by Kathy Douglass
The Episcopal tradition offers me an invitation to remembrances and celebrations that are new to me, and this is one of my favorites - a chance to thank God for the life of St. Francis of Assisi, and while doing so, to thank God for His creation, for the life of His creatures.
Um, yea, “creature” about sums it up. As the good Reverend approached, my gentle, fun-loving, scratch-my-belly-would-you-
I was mortified. I wanted to yank at her leash and make a quick getaway. I sifted through the excuses that quickly flooded my thoughts, all beginning with “she’s never done that before, I can’t imagine what…” I wondered what happens to dogs who bite the clergy. Sigh.
It didn’t go at all like I had planned. I’d spent 45 minutes the evening before, brushing her coat so it would be soft and shiny. I got her to the park in time to run off some spunk, chase a few squirrels and sniff about the grass to find her spot.
I’d told her what we were doing, and while I understand she doesn’t know the meaning of my words, (I dorealize she’s a dog), I do believe she understands my tone and she knew that this tone meant we were off to do something fun together. She had to know.
Yea, not so much.
When my eyes are open and I can see beyond what I am “seeing”, I find that there a story pictures, snapshots, collages everywhere. Any given moment can present itself like the next page in a pop-up book, springing off the flattened surface with nuance and color and dimension, revealing a bit of truth we may not have otherwise noticed.
I can be a little cranky sometimes, out of sorts, anxious. I would like to receive a blessing, a prayer, a kindness, a bit of light in the dark, a pathway out of a dead-end, but I can’t see beyond the present circumstance to understand that what I long for is actually happening. I can be like Maggie, not trusting that the hand that’s reaching toward me is good and kind, and bearing what I hope to receive.
The gospel of Luke records that Jesus, aching for the people He loved, spoke these words: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem…how often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, but you would not.” (Luke 13:34)
Maggie would not. All the Reverend wanted to do was touch her gently on the head and offer a word of blessing. But Mags would not have it. She would not.
Sometimes we won’t either.
We stiffen, we growl, we snarl and bare our teeth at the One who would simply come near to lay a hand of gentleness on us, but… we… will… not.
She wasn‘t as animated as she usually is about the car ride home, she lay quietly on the passenger seat, and later that afternoon she rested her head on my lap, all “you still love me, don’t you?”, emanating from her big, brown eyes. I rubbed her ears and remembered the blessing the Reverend had offered Maggie, albeit from a safe distance, earlier in the day: “May the God of all creation bless and keep you, and fill those who love and care for you with joy and thanksgiving.” Amen. Yes Mags, I still love you.
We’ll try it again next year. The Reverend is willing, so am I. Hopefully Maggie will be too.
Receiving can be hard. “I will not” comes so easy. We all need another chance to give “I will” a try.
God bless St. Francis, who loved the Creator
God bless the kind Reverend, who loved my cranky dog
God bless Maggie, who got her blessing despite her behavior
God bless all of us, when we are growly, snarly, reluctant receivers of His goodness
