Sermons

What the Telos of a Hunting Dog Can Teach Us

Earlier this week I was comparison shopping for new clerical collars. And I was looking on Amazon because, believe it or not, they sell clerical collars on Amazon, and I had to call Michele into my office because when I looked at the long description, which was clearly generated by AI, the site listed “species: dog.”

Apparently clergy are dogs now, so it’s great to see some of my fellow canines here in the room. I can’t blame you if you get confused; the collars do kind of look the same. This week is the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi, when the church celebrates the legacy of this saint and specifically his eco-theology by blessing the animals who enrich our lives. It’s absolutely one of the most fun days of the church year.

Many churches will host the blessing after their regular services, perhaps outside. But I love that St. Mark’s puts our animals front and center. It’s also my last time preaching in my role as your associate rector. It’s been a privilege to speak from this pulpit over the last two and a half years.

We celebrate Francis in this way, even though he had many other qualities equally deserving of celebration, because of the theology of creation he put forth in his writings, especially the Canticle of the Creatures. In it, he praises all creation that God has put forth and which sustains the creatures. He talks about Brother Sun, Sister Moon, Brother Wind, Sister Water, Brother Fire, Sister Mother Earth. But he doesn’t stop there; he also talks about Sister Bodily Death.

This year we celebrated 800 years since the death of Francis. But even today these are radical ideas. Our consumerist culture encourages us to see the sun, moon, wind, and water, not as our siblings in creation, but rather as tools to be wielded for gain. I think of the struggles around water and data centers, for instance.

Outside the often-sweltering city of Houston, Amazon just got permits to build a 3,000-acre data center that could draw 78.2 million gallons of groundwater from three local wells¹. Neighbors fear their wells will dry up because of the huge strain. I’m sure you’ve seen that this dynamic is playing out across the country.

But something truly irresistible happens when we embrace Francis’s vision to live in harmony with all living things. I’m gonna tell you how by talking about the creature I am closest to, my dog Lincoln. Lincoln is half blue heeler, a quarter Beagle, and a quarter treeing walker
coonhound. He is going to be 14 years old next month. But he only shows a couple of signs of slowing down. He sleeps more, has less patience with me. I, in turn, have to have more patience with him. And he’s not quite the hunter that he used to be. But somewhere in the last 14 years you may have seen us on Capitol Hill. Especially in the autumn, Lincoln could be found stalking squirrels in Lincoln Park. (I like to tell him the park was named after him).

Here’s what happens. First, he locks onto a squirrel’s movement, and his whole body stiffens. Then he sneaks up on it quietly, keeping his head perfectly still. Finally, he makes a break for it, chasing the squirrel up a tree and loudly baying to let me know he had caught another one. He would stay there at the bottom of the tree all day if I had let him. But something amazing happens when he does this: other people stop and watch. Parents would point him out to their children. Couples would nudge each other to pay attention. I remember once I heard a husband say to a wife, “Would you look at that dog?” and the wife responded, “I am looking at him.”

And I think what these people were reacting to is the extraordinary beauty of watching a creature do the exact thing it was made to do. My hound dog was made to chase squirrels in the park. It is his telos, his ultimate goal, his fulfillment. Seeing an animal do exactly what it was made to do is a privilege. That’s what makes snorkeling in the ocean or seeing elephants and
lions on safari so incredible.

Francis saw how our worldly possessions, our vanity, and our quest for power got in the way of humans living the way animals do. And so he gave those things up. Our gospel today, the one assigned for the feast of St. Francis, is Jesus talking about giving up worldly possessions. “One’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions,” Jesus says. Nor should we spend our lives trying to acquire things that will ultimately not bring us closer to God and which are meaningless in the face of death.

And so today we answer the call of St. Francis to live into his vision of St. Francis. It’s up to each of us to decide what that looks like today, what we can shed to live more fully in harmony with God and creation. What is the thing that you do to live into your telos?

And so, it seems only appropriate that I conclude today with the prayer attributed
to St. Francis.

Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are
born to eternal life.

Amen.

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1 https://www.houstonchronicle.com/business/economy/article/amazon-data-center-aws-wharton-water-power-boling-22442480.php