I’m blogging from home this Monday morning, sitting here, looking around, trying to locate something to write about. Meanwhile, Bear continues to stick his nose into my ribcage, his own way of pleading for what we call his “morning rub”.

It’s a daily ritual with him and me. When I make my way downstairs to put on my shoes, and find a coat, and head off to to Church, he comes close. The first thing he does is enjoy a mighty morning stretch with a kind of low key, pleasured groan. Then, rising up, he walks back and forth close in front of me, giving me full access to his whole body. I find his back and he stands still and tall as I massage his spine. Then he lays down, inviting me to find his belly ribcage and and press on the spaces in-between as once again he groans softly as if to say thanks.

The whole process takes about five minutes. Gotta get around and behind his ears. He delights when I get to the backside, a place he can never reach. Last he stands right in front of me as I gently pet him under his snout on his neck. When he’s had enough he walks across the room, circles up as dogs are prone to do, then sets himself down and takes one big cleansing breath.

He helps me think about the importance of touch, and the vulnerability and trust that comes along. This is because Bear came to us with an unknown history. I found his face on the facebook Chicago pet re-homing page. With little information we met him and his handler at a dog park in the city, and home he came with us. We aren’t sure exactly how old he is, and he likely suffered through some neglect or trauma early on. So when he first came to live with us he did not like to be approached form his back, and made it clear he wasn’t a fan of closed doors and isolation. He would not be trusting enough back then for a morning rub.

But now things are different! He has a happy life, he’s surrounded by loved ones, the doors are open, and he has learned to trust our touches. As I write now, and music plays on my computer, he howls along, evidencing that he surely has some hound in him, even though he looks like a Labrador Retriever. He barks at the mailman as he sits alert on his bed by the window that comes down to the floor.

He reminds me of the healing power and need we have for touch, and the joy we have in each other as loved ones to nurture that touch.

Love From Here!

Peter Hawkinson

To be in Capernaum, Jesus’ adult home town, is a thrill beyond measure. The ruins are extensive, including the floor and walls of the ancient synagogue space. It sits right along the shore of the Sea of Galilee, where call stories are easily imagined and a natural amphitheater seems likely the place where Jesus preached his most extensive sermon on the mount. Oh, to be there!

There is one path, to the right, where pilgrim throngs enter from the adjacent parking lot filled with tour busses. And there is one path out, on the left. Traffic flow is important! It’s the kind of holy spot you just don’t want to leave, but the two tours I’ve been on keep us moving for all there is to see in only a week or so.

The first time I was there with my dad. The second time it was Bonnie. On both occasions, we were not prepared for what appeared on the path out back to the bus. There appears to be from a distance a homeless person on a park bench up ahead. Getting closer it is “The Homeless Jesus”, a bronze sculpture by Canadian Timothy Schmalz depicting a cloaked figure sleeping on a park bench, identifiable as Jesus only by the nail wounds on his feet. First installed at Regis College in Toronto, it now appears at over 50 spots around the world.

That moment when you connect his feet to his identity takes your breath away, and leaves you wondering what to say. I remember my dad, after a long silence, said “He still in this world has nowhere to lay his head”. The next time, Bonnie’s first, I held back the urge to tell her what I knew was up ahead, and let her find it for herself. I don’t remember what was said, but I know we lingered there for a long time and talked until the bus driver came to find us and tell us it was time to go.

The sculptor comments that “it is meant to symbolize the compassion Jesus has for the marginalized and homeless, urging us to see Christ in the poor.” Coming to mind is the grand narrative of Matthew 25, where Jesus speaks with his disciples about his return someday to judge peoples and nations in an unexpected way. Here, the culminating words: “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”

It is frequently and is now the screensaver image on my computer, so I encounter it multiple times each day. I offer it simply to you as a theological icon.

Love From Here

Peter Hawkinson