Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection-Sassy

Sassy

He’ll turn 8 in a little over a week.

He was born on Mother’s Day in 2007.

8 weeks he came home with me. A little golden ball of fur who whined all night and awkwardly tumbled upstairs and was so adorable I almost thought about renting him out to single folks.

He’s always had a heart of gold. I like to think it’s from his golden coat that goes with me everywhere.

Whenever we go out, people are often taken aback by his size. “Does he bite?” they ask. Always with a grin, I reply, “Nope. He’ll lick ya to death.”

I guess you could say he is a gentle giant.

People who don’t have pets don’t quite understand their impact on us humans. Often when I’ve talked about Silas and Chloe people will ask, “Oh, are they your children?” and when I politely say no there is often an expression of judgment. No that is too strong of a word. There is an expression of misunderstanding and ignorance. Pets are intuitive creatures. Especially dogs. When the time is right, rarely do they instigate for their own sake of feeling good. Nor do they ever talk back. And never have I ever come home and was met by Silas and Chloe with their tails not wagging. Even on their worst days, and on my very awful, no good, bad days, they offer me love.

All went well today at our vet appointment. Both dogs are healthy and the lumps found on Silas’ belly are nothing to worry about. A large sigh of relief was breathed at the house upon the good news.

They are with me now at church. Asleep at my feet. Silas is snoring by the door. And Chloe, well, about every 4 minutes she raises her head as if she has heard something. Perhaps she hears the church mouse.

Next week Silas turns 8. The following week Chloe will turn 3. They are dogs, yes. But they are much more than that. They are companions and teachers. They reveal insight about joy and simplicity, grace and forgiveness, happiness and love. Life isn’t perfect. And trust me, my pups aren’t perfect. However, despite the imperfections, they help me see each day as a gift, a reason to go on an adventure and smell the flowers, to walk a little slower, to saunter more.

Before you think I’ve gone off the deep end and am a pantheist, let it be known I am a Christian. In fact, I absolutely love the story of creation and how God created us in Her image, selflessly and with great love. I find comfort knowing that before God made a partner for humans, there were animals to keep us company. However, I do like to read those ancient creation myths that depict God with a dog. These stories do not explain the existence of the dog; like God, the dog is assumed to have existed from the beginning. In this assumption, these primordial people revealed their intense attachment to their animal companions.

I agree with Milan Kundera who speaks to this attachment when he says:

Dogs are our link to paradise. They don't know evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring--it was peace.

Silas can be sassy.

Chloe can be…difficult?

But they make me smile.

And that is one of the greatest gifts of peace I can receive.

Through Stained Glass: Advent Word of the Day--Afraid

Day 22:  Afraid

They fled from the tomb…for they were afraid. [Mark 16.8]

My first nightmare, that I remember, was one about Harry and the Henderson’s, that bizarre movie turned TV show about a Bigfoot like creature.

I remember dreaming he was following me and when I woke up, I swore he was walking towards me. Of course, this launched me out of my bed and into my big brothers. It is funny how my eyes played a trick on me, causing me to be afraid of the dark.

Then there was the time when I went exploring in the souvenir shop at Cave of the Winds in Colorado without telling my parents. When I went to find them, well, they were gone. That feeling of adrenaline pumping through my veins and my breath quickening and the reaction to cry, I’ll never forget it. That was the first time I was afraid of being alone.

I don’t have children. But I do have two Golden Retrievers and they are like children. I remember when I took Silas, my oldest golden, to the dog park in Louisville and 2 other dogs attacked him. My heart sank. I was frozen in my tracks. And I was genuinely afraid for my friendly, gentle giant of a golden pup.

It is okay to be afraid. It happens to everyone. Mary was afraid. So was Joseph.

I often wonder if God was afraid at the thought of becoming one of us who, She well knows, have a tendency to harm and hurt each other. Just look at the headlines. Listen to the floating heads on TV.

