Cleaning Traffic Cones

Saw something odd the other day: A man was cleaning the traffic cones with a high pressure water spray. In Korea, these traffic cones are permanently installed everywhere to prevent U-turns. They're thin and tall, with reflectors on top. Pretty nondescript really. As I approached, I wondered, why? I mean, I can see them, they're stopping people from U-turns, I'd say they're doing their jobs. Besides, no one walks there or touches them, and they can't really be that dirty.

Then I pulled up alongside and waited for a red light. I watched as the man moved the hose up and down in long sweeps to cover the side, then slowly walked around to get all angles. The water streaming down was black as ash, looked like he was washing away a layer of charcoal graffiti. 

Ok, so they were really dirty. They sure didn't look it all lined up together. But it was only later that night, when I was returning home, that I understood. 

See, there were two long rows, but he'd only done one side. In the dark, suddenly I could see. The washed cones were bright and clear, while the dark ones were ... dark. Sure, I could see them, but they might as well have been trees compared to the glowing reflectors of the others. 

In between the washing and the night-time observations, I heard a sermon on holiness. As Christians, we're supposed to be traffic cones. But so often, living in the dirt of this world, we get a coating of filth over us. It's not so noticeable - it builds up gradually and all of us are covered in the same soot, like the matching cones in a row. And, at some level, we're still standing out and doing our jobs. 

See, the dirty cone stands out compared to the trees and poles. But the effectiveness of the dirty cone is nothing compare to the effectiveness it could have.  The cleaned cones reflect the light more truly, more brightly. So, I guess we're supposed to pursue holiness.