Dog Theology, part 9: Missy

It's been far too long since I last visted the subject of Dog Theology. So, please allow me room to ramble as I try to once again connect our furry friends with with our ontological perceptions. If you're unfamiliar with this branch of theology, click the link and get up to speed.

I visited with an elderly gentleman the other day. His wife died about 7 years ago, and ever since it has just been he and Missy. Missy is his 15 year old beagle. He takes care of Missy, and Missy takes care of him.

As he spoke about his departed bride, I could see in his eyes that he daily lived with the grief of losing her. In his lonely words, I could hear the ways in which typical household tasks reminded him of her absence. One of the remaining loves in his life was Missy. She was his pal. Everything they did, they did together. Back when he could still drive, when he went somewhere, so did Missy. She rode in the passenger seat looking out the window. She especially loved days it was snowing. At the grocery store, she rode in the cart inspecting for quality assurance purposes each item he placed in the buggy.

Missy's bedtime was always at 8:30. And she would let him know. She'd leave him and go try and lie down for sleep, but find herself unable to sleep without her evening cleaning. So, it wouldn't be long before she would trot back into the living room to get her master's attention. Each night, he warms a wet wash cloth and dabbed Missy's eyes. He rubbed her face and wiped down her coat to remove the day's dirt. Missy had to have her nightly bath, you know. She holds out her paws to have them inspected and wags her tail really fast when she's clean.

She curls up in her bed each night. But, before she can sleep, her daddy folds up a special little blue blanket beside her bed. On this blanket Missy rests her head, finally ready and able to nod off to sleep. The blue blanket belonged to Missy's mom, his late wife.

In theological language, you'll often hear talk of the Incarnation. Referring to Jesus, the incarnation is when God became a man, came in the flesh, or as one author said it, "put skin on to show us what love looks like." But in incarnational theology, incarnation happens in other ways as well. As we live out, or enact the compassion that Jesus talked about, we are incarnating God. Giving a meal to someone who doesn't have one is incarnating God. Providing a healing touch, by surgeon or therapist, is enacting God's justice. And, staving away loneliness, like Job's friends when they quietly sat with him, or like a little beagle who is a faithful companion, incarnates the reality of God's presence.

I keep a picture of my dogs at my desk. When I look at those two puppies, I think about how happy they always are to see me. I know that I am loved. I smile. My theology has come to a place where I no longer hear the judgmental or condemning voices of my childhood theology (you are a sinner! you must accept God's forgiveness or else!). Rather, I hear the accepting voice of God coming through loud and clear, "You are loved. I delight in you, as in all people, Christian or Muslim or Atheist, no matter what."

There's a remarkable similarity in the peacefulness I get from thinking about being loved by my dogs and being love by God. I think of the man I visited, who undoubtedly experiences God's love and acceptance as Missy incarnates that love.

If even dogs can be bearers of God's love, surely we can too.