Basset Hounds, Lament, and Easter (by Glenn Pemberton)

Basset Hounds, Lament, and Easter, by Glenn Pemberton — OT prof at Abilene Christian and of the man I am a fan! [Image]

Bailey Hobart Pemberton came into my life at the age two; that’s fourteen in canine years. He was a soft-eyed, low-set, tri-color basset hound with a personality to match: gentle, playful, and eager to love. When Bailey arrived, however, he came with baggage. To be blunt, he needed therapy. When Bailey had been just a young pup tripping over his ears, his backyard was in the path of the F-5 tornado that rolled through Norman and Moore, just south of Oklahoma City (May 5, 1999). The tornado veered north, leaving a massive debris trail that stretched for miles and lasted a lifetime for those in its path.

Bailey joined Beauregard Horatio (another Basset) in the task of protecting the Pemberton family residence. Birds and butterflies were public enemy number one; strangers were always welcome. And of course, Bailey became our weather alert system. If he could sense a storm he would set off the siren and continue to bay at full volume until someone let him inside. Should a drop of rain land on his head the alarm would escalate to digging at the door – anything to call attention to the fact the apocalypse was coming.

A few months later, in the wake of a hot dry summer and strong wind, even by Oklahoma standards (where the “where the wind comes sweeping down the plain”), a wild fire jumped a row of houses, a city street, and landed in our crispy dry grass; I got out of the house in time to see the cedars on the south side of the house explode into giant fireballs. Neighbors appeared from every direction, cars stopped, and sirens blared as chaos broke loose. After a few minutes it dawned on me that the backyard was also burning… with a stack of firewood, and the bassets. A neighbor and I ran back through the house one last time and we found Bailey and Beauregard huddled together at the back door. We each grabbed a hound, and ran.

The insurance company considered the house a total loss… and while we were blessed in more ways that I could ever recount, the daily rhythm of life was disrupted with new and seemingly irrational fears, nothing felt right – and I was not alone with my feelings. A few hectic days after the fire, Bailey and Beauregard came home to the apartment we had leased for the interim. Bailey was quite diplomatic. He came in, looked around, found my bedroom, jumped up on the bed, sniffed until he found my pillow, and then proceeded to pee.

My veterinarian translated Bailey’s canine communication. Obviously, he felt a need to make a few things absolutely clear. One, he respected my leadership in his family (thus his selection of my pillow). Two, he was not running away because life was out of sorts; we were still his family and he was here to stay. But Three, he needed me to know that his world was out of control and he didn’t like it. He already had neurosis from dodging an F-5 tornado and the night of the fire he had been carried around like a 50 pound bag of dog chow, tossed from one strange backyard to another by people he didn’t even know. And he could not hold it inside any longer. In a manner that was both fully under control and fully expressive of his feelings, he sent the clearest memo I’ve ever received.

Those who have thought deeply about human life describe times of upheaval and change with the terms liminal or liminality. In a liminal state, we are caught by circumstances in an in-between time or space of ambiguity and as a result we feel displaced, confused, frustrated, or even angry. Walter Brueggemann builds on the idea of liminality to describe the seasons of life: seasons of orientation, disorientation, and new orientation. He explains that sometimes life consists of well-being that evokes gratitude, and so the believer sings songs of praise for God’s constancy and reliability. But as we all learn, human life doesn’t consist only of seasons of well being, but also “anguished seasons of hurt, alienation, suffering, and death” (The Message of the Psalms, 19).

Then what we need is the presence of a spiritual family who will walk alongside us (2 Cor 1:3-7, Heb 10:24-25, Gal 6:2). But even more, we need God with us. We need an authentic faith language that will enable us to stay in relationship with God by speaking the truth of our chaotic, crushed lives to God and, at the same time, providing appropriate controls so we may pray as Jesus did – “with reverent submission” (Heb 5:7). In the psalms of lament (the majority of Psalms in the book of Psalms) we find both: a vocabulary to express the realities of our brokenness and a grammar that helps us control the vocabulary. In brief, what we really need we find in the psalms of lament: a way to live through times of disorientation with God instead of without God.

So this past week as I celebrated the joys of Easter, my heart was torn by the realities of my life and the pain I saw all around me. I could not rest until I spoke (and wrote, as is my custom) my own lament inextricably tied to Easter realities.

Oh Lord, Easter Morning reminds me,

that light still overcomes darkness;

Three days after the Enemy brings night,

dawn will still break after the fight.

Those brutally murdered in Christ’s name,

will live again, robed in victor’s white.

Those who mourn the love of their life,

lost without them at their side, or

Those, oh God, who weep for a child,

inconsolable now, will know joy again.

Those who live the silent agony of abuse,

will one day be whole, be free with you.

Those who live with disability every day,

will dance free of braces, straps, and crutches.

Those who give their lives caring for another,

will find new life with the one they love.

Those who spend this Easter in unrelenting pain,

will stand, and walk, leap, and laugh in relief.

Those who are all alone, forgotten, left behind,

will find new family, surrounded by community.

Oh Lord, Easter Morning reminds me, proclaims:

that for all the tragedy reported this week,

There will be another day, another time,

when the grave breaks open and you refuse

To hold back the power of three days then light,

but let it loose to break every power and

every dominion, and every kingdom,

that stands against Your Life.

Your Light.

Come soon Lord Jesus.

“Of Basset Hounds and Laments” is a condensed extract from my book, Hurting with God: Learning to Lament with the Psalms (ACU Press, 2012), while the prayer comes from the Facebook page on which I post my prayers https://www.facebook.com/HurtingWithGod