Actually, don’t. If you do that, it will only make you more paranoid and afraid.

I guess, Advent is a time to recognize that fear and being afraid is normal, a part of our human condition.

And if Jesus is who we say Jesus is, then we can find comfort knowing that at some point, Jesus too knew what it felt like to be afraid.

So friends, the light is growing brighter. The nights are becoming shorter. The hour of uncertainty will dawn. Soon, we will no longer need to be afraid.

If you made it this far, I encourage you to spend 11 minutes and watch this video. Storyteller Karen Thompson Walker does a beautiful job articulating how fear can be a positive influence in our lives.

Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection-Soak

Soak

It hadn’t been but a few minutes since I let them out. I know they had enough water. That day I had filled up their bowls twice already. It wasn’t even noon. But it was near 90 degrees. The humidity was thick. Finally, the dog days of summer were upon us.

That’s why my heart started racing when I saw him lying out there.

From where I was, I couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Chloe was busy chasing after a butterfly. But Silas, he was lying motionless in the middle of the backyard.

Quickly I opened the door and yelled his name.

“Silas! Hey pal.”

Nothing.

No lifting of the head.

No wagging of the tail.

With a little more angst in my voice I again yelled, “Hey pup. Let’s get out of this heat. Come on Silas.”

Sweet Chloe came bumbling over but Silas, he remained still in one spot.

As the sweat began to run down my back, I stepped off the porch and onto the rocks, making as much noise as possible to get his attention.

“Want a treat big fella?” I yelled.

No response.

Nothing.

By this time, the adrenaline was pulsating through my body. My walk had turned into a jog. Chloe was interested now too.

Finally, when Chloe and I were within a few feet of the golden dog his head raised and his tail started wagging. My heart stopped racing. And the two dogs started playing.

This wasn’t the first time Silas has done this to me. He often practices lying motionless in the sun during the hottest part of the day. No food or squeaky toy is ever enticing enough to get him inside. It is as if he enters a state of being that causes him to be still.

While I watched my dog basking in the sun, I thought of my favorite part from the evening prayer liturgy that is found in our Prayer Book:

Jesus Christ is the light of the world, the light no darkness can overcome.

Stay with us, O Christ, for it is evening and the day is almost over.

Let your light scatter the darkness and illumine your church.

Soon the summer days and the accompany heat will transition into the falling leaves and temperatures of autumn. Before you know it, we will likely be walking in a winter wonderland and lamenting for days like these.

So I encourage you, like Silas, to take time to sit in the sun. Be responsible about it. Drink water. Wear sunglasses or your favorite Chicago Cubs baseball hat. Soak yourself in the sun, letting it fill you with God’s love.  Breathe in this love and breathe out your thanks.

Jesus Christ is the light of the world. There is comfort in that. There is hope in the light and peace in the warmth.

As Labor Day approaches, may you find a sunny spot to soak up the sun, while basking in the warmth of God's loving presence and the good news that to God, you're golden.

Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection-Smoke

The sun was setting, the day’s final light slipping through the thick foliage surrounding me. By my side was a sleeping Golden Retriever, Silas, worn out from a busy day of hiking and exploring. At my feet embers radiated heat, burning orange as fresh wood caught fire. The day’s choir of birds and squirrels completed their act, and after a brief intermission of utter silence, the crickets and frogs sang us the rest of the way.

As the smoke from the fire ascended to the evening sky, descending through the leaves were white fluffs from a cotton wood tree. Gracefully gliding, the weightless seeds turned ablaze as they reflected the evening light, becoming little balls of fire. Soon, their glows transformed into the flickering spectacle of a forest filled with lightning bugs. The dense elm trees and maple trees began to illumine like a pine tree in December, a light shining in the darkness.

