Woman's Best Friend

Gryffin on adoption day, resting after his 1st bath.

by Rev. Laura Barclay

A few months ago, my husband and I adopted a dog from the Kentucky Humane Society. After three years of allergy shots, I was ready for my first canine. We had been to the shelter several times and never found the right one for us: relatively quiet, good with kids so my niece could play with him/her, medium to small in size, and a low shed breed. As we looked through the cages, I saw a ball of matted fur in the back of one off to the side. Large brown eyes stared out of a mound of dirty white hair.

The name on the card read "Walter". It wasn't his real name (if he was ever given one) but a moniker given by the intake volunteers, which didn't seem to fit his obvious youth. I slowly removed him from the cage and he walked around with me, hovering close to my ankles. While I knew we should keep looking at the rest of the dogs, this one had crawled into my heart. He kept gazing up at me intently and expectantly. I hated even putting him back in the cage to fill out the adoption forms--I was a afraid he'd think I didn't want him, or worse, there would be a mix-up and he would be gone when I returned.

In the days to come as we bathed him, re-named him "Gryffin", took him to the vet to cure his kennel cough, weaned him off of people food and tried to convince him we'd never abandon him, I learned that he was found at a gas station in the small town of Mayfield, KY.  He tried to crawl into the car of a newspaper delivery woman before she called the pound to come and collect him. He was transferred to Louisville because of his sweet nature and high probability of adoption.

Gryffin whimpers and cries during storms, watches us sadly when we leave the house but no longer slams himself against the door to follow. He has gradually eaten his meals more slowly since he trusts that there will be another soon to follow. He still has panic attacks, but far more rarely unless brought on by his bad allergies. Yes, he's a handful--with him I adopted his anxieties, his health problems, and his fears. But he's given me such a blessing in return.

Gryffin lets me style his hair between cuddles.

On days when I'm stressed, he jumps in my lap and forces me to play. He knocks me out of a downward spiral of anxieties because he is highly attuned to his parent's moods. Gryffin's demanding sense of play time forces me to exercise more which also lowers my stress and reframes my mood. More than anything, I have found it incredibly rewarding to help be responsible, along with my husband, for guiding this little guy out of his shell and watching him become more relaxed, loving and confident every day.

I'm learning about that oldest and most ancient of relationships and what having "dominion over the animals" means. It's a great responsibility to care for this puppy, discarded and unwanted by someone who didn't or couldn't understand the depth of that task. In caring for Gryffin, I'm also caring for myself. I'm being reminded of the blessing of God's creation, the importance of being connected to all creatures in it great and small, and my heart has grown larger and more grateful.

I'd love to hear from you: Do you have a special relationship with an animal? What have you learned from that relationship? Leave me a comment!

This column originally appeared in Next Sunday Resources.

Beggars for Mercy

by Rev. Dr. Guy Sayles


“We are beggars.  This is true.”  Martin Luther scratched- out those words on a scrap of paper just before his death on February 18, 1546.  “We are beggars.  This is true.”

Most of us aren’t like the beggars, the panhandlers, we will meet on the streets of downtown.  We aren’t, as far as anyone can tell, as far down or as far out, as they are; we not on the bottom and the margin.  In fact, when compared to them, we’re way up and way in.  It has been a long time, if ever, since most of us were hungry and couldn’t figure-out where the next meal was coming from.  We have, not just the clothes on our backs, but closets bulging with clothes we never wear.  We’re connected, not marginalized; we have family, friends, colleagues, coworkers, and classmates.  We’re either taking care of ourselves or someone else is responsibly and reliably taking care of us.  On the surface, most of us don’t seem like beggars.

Beneath the surface, though, in those places in our minds and hearts hidden from others and sometimes from ourselves, we’re beggars, too.  Maybe we are, as Carlyle Marney once called us, “beggars in velvet,” but beggars nonetheless.  We’re beggars especially for mercy.  The characteristic prayer of Lent is our constant prayer: “Jesus, have mercy on me.  Jesus, have mercy.”

We’re all amalgams of brokenness and wholeness, tragedy and triumph, despair and delight, grief and gladness.  You know what causes you to cry bitter, hurting tears when no one is around.  You know what inspires you to give thanks and to shout for joy.  You know what drives you relentlessly through your days and nights, and what allows you to slow down, be still and know that God is God and you are not.

Your life may be full and rich and good, but there is in you something that makes you anxious or afraid or guilty or ashamed. It’s part of being human.  Everyone struggles or suffers or worries over something, which means everyone needs mercy.

