April, 2008: From my journal of the walk from D.C. to Pittsburgh, learning the gospel of John by heart. This chapter is continued from previous post.
As I sit here writing at the end of this day’s battle, I must remember my dog’s gallant effort of the evening before. Yesterday, he was so different! He was a true pilgrim of peace who offered hospitality to a stranger. This is what happened.
After yesterday’s hike, we had driven back to the Monocacy Aqueduct again, curious to see the flooding from all the rain. A high school track team was out running on the canal trail. We negotiated our way through the boys milling around after they had completed their run. Once we had walked onto the aqueduct, we leaned over the wall and watched the brown swirling water carry branches, a blue ball, a barrel, and soda bottle under the bridge’s arches and on to where the mouth of the Monocacy Creek empties into the Potomac. I wondered how much of the debris would reach the ocean.
After a while, a boy came half-heartedly running across the aqueduct, long after most of the others had finished. He was smaller, probably younger than the rest, and seemed more interested in the river’s scenery than running. He trotted past us, through the line of his waiting colleagues, and then around a curve in the towpath to the finish somewhere beyond our view.
We watched the river a little longer and then headed back to the truck, passing through the gauntlet of boys again. We asked and found out that they were from Urbana High School. Suddenly, the young boy who had straggled behind his team mates appeared from down the towpath. Before I could caution him, he walked straight up to Chester and started petting his head and scratching his ears. I was immediately concerned about how Chester would react, but was surprised when he did not back away or bark his intimidating barks. He just stood there quietly. I could see it was hard for Chester; he was standing stiffly, but he seemed to be making an effort to control himself.
“He’s usually afraid of strangers, but he seems to like you. Do you have a dog?” I asked.
There was a pause. “I did….he died last week,” and the boy kept on petting Chester, who wasn’t exactly wagging his tail, but continued to receive the attention calmly.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay.”
“How old was your dog?”
“Fifteen,” he sighed.
“Our old dog Elsie died a couple of weeks ago too.”
He didn’t say anything more, but gave Chester a final gentle rub, said good-bye and rejoined his team.
Chester’s accepting behavior surprised me, and now I am pondering this: when we begin each day’s hike, an uncomprehending Chester listens to me pray in the walking prayer that I will have opportunity to extend peace to those I meet. Yet last evening at the Monocacy Aqueduct, it was Chester who was the pilgrim who extended peace to one he met, a boy who was less interested in running and more absorbed by the dog he missed. How did Chester know? His simple gesture of remaining quiet and extending hospitality (by no means an easy feat for him) offered something to the boy that no human could have given at that moment. In so doing Chester fulfilled more than just his self-proclaimed role as my protector. He chose to be a peace maker too, and joined me in a pilgrim’s mission. I am amused that God not only answers prayer through us theologically minded human folks, but also through the humble efforts of an overly-anxious, unpredictable, tail-thumping beast who simply wants to be fed, defend his own territory and get his ears scratched regularly.
And so, young running friend, wherever you are tonight and however much you may be missing your old dog, may the peace of the Lord (and of Chester the beast) be with you.
The beloved disciple tells us that Jesus said: Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. (John 14.27)
This pilgrim prays: O God, how you use us to extend your peace into this world is always a mystery. We rarely know the deepest needs of folks whom we encounter throughout the day. We do not know the hidden places where they are hurt, grieving, fearful or discouraged, but you know. Help me stand quietly, ask questions and listen long enough to give you the opportunity to move your peace through one soul to another.
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