In his devotion for today, Richard Rohr tells of how his Labrador retriever comes to his beside and looks right at him until he makes eye contact. Says Rohr, "I often wonder, 'What is she looking at?
What is she seeing that she likes so much?' or maybe even 'What is
she seeing that I cannot see?' I am convinced that many creatures--that we
think just live at a rudimentary level of consciousness or mere 'instinct'--might be seeing 'the one thing necessary'! They
don't get lost in our so called 'thinking,' which is largely labeling
and judging everything up or down. Animals can seemingly connect out of pure
naked being without any filters, except of course fear of rejection or harm. Is
this innocence? Whatever it is, it is a gift! And a gift that you and I have to
reclaim and relearn with great difficulty."
I thought about this as I read the Apostle Paul's words to the congregation in Galatia. Paul speaks of how, through Christ, we have received adoption, how we are now children of God and so heirs. Paul is speaking of a remarkable change in our sense of who we are, one that should set us free. We are secure in God's love and need not worry so much about meeting others' standards or checking off every religious box. And I thought of Fr. Rohr's black Lab.
For the most part, animals don't seem to worry very much about whether they measure up. Many dogs will go to great lengths to please their owners, but this does not seem to happen because they worry we might stop liking them. It is just how dogs are. Cats behave very differently from dogs, but the motivation seems much the same. They are not much worried about our opinions of them, and they simply behave as cats behave.
Very young children are not so different. They behave as young children do, not worrying very much that their parents might stop loving them if they give offense. Only with a bit of age do they began to worry about such things, learning to judge others and themselves and so become aware that they might not "measure up."
Our human awareness is a wonderful gift, but it also makes terrible worriers out of us. Much of our lives end up being attempts to keep the worries at bay. Surely our consumerism and careerism are born of worries that we might not have enough. Some awareness of our needs and how to provide for self and family can make for prudent planning, but we almost never stop there. Similar patterns show up in our relationships with others and in our relationship with God.
Some of the most annoying and problematic Christians (and members of other faiths) are those with the most worries and anxieties. Their fears about being saved, getting to heaven, getting right with God, or whatever drive them toward rigid orthodoxies that allow them to be "certain." A similar dynamic operates in politics and other arenas.
But black Labs, little children, and Paul's "children and heirs" don't worry so much about such things. With dogs and very small children, this may simply be blissful unawareness, but with Paul it is something else. It is an assurance that comes from being caught up in God's love, something Paul labels being "in Christ." It is an experience of God's love that in no way overwhelms our human capacity for awareness. Rather it allows us to practice this awareness without the anxieties that so often define and motivate us.
We live in anxious times. Our current political climate is so full of anxiety that both political parties care more about making the other look bad (making themselves look better by comparison?) than they do about dealing with real issues. Both parties play to the public's anxieties in this pursuit, and those we disagree with become enemies. Enemies are easy to find when you are overly worried and anxious.
But Jesus models an entirely different way. Jesus is not much worried by whether or not others reject or embrace him. He sees little reason to label others enemies, and he tell us to pray for them anyway. Finally, he willingly becomes the epitome of rejection, enduring all manner of abuse, torture, and even a cross. He willingly becomes a kind of scapegoat for the entire world. He is so secure in who he is. He is so confident that God's love will not fail him.
I won't claim anything like that sort of confidence and security. I can trust myself to God's love and grace here and there, but my anxieties still can get the better of me all too often. I do think my faith is growing though. It happens by fits and starts. Sometimes there is a three steps forward two steps backwards aspect to it, but the awareness that God's love has claimed me is there... much of the time. And the sense that I am a child, an heir, at times is strong.
I wonder if a helpful guide for those of us seeking to grow in faith might not be our anxieties. By that I mean that our anxieties might serve as warning of sorts. If our faith practices are not helping us to become more secure in God's love, if they are instead making us fearful and worried, then surely we are off track. As perhaps our pets already know.
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