Jesus is God’s mercy in flesh and blood, muscle and bone, word and deed.  Jesus is mercy made clear and brought near.  As you know, the New Testament is written in Greek, but Aramaic was the language Jesus and his first followers spoke.  In Aramaic, the word for mercy or compassion, comes from the same family of words as does the word womb.  God’s mercy, Jesus says and shows, in womblike; it is mother-like.  Mercy makes room in herself for the vulnerable, and us and shelters and protects them until they are strong enough to survive.  Mercy bleeds and labors to give life and energy.  Mercy cries aloud in pain and joy for the wonder of the children we always are and for the people we are always becoming.  God’s mercy connect God to us as a mother is tied to her children: God feels along with us, weeps and laughs with us, crawls, walks, runs and dances along with us.

We live with two unconscious but always pressing questions: (1) Does anyone see me, hear me, and know me for who I am?  (2) if someone sees me, hears me, and knows me, can he or she still love me?

Does anybody know me?  Does the person who really knows me love me?

The mercy of God in Jesus answers those crucial questions with “yes.”  In Jesus, God says: “I know you, completely.  I love you without condition or reservation.”

It’s mercy we need, and mercy for which we beg.  And mercy, sweet saving mercy, is what Jesus gives.

Guy Sayles is the pastor of First Baptist Church of Asheville. This article originally appeared on his blog, From the Intersection.

God Is Our Co-Pilot

Rev. Jason Blanton

For a while, some time in the 80's I think, these bumper stickers and tags became popular.  "God is my co-pilot."  It's well-meaning enough, until you start to realize that if God is the co-pilot, then you are actually at the controls.  So of course, next came the reaction, "if God is your co-pilot, switch seats!"

I think, at this point we need to admit that as American Christians, God has indeed become our co-pilot.  As we have spent what seems like the last 2 years (or more) fully dug into the trenches of the latest American culture battle, one of many in this 30+ year culture war, I fear we have allowed ourselves to slip further and further into irrelevance.

This isn't another blog about gay marriage.  Not really.  Its about how this latest round of bickering is a symptom of a much deeper problem, a problem that is endangering the very soul of the American Church.

If I were to ask a Catholic brother or sister, "who or what sets the agenda for your church?"  They may respond, "the Pope," or perhaps answer with something like the accumulated tradition of 2000 years of Christianity.

If I were to ask a Protestant, particularly an Evangelical, they will say "the Bible!"

Perhaps, if I were to ask a more charismatic brother or sister, they may say "The Spirit."

None would say our culture, or our political leaders, or "the world."  Yet, here we are engaged in the latest round of  "defending the faith" because we are reacting to what is going on around us.  Don't believe me?   I personally stood in a lunch line, waiting to make a sandwich on a mission trip in Grifton, NC, and had a fellow pastor chastise me for being affiliated with CBF.  "They are too tolerant of the gays (his words)"  My response was, "why is homosexuality so much worse than greed or idolatry or any of the other number of sins we seem to ignore?"  His answer - "The gay AGENDA!" Ask one of the many pastors at the forefront of the argument against gay marriage why their church, or their organization spends so much time recently talking about homosexuality, and they will say something along the lines of "the homosexual agenda."  "THEY are trying to make their lifestyle mainstream, so we have to talk about it."

Really?  So our churches are led, not by the Spirit, or the Word, or even our tradition?  They are instead simply a reactionary movement against the latest of whatever "agenda" we think is attacking us?

Let’s not forget how Jesus reacted when He was being attacked.  He didn't suit up for a culture war, or a real war - he put a guy's ear back on his head, and then put Himself on a cross.  Jesus wouldn't let the culture of nonstop violence and war ruin the Gospel.  The Kingdom was too important to waste on the ways of men. 

Jonathan Martin, a fellow Charlotte pastor, recently wrote a tremendous blog about "Gender, race, and Pentecost," in which he pointed out what the American church hasn't yet realized - we are no longer the center of the Christian world.   The Spirit is moving in places we have never heard of, in ways we can't imagine, and we are missing out - because we are taking our instructions from politicians, newscasters, and various five-star culture warriors.

Indeed, God is our co-pilot, and I'm afraid we aren't terribly anxious to switch seats.

Jason Blanton is the pastor of Grace Crossing Charlotte. This article originally appeared on his blog, http://jasonblanton.blogspot.com/.