Monday, April 28, 2025
Happy Monday, my friends! Last week was strange. As a pastor and faith leader whose congregation only holds an Easter service, my Holy Week is more relaxed than many of my friends and colleagues, but that means the two weeks after Easter tend to be fuller and feature more meetings which were intentionally scheduled for “after Easter.” Going to bed last Sunday, I looked at my calendar and realized that I was going somewhere, recording something, or in Zoom meetings everyday and for most of those days. Then Monday morning the news reached North America that Pope Francis had passed away. The week I thought I was going to have had already changed.
It was almost twenty years to the day that I last consciously observed the death of a pope in 2005 when I was still Catholic. This time it wasn’t about the loss of the global head of my church, but about Francis as a builder of community and beacon of hope in a world yearning for glimmers of light. My reaction to his death was particularly informed by his openness and compassion to the LGBTQIA+ community, inside and beyond the Catholic Church. That said, he was a complex person and leader whose statements and decisions did not always live up to his intentions. I was often one of his critics, but I appreciated the work he did and the model he set for all pastors.
By Monday night I felt like I was in a fog and couldn’t believe the pope’s death was hitting me so hard. On Tuesday morning my body told me the truth: this wasn’t grief, it was a full-blown allergy attack which would last through Thursday afternoon. I was frustrated at my inability to concentrate and at all the meetings and connections I had to postpone. I took that frustration out on Scout, who had had enough of “cranky dad” by Thursday. But sometimes we just need our furry friends even if they’ve taken the brunt of our anger and even if we aren’t exactly their favorite humans right then. Dogs can extend grace even when we don’t deserve it.[1] Scout crawled into my arms and growled when I tried to get up twice. He knew what I needed.
When life gets hard, where do you find grace?
This is not so much a prayer as a short narrative written by Patricia Czubak from the prospective of a dog. That said, let us pray: “Treat me kindly my beloved friend for no heart in all the world is more grateful for your kindness than the loving heart of me. Speak softly to me often, for your voice is music to my ears, as you can tell by the fierce wagging of my tail, whenever you call my name. Please don't leave me out in the cold and damp. For you have domesticated me and I am no longer use to the bitter elements. I ask no greater privilege than to sit by your side. If you had no home, I would rather follow you through sleet and snow than rest my head upon the softest pillow in the warmest home in all the land. You are my beloved friend, and I am devoted to you eternally. Please fill my bowls with fresh water to drink and food to eat, for although I would not reproach you if they were empty, I cannot tell you when I hunger and thirst. Do these things so that I may stay well, to romp and play and do your bidding, or so that I may stand ready to warn and protect you should you ever be in danger. When the time draws near my beloved friend, and I am weak, deprived of sight and health. Do not turn me out, rather hold me gently in your arms while skilled hands grant me merciful and eternal rest. I will leave you, knowing that with the last breath I drew my love for you knew no boundaries and my fate was forever safer and happier in your loving care.”
Blessings on your weeks, my friends. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.
Faithfully,
Ben
[1] I imagine cats and other creatures can too, but I’m definitely a dog person.
