Rescue Dogs

Matthew 6:25-34

[Jesus said,] “Therefore, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Look at the birds of the air, they neither sow, nor reap, nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly father feeds them. Of how much more value are you, than they? And can any of you, by worrying, add a single hour to your span of life?

“And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow? They neither toil, nor spin, and yet, truly I tell you, even Solomon, in all of his glory, was not clothed like one of these. But if your heavenly father so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you, you of little faith?

“So do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive after all of these things and indeed, your heavenly father knows that you need all of these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness and all these things will be give you as well.

“So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring trouble of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.”

---

I love a good rescue dog story. You know the ones you see on social media vignettes where some wayward hound is living under a bridge or beneath a house – and has been for a while – chained to a tree or trapped in a hole until someone finds them, convinces them they are safe, carries them off in a blanket or lures them into a car with a leash to be shaved, de-loused, operated on, in some cases, socialized to tolerate people and other pets, and then re-homed with someone in suburbia who now lets them sleep on the bed, eat at the dining room table from fine china, and swim in the pool. If we were inside, I’d just share one of those videos and call it a sermon. I watch those things from start to finish, every time.

But that would be too easy. And I like a good dog rescue story, even more, where the dog does the rescuing. So I found a few to tell you about…

There’s a story about a man who slipped in the snow and ice in the winter wilderness of Michigan, and broke his neck. Laying there paralyzed, he just waited to freeze to death. But his golden retriever, Kelsey, stayed with him, laid on top of him for 19 hours, keeping him warm and barking incessantly until help arrived, long after her owner lost consciousness. And the man survived in the end.

Then there was a German Shepherd named Sako who survived a car accident that killed a handful of passengers, leaving his teenage owner alive, but wounded. Sako the dog took care of his boy for 40 hours by keeping him warm, leading him to water, and fighting off coyotes.

There’s another story about Major, a Labrador/Pitbull mix. His owner was a combat veteran who suffers from PTSD and he was having a seizure. Major – the dog – called 911 by stepping on his owner's iPhone. Thinking it was a prank or an accidental call, dispatchers repeatedly hung up, which forced Major, the service dog, to keep calling, over and over again, 10 times until someone showed up to save his dad.

And there’s the simple, sweet story of another Pitbull puppy (if nothing else, maybe we can redeem the reputations of Pitbulls if we tell more stories like these) who was adopted by another military veteran, also suffering from PTSD. When she found her new dad on the verge of suicide, sitting on the kitchen floor, holding a handgun, Cheyenne the puppy sat beside him, licked his ear, and made him laugh. It was enough to make him change his mind, and live another day.

So, back to this morning’s Gospel… Some people think it’s hard to follow Jesus when he says to love your enemy, to turn the other cheek, to love your neighbor as yourself, or – like we heard last week – to deny yourself, to take up your cross, and to follow him. But these days, today’s command to “NOT WORRY” ranks right up there with some of Jesus’ tallest orders, don’t you think?

“Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring troubles of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today.”

No kidding, right? We have plenty to worry about these days – today, tomorrow, yesterday, whatever. I don’t care what day of the week Jesus pretends we can focus on at any particular moment. And I don’t have to list them all for you – our shared list of worries is as full as whatever list of concerns we carry all on our own.

And I’m not about to suggest that a puppy’s wet nose is enough to cure or cast out every one of those demons, all of our diseases, or every ounce of our despair. (I might bet on it – the power of the puppy, I mean, but I’d never promise such a thing.)

Because the truth is, Jesus doesn’t tell us not to worry “at all.” I think he knows us better than that. Jesus tells us not to worry about tomorrow, because there’s enough on our plate today – at any given moment – and tomorrow will come. Jesus just wants us to remember that God’s love is bigger than whatever today can bring, or tomorrow, or the next day, too. “Look at the birds of the air…”  “Consider the lilies of the field…” “If God feeds them…” “If God clothes them…” “If God cares for them…” How much more will God tend to each of us, in the end?

And all of this reminded me of something else I heard not long ago, that “Everyone who has a dog, believes theirs is the best. And everyone is right.”

“Everyone who has a dog – or a cat or a bird or a bearded dragon or whatever – believes that theirs is the best – dog or cat or bird or bearded dragon, or whatever. And everyone is right.”  

And I believe God is that way, too. The love and grace and mercy of God is so powerful that each of us, as far as the creator of the universe is concerned, is the best dog … the goodest boy … the sweetest girl … the most worthy, loveable, forgiven, valuable, worthwhile, treasured, prized, cherished child there is. Only God’s love is that deep. Only God’s grace is that mighty. Only God’s vision is that vast. Only God’s reach is that wide.

And if you brought a pet with you today – or if you’ve ever been lucky enough to have a pet like these – you know what that kind of unrestrained love and devotion and grace feels like.

So we bless our animals this morning as a reminder of their importance in our lives, as a celebration of God’s creation and of our place in the midst of it, and as an experience of grace – given and received – by the one who rescues and redeems us all, from whatever worries us most – always and forever – in Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen

If Snow Were Ashes

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

“Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.

“So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

 If snow were ashes…

That’s been my working title for this sermon, since Indiana and so much of our country started to receive warning upon warning that ‘winter was coming’ over the last week or so. And that it was going to show up all at once… winter… in Indiana at least. Piles and piles of snow we hadn’t seen yet, this year, until the middle of February when it all showed up at once. And that it would hit places like Texas, too, where they aren’t so used to or prepared or able to handle what came with such weight and depth and cold.

