A Letter To Scout, the Dog

We had to put down our 13 1/2 year old golden retriever mix, Scout, yesterday.  I wanted to tell her what she meant to me.  So I wrote this:

Dear Scout,

I met you because of my work.  You were just a tiny puppy.  I was a pastor, visiting a shut in.  You were at Redeemer Residence Nursing Home in South Minneapolis, because a nurse had brought your mom (a golden retriever) and all eight of you puppies to work with her.  You were all in a crate together, and you attracted a LOT of attention.

The shut in and I visited that day, and each of us held a puppy in our hands.  I don't know if you were one of those puppies.  But later on, someone called and said that one of the puppies was available.  Would I like one?  You were 'almost' free.  You had no pedigree.  Golden, Husky, and "something else", was what they said.

Well, I would like one.  I wanted one desperately.  But I had never had a dog before.  I knew you would be a lot of work.  Previously I had been a cat person.  My family had a dog once, so I knew just a little bit about dogs.  Like, dogs are a lot of work.  And, you have to house train them.

I knew you would be a lot of work, but I wanted you.  I wanted something to love.  Truthfully, this was partly because I always wanted children, and I knew I would not have children of my own.  I do have two stepsons that I love with all my heart (and Scout, I know that you did too) but I wanted a baby.  A dog baby.  And yes, I knew you were a puppy and not a human, but I knew also that you would need a lot of care, and I wanted to give you a lot of care.

So we brought you home.  You were just short of 7 weeks old.  We had studied and asked questions but truthfully, we had no idea.  I apologize for that.  You never really liked the crate.  For some dogs it is a comfort, but it never was for you.

I took you home and the first couple of weeks were very hard, taking you out in the middle of the night (both of us surprised when a raccoon jumped out of the garbage can).  There was sleep deprivation and running back and forth from church, and then taking time off so I could stay home to train you.  And then you started getting sick in the middle of the night, and we couldn't find the right food for you, and you started getting possessive of strange things -- growling over a paper towel (for example) or a sock you found on the ground, and scaring us.  I realized that I was in over my head in dog training, and I took you to the Animal Humane Society for testing and advice.  You had been sick the night before and were skinny and I brought a can of bland food for the test.  They did some tests and said you were a "confident puppy".  But then they put a little food in the food bowl and had you start eating and when they put the plastic hand in to take away the food you went ballistic!  They told me you were "aggressive" and that you would need special training but that there were no guarantees that the training would work.  You were about 10 weeks old then.  I took you home and cried all the way.

But we took you to a behavioral veterinarian and we took you to a special trainer who specialized in aggression.  I took you to the dog park almost every day when you were a puppy, to try to deal with some of that excess energy.  We took you to classes in dog obedience.  You never got very good at coming when called, but you really got good at "drop it" and "leave it."  You sat like a pro, but "stay" was hard.  You were not a perfect dog, but you were a good dog.  I know this because of you.

Because of you, I took walks.  I have never been good at regular exercise.  I'm one of those people who likes reading and writing and thinking way too much.  I tried to walk, because I like walking, but until you came along I was never very consistent.  But I took you for walks every single day.  Even when it was dark and cold.  Sometimes, of course, they were shorter walks, but I took walks, and sometimes long walks in the summer.  Because of you I was not afraid to take walks in the dark, because you were with me.  Because of you I took walks because you needed the exercise too.

Because of you, I learned a new language:  dog.  When we went to the behavioral veterinarian, she said, "Scout doesn't know English.  Think of her as if she was a German exchange student."  So I studied, and tried to learn dog.  I learned how to read your bows and your growls and the way you turned your head to the side.  I learned to notice when your tail was up or your tail was down.  and I learned to stand straight and speak low when I wanted you to take me seriously.  I read the book Culture Clash and The Other End of the Leash, and learned to respect your species, and not try to make you into a human.  I still remember the day I learned what it meant when you dropped one of your toys by the kitchen table while we were eating:  you wanted to trade!  (sorry:  you did not get table scraps.)

