act of divine stewardship – Mopping becomes an expression of stewardship for the spaces and people one serves. It embodies the divine mandate to care for creation and restore it, participating in God’s ongoing work of care and renewal.
- The embodied nature of divine love – Through physical labor like mopping, one expresses divine love by offering care, restoration, and renewal to the world. This labor reflects God's ongoing self-giving love, even when the work seems small or unnoticed.
- It's nice to be appreciated, too – While the intrinsic value of work remains, it's still meaningful to receive recognition and appreciation. A theology of the mop acknowledges the human need for validation and the importance of relational feedback in sustaining motivation and well-being, even for seemingly humble tasks.