Just as it rose, the sun set, and then escaped behind the western horizon. Without light, nighttime consumed the campground. What was once seen became hidden. A familiar path became foreign. Isn’t it funny how different things look and feel and seem in the dark? Silas’ head remained up, ears back, his breathing a sort of quiet, but heavy, as he listened to the trees come alive. The chill the storm ushered in settled between the leaves, resting on the already expended branches.

The flames danced, swayed, and flickered with the breeze. In the stirring of the night, the woods and pastures appear joyous in their abundance now in a season of warmth and much rain. The lake is beyond its banks, overflowing into dry creek beds and walking paths, spreading its mirrors out upon the fields of the valley floor. It has become like God’s love or sorrow, including at last all that had been left out. All the while, my face, heart, my being was warmed by the fire’s light. The solitude soon ushered me to sleep. Finally I found rest.

I read somewhere once that the interior life should consist of moments of relaxation, freedom, and ‘browsing.’ Some do this via literature or music. We must remember though our time is limited. We need to be by ourselves. When we are by ourselves, we soon get tired of our folly. In that tent, under those stars, having finally submitted to the rhythms of creation, I learned that my folly did not fit in with the eminent sanity of trees, birds, water, or the sky.

The silence of the woods forced me to make a decision, which the tensions and artificialities of society may help me evade forever. I, you, we, must get out every once in a while. I, you, we, need a good garden, access to the woods, or to the sea. I, you, we, need to run to the mountains and to the hills. It is at these places, between the twinkling of the stars and the chorus of crickets, where we will find the silence that asks us the most important question:  do you want to be yourself or don’t you?

Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection--Silas

Silas

Psalm 121

Assurance of God’s Protection

I lift up my eyes to the hills—

   from where will my help come? 

My help comes from the Holy One,

   who made heaven and earth. 

God will not let your foot be moved;

   God who keeps you will not slumber. 

God who keeps Israel

   will neither slumber nor sleep. 

The Holy One is your keeper;

   the Holy One is your shade at your right hand. 

The sun shall not strike you by day,

   nor the moon by night. 

The Holy One will keep you from all evil;

   God will keep your life. 

The Holy One will keep

   your going out and your coming in

   from this time on and for evermore.

There is a big difference between having and keeping. For instance, I have a favorite hooded sweatshirt—the Chicago Cubs one that you probably see me wearing all the time. This is my possession. However, unlike my sweatshirt, I keep my dog, Silas. He is not a mere possession; he is my pup, my companion, my beloved dog. He is dear to me: I watch over him, not just for my own sake and with my own interests in mind, but for his sake, too. I love Silas, and protect him from harm, because if he suffers, it hurts me too.

Likewise, God, the Creator, does not merely possess us. God, instead, keeps us. God engages with us. God woos us and dances with us through this gift we call life. We are God’s beloved, and immeasurably dear to God. We are not propertied possessions in the eyes of God, nor pawns in the game of life. We are, most importantly, not instruments in and through which God purposefully inflicts pain or suffering to “teach us a lesson” or to “make God’s plan known.”

In fact, quite the opposite is true. We are the children, the companions, of a God who understands suffering, who knows distinctly the experience of pain. Psalm 121 reminds us that God does not merely have or own us: God keeps us and relates to us as God’s own.

Notice the repetitiousness forms of “keep?” As often as we feel ourselves “lose our grip” on God, it is nice to know that God does not lose God’s grip on us. We may find peace knowing that we need not base our identities, both individual and communal, on the assumption that we need to have a firm hold on all things, and get everything “right.” Rather, we need to remember that even after we were beautifully made, God proclaimed we are also good. Thus, we can release ourselves into rejuvenating rest because we know God’s watchful eye and creative hand never let us go.

Friends, while there may be pain—and yes, even death— in this journey, we do not go alone. There will be hardship, trouble, and there will be danger, but God is with us, will never forget us, and will always, yes always, love us on this journey we call life.

So, take a breath knowing that as you do, God is keeping you. There is much good waiting to be found along the way.

Something my pal Silas reminds me of every time we go for a walk.