Because of you, I learned to be less materialistic.  Because sometimes you destroyed things that I loved.  Like (for example) books.  Or a nice pair of shoes.  But I knew you didn't do it on purpose, like some people would.  You just didn't understand the value that humans put on "things".  So I learned to let go of things -- some things -- that I really loved -- because they are just things -- they are not creatures with hearts that beat, and are alive.  (I also learned -- at least most of the time -- to put things where you could not get them).

Because of you, I learned what the word "good" really means.  Because you were a good girl.  You were always a good girl.  Even when you chewed up books, and even when you unwrapped packages, and even when you ate the raisin cookies (and I had to take you to the vet).  Despite all of those things, you were always a good girl.  Even when you growled and snapped as a puppy, and made us afraid, it was because you were trying to tell us something.   You bit me once, and then I knew I had to get really serious about understanding you, and making you understand me, too.  And finally we learned, and you lived for 13 1/2 years, and you were a good girl.   Because you know what, "Good girl, Scout" really means?

It means, "I love you."  No matter what.

His Eye is On the Sparrow, the Caterpillar, and the Polar Bear

Last week, I went to the zoo.  It was a work-related expedition, as I was one of the adults who got to accompany the children from Vacation Bible School.

I arrived at church on Thursday morning, in the middle of what will henceforth be known as "the great flood."  I saw our children's ministry coordinator standing in the entry, and said, "We are probably not going to the zoo today, right?"  I had heard it would rain, off and on, all day, and I believe weather reports.

No, she replied, we're still going.  It will be all right.

O me of little faith.

She was right.  We left after lunch and we were sprinkle free at our local community zoo all afternoon. There were more puddles than usual, of course, and the weather was tropical-rainforest.  We started right off with a reptile exhibit and spent some time looking at the flamingos.  I sympathized with the polar bear, although it was fun to watch him (her?) turning constant somersaults in the water.

We saw a lot of impressive animals that afternoon, but one of the biggest thrills for my group of eight third and fourth graders was the discovery of a monarch caterpillar.  It was on the sidewalk, not in a cage, and after one of the boys discovered it, a crowd of children gathered around to get a closer look, and to wonder what they should do with it.  Some of the children thought the caterpillar was "gross", but others were concerned that it not be stepped on, and wanted to help relocate it to a nearby plant.

Standing there watching them, I couldn't help thinking about the gospel reading for Sunday.  I was preparing to preach, trying to hold together all of the threads of the gospel from Matthew:  you know -- if they malign me, they are going to malign you too, Jesus says.  But don't be afraid of them.  After all, I keep an eye on sparrows.  And don't think I'm going to bring peace to earth.  I'm coming to divide.

It's hard to keep all of the threads together, so I start thinking about the caterpillar, and sparrows, and how (I'll be honest) I would not in a million years have noticed that caterpillar on the sidewalk.  I was too busy admiring the flamingos, and trying to figure out which exhibit we should go to next.   Somehow the children's care reminded me of Jesus, paying attention to sparrows.

I suppose it is a heart-warming scene, but given the fact that Jesus speaks about sparrows in the middle of a series of sayings about persecution and division, I suppose I should guard against the heart-warming interpretation.  There is something about loving sparrows, heart-warming as it seems, that actually goes against the grain, makes people mad.  For one thing, sparrows are not as lovable as it seems, at first.  As well, it seems to be okay to care about animals when we are children, but when we grow up, we are supposed to put away childish things.  And may I say as well:  we SAY we love animals, but if that is so, why are there so many endangered species?

I remember reading about the passenger pigeon a number of years ago.  I had purchased the most beautiful children's book with pictures of extinct animals.  The passenger pigeon was one of the animals, and a little of the story told.  At one time there were so many passenger pigeons that they were considered a nuisance.  They could not imagine them ever being gone.  They were hunted freely, sometimes hundreds in one day.  It's hard to imagine.  Or, maybe it is not.

