So, way back when I was beginning my discernment for the priesthood, a church committee would meet with me to discuss things. And one guy one time paused and asked, “How do you see your job as a shepherd?” I paused, was about to respond, and paused again. And I paused some more, to the point that people probably thought I'd sort of dozed off with my eyes open.
Then, I said, haltingly, “I don't think I'm supposed to be a shepherd.” They looked stunned, but I continued, gathering courage. “I think that's the bishop's job. He's the one with the shepherd's crook. I think I'm more of a boarder collie. Running all over the place. That's more of the job, right?”
And I think I'm still right about this. Priests are boarder collies, nipping at people's heels, pushing them this way and that. Seeing that they are fed and watered. Licking wounds. Running around with their tongues lolling about. It's tiring sometimes, but fun mostly. Busy, especially during times like these, but some down time, too.
I dare say it's much like y'all's lives if you think about it.
And I was thinking about it yesterday when I went to visit Lola's grave. Surely by now everyone has heard me talk about Lola the Pit Bull. She was 80 lbs of pure id. A big heavy dog that didn't know her own strength. Stubborn even when she was asleep. If given an option to be nice or cause a little trouble first, she'd opt for trouble. When she was a puppy, I was determined not to like her, but she was determined to like me, and she won. When she died, my heart broke more than I expected, and I'm so thankful that it did. Because that girl....well, that's how I end most every story about Lola: that girl!
And, oh, man, her energy. Running as fast as she could, as low to the ground as she could get without scraping her belly. Everything was full-speed in her life.
But there was this one time. One time I was dog sitting Cotton and Lola. And they were sleeping in my room, and it was quiet except for the gentle snoring of the dogs. And sometime in the early morning, I felt a gentle push on the mattress, and then I heard a “pfffttt” and felt a little hot, wet wind. I cracked open one eye, and there she was. Lola's big, giant, heavy head had rested on the edge of the mattress, deep brown eyes just staring at me. I opened both eyes and said, “Hello, girl.” And she pushed her head forward and licked me with her big slobbery tongue. Then she went back to her dog bed and curled up.
It reminded me of a passage in Winnie the Pooh, when Pooh and Piglet are walking along: “Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh!" he whispered. "Yes, Piglet?" "Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you.”
Oh, that girl....
Now, it seems to me that there's a lot going on in our manger scene that we've described tonight in the Gospel reading, in this manger scene down below me. We have angels blaring things at the top of their lungs, delivering messages of hope and joy. Messages that remind us that joy is not just found in happiness, because, let's face it, in many places around the world, heck, in many places right here in our community, so many people have even given up at finding happiness. But that's not the point to “Joy to the World,” is it? The joy is not that; the joy is in knowing that finally, in this one instance, this world is fixed...we just need to let it be fixed.
And there's all those shepherds, tending their flocks. Just minding their own business. Knowing their place in this world, and knowing that their place is meager. Their place is in the shadows, out on the fringe. And the world at the time doesn't think much about shepherds. Sure, we love what they provide – wool and meat. But it's better to let them do all the hard work, out there in the fields, so that we don't have to. They have no idea that God will choose them to hear the Good News first, because somewhere along the line society forgot to teach them that God's preference is for the poor and the outcast.
And maybe, our manger scene has some kings crammed in there, too. Technically, they probably didn't show up for another year or two, but hey, our scene has room. So here they crowd in, bearing gifts, lavish gifts, but gifts that signify the rough road ahead for this newborn. Gifts given freely from the rich to the poor. Something that doesn't seem to happen all that much in that time or in this, but that happened this time in this place as a reminder that ALL gifts are from God and for God.
And the Holy Family, bewildered and tired. Wondering if there's enough food in the fridge to share with all these guests. Maybe Joseph trudging over to the inn to see if he can scrounge up some cheese and crackers at least. And Mary, exhausted from the delivery, wondering if she's doing this swaddling correctly. Staring at this child, sleeping in her lap. Knowing the big picture of what this child will do, but still nervous because angels always seem to forget to provide the details.
And all the animals, shoving over for these people, munching on hay, resting up from the day's work, because that's what they do. No holidays for them.
All of this going on in this busy scene.
But sitting up there yesterday with Lola, I thought of her in that scene. I mean, surely there was a dog, right? There's always a stray in any village, more that one, probably. And the shepherds probably had one or two...not collies, but the Middle Eastern equivalent. But in my imagination, the dog is Lola the Pit Bull. Full of energy, ready to get crackin'.
That's how we are supposed to be right? As Christians, I mean? On the move. Following Jesus's commandments: loving God, loving our neighbor, proclaiming the Gospel, baptizing, feeding, clothing. Fighting for justice, defending the poor and oppressed. Caring for the widows and orphans and aliens in our midst. It's all there, in all of scripture, in all of Christ's teachings, in our baptismal vows. It's all there. And that's busy work, and that's hard work, and that's joyful work. And it's sad and bewildering and daunting...and it's more satisfying that life itself, if we just let it be.
But it's work. And even the hardest worker needs rest. And even Lola needs to come in from all her activity and rest.
Y'all, another year is upon us, and things are going to happen that will break our hearts, and things are going to happen that will lift those hearts in joy. And it's going to be work, and I will stand here and time and time again utter those words, “Love God and love your neighbor.” I promise you that. Because that's how we bestow Joy to this world.
But for now, at this moment, in this place, on this night, stop. And imagine Lola. Because here's what I see. I see her wandering into the scene and wondering what all the hullaballoo is all about, and then she spies that baby. And muscles her way to the front, to be in the middle of it all. And I see Lola laying her head at the edge of the manger, brown eyes comprehending...something...I don't know what, but something. And she puffs her breath on that child. And she thinks, “I just wanted to be sure of you.” And she goes to her place and falls to sleep.
Merry Christmas.