If snow were ashes…

But that working title really hit home for me yesterday, when the first wave of all that snow had arrived, as predicted, and I did my annual dusting off of the snow blower. You know that machine that gets packed away in the Spring, parked in the far reaches of the mini-barn, until Fall rolls around and I make space for it in the garage where it sits and waits for winter and cold and snow high and heavy enough to earn its keep.

Along with the annual dusting off of the snow blower comes the annual testing of my patience when the thing doesn’t start as it should. And the annual frustration I feel as I check the oil and wonder about the spark plug and pull that rope until I break a sweat. And then the shame … oh the shame is real … for knowing, every year … every God-blessed year … that I should have started the thing a time or two or twelve since last time I used it … and probably changed the oil … and apparently used different, better gas, according to the guy at the hardware store.

If snow were ashes…

Then comes the crow I eat (whatever that means) as I recruit my boys to help me shovel – back-breaking work this time around – and as I hear the sounds of happy snow blowers, starting up without fail, in garages and driveways all around me, over the clear, driven snow. And as I watch those driveways get cleared with efficiency and ease – just as it should be when one owns such a piece of snow blowing equipment. Oh, and the mix of shame and deep gratitude for the kind neighbor who comes to our aid by snow-blowing out the biggest, heaviest piles of it all just after the city plow does a drive-by in the middle of our work and blocks the end of our driveway again.

If snow were ashes…

I say that because I think a lot of us – me included – treat the sin and death these ashes represent for us with about as much respect, regard and preparation as I treat my snow blower and the prospect of snow. I mean, I think we avoid and dodge and deny the inevitability of our sin, our shame, and our ultimate demise to the point that it catches us off-guard and finds us unprepared and leaves us frustrated and ashamed and afraid, even, too much of the time.

Which is so much of what Ash Wednesday and the season of Lent are meant to be for us: a reckoning for our brokenness and sin; a reminder that the winter of our dying will, indeed, come; and an invitation to do something – to live differently – because of it; and with hope that someone – God, in Jesus, to be specific – has and will get us out of this mess, to redeem all of it for our sake and for the sake of the world.

So what would we, could we, should we do, if snow were ashes?

Let’s stop denying that death will come – and indeed is on the way – for every one of us. Let’s stop denying the Sin that besets us as individuals and as disciples and as a people… as God’s Church in the world.

We’ve had enough, too many, reminders of that death and our Sins since our last Ash Wednesday worship a year ago have we not?

When we last shared and received our ashes in 2020, the pandemic wasn’t being called a pandemic yet. We thought it might be something like the flu and we tried to convince ourselves of that for quite a while. Too long, probably. 485,000+ deaths in the U.S. and almost 2 million more deaths worldwide later, this death is impossible to deny. (If snow were ashes…)

Last Ash Wednesday we’d never heard of George Floyd or Breonna Taylor or Ahmaud Arbery; we didn’t know who Rayshard Brooks or Daniel Prude or Casey Goodson were, either. Too many of us still keep the truth and the ugliness of the deadly racism that infects our country hidden away in the back of the mini-barn until it rears its ugly head, like it did on the steps of the US Capitol, for instance. (If snow were ashes…) 

Last Ash Wednesday, cancer and chemotherapy and radiation were things I wondered and worried and prayed about for all of you and for so many others. But it all moved into my house this summer, fast and furious, like a blizzard you might say, and things have changed for our family because of it. And, I know, the same is true for so many … some disease, some diagnosis, some treatment – or worse – find us all, eventually… (If snow were ashes…)

And this is how Sin and death come together so much of the time for us – like something we know is there; like something that could happen; like something that will, eventually happen; like something we can choose to put off or deny or pretend away. But something that looms, nonetheless. And lingers for those of us who are left behind.

So what to do? – if snow were ashes or ashes were snow, or whatever – dumped so predictably, yet by surprise in so many ways.

These ashes we wear on our foreheads and these words we hear from Jesus and the promises we read in Scripture remind us that we need not fear the sin and death that send us running and reeling, dodging and denying so much of the time.

Instead, in the midst of it all, we’re called to tend our faith. We practice our piety, faithfully and quietly – not before others, in order to be seen by them. We give our offering without expecting applause or accolades for being generous. We pray, we fast, we worship, we learn, we serve.

And there’s more. We love our enemies and we pray for those who persecute us. We love the Lord our God with all of our hearts, minds, souls, and strength. And we love our neighbors as ourselves, too – which means even more than blowing snow for the knucklehead next door, truth be told. It means recognizing that our enemies are our neighbors a lot of the time. And that Jesus died and was raised for the whole lot of us.

And we do all of this, not because we have to but because we get to. And we do all of this imperfectly, tending to our faith, I mean, like the broken, sinful, dying children that we are. But we do it with gratitude, with gusto, and with as much faith as we can find – even if that faith is too small to see or to be seen some days.

And we live this way, with hope, in spite of these ashes and all they represent, because it is by way of ashes … dust … and even death that God does God’s best work, remember.

God looks forward to repairing what is so broken in our lives and in this world.

God has plans to redeem the ashes and the soot of our sinfulness.

God promises to breathe life into the dust and dirt of our dying.

Because if snow were ashes or ashes were snow, today reminds us that none of that lasts forever. It will all melt away, in the end, thanks to the grace we know in Jesus. And Spring will come, in God’s sweet time.

Amen