I come not to bring peace but a sword, Jesus says.
Not one sparrow falls to the earth apart from your father, he also says.

It is easy to talk about the second statement, hard to talk about the first.  But they go together.  The reason that Jesus' disciples will cause division is that they will value the things that God values:  they will care for the widow and the orphan, the weak and the vulnerable, the unaccompanied immigrant children.  And that will go against the grain, at least sometimes.  People will not be all lined up for the sparrows, or the passenger pigeons, or the caterpillars, for that matter.

But have no fear of them.  That's what Jesus said.  Keep following Jesus.  Not every task will be as easy as finding a fresh branch for a monarch caterpillar.  And you won't always come out unscathed.  But have no fear of them.

His eye is on the monarch caterpillar.  The polar bear too.  And those unaccompanied immigrant children:  they belong to him.

Animals and Eschatology

We have an Animal Blessing Service at my church this Sunday afternoon.  We always begin out on the front lawn with songs and prayer, and at the end, we process into the chapel, where the animals are each blessed individually.

We would't have to bring the animals indoors.  My husband's church has an animal blessing service at around the same time of year, and the whole service is held at the front entry to the church.  They have horses, so I suppose I can see their point.  But there's something I really like about looking out over my congregation of people, and assorted dogs, cats, gerbils and canaries (and sometimes, a goat).  I'm glad that we bring the animals indoors.  It doesn't seem right to have animals in the pews with people, and yet, it does.

There's another part of me that secretly wonders why I love the Blessing of the Animals so much, if it isn't a flaw in me of some sort, a soft sentimentality.  Instead of putting my hand on the head of a Golden Retriever, maybe I should be Ending Poverty, or Racism, or doing something much more Important, something that will bring the Reign of God just a few inches closer.  In the scheme of things, blessing the animals on Sunday afternoon is not that important.  It's not up there with funerals and weddings, it's not as important as feeding the hungry or standing up for those who have been ground into the dust.

And yet, in its own small way, there's something going on here that is important.  Some people use their  Animals Blessing Service to highlight larger concerns:  the important Christian vocation of caring for creation, for one thing.  Protecting the vulnerable includes the vulnerable animals who live with us and around us.  

But the people who come to our front lawn on Sunday afternoon:  they aren't there just because they believe in caring for God's beautiful and vulnerable creation.  They may believe in all that, but they are there because they love the creatures they live with, sometimes beyond all reason.  They love them, and  and in this relationship they catch a glimpse of the grace of God for all creatures, and in this relationship they catch a glimpse of the world to come.

This isn't about "finding God in the beauty of nature"; we're about as likely to find cruelty as beauty in nature.  But it is about glimpses -- glimpses of the future that we sometimes get, glimpses of a future where the lion will lie down with the lamb, where tears and pain and death will be no more, where people and animals and friends and enemies will finally live in peace, where everyone will have enough.

That is the future that God desires, and that is the future that God is bringing to being, and that is the end that we walk toward in the way we treat each other now.

And every once in awhile we catch a glimpse of it.  When enemies forgive each other.  When health is restored.  And animals and people sing God's praise together in the sanctuary.

A Short, Boring Post About Books

Just wanted to let everyone know that yes, I am still reading, plugging away on the reading challenge I've given myself. It's an eclectic list today, so I may leave any great comments for another time.

Here's where I've been lately:

35. Ask, Thank, Give, a book about Stewardship, in conjunction with our Fall Stewardship campaign.

36. In Dying, We are Born, a short, provocative book about congregational renewal. Very thought-provoking.

37. The Blessing of the Beasts, a great and wonderful illustrated book about a cockroach and a skunk who want to go to the Animal Blessing Service at St. John the Divine Cathedral in Manhattan.

38. The Healing of America, T.R. Reid. Reid went all over the world, checking out the different ways that different countries have achieved fairer, cheaper, universal coverage (or not.) Lots and lots to think about. Made me mad (among other things.)