‘Our relationship with God is a mutual one for God needs our hands.’ Photo: Photo by Chewy on Unsplash
Visited in the night: Peter D Leeming considers valuable relationships following a chance encounter.
‘We exist and feel alive only through our relationships with others.’
I close my eyes and I see him again. Walking towards me along a dark forest path comes a tall, gaunt figure with dishevelled black hair, a thick beard and dressed in a long woollen cloak almost touching the ground. It is an almost biblical apparition I think but as he draws near I begin to feel nervous, for he carries a stout staff and has a huge black dog at his side. Later, when we meet again, I feel ashamed for he has a gentle nature and the dog is more docile than most. He has walked across borders and through many countries to find shelter here, with people who comprehend what he has endured. Somewhere on his journey the dog found him sleeping in the fields. It curled up warmly beside him and by next morning they were inseparable. The dog, he might say, was his salvation. It cannot defend him or ward off danger but it is his constant, faithful companion, ceaselessly watching over him, instinctively leading him when on difficult paths and alerting him to risks. It looks up at him, its big dark eyes shining with love and affection.
It is impossible all these years later to say how accurate my memory is of that day. It has long since become one of those powerful images which acquire their own truth and become firmly fixed in the human mind. Over my lifetime I have unconsciously gathered a collection of such memory-images, which I cherish as precious sources of inspiration, some recalled at will but others that unexpectedly reappear by association. Such is the image of my meeting with that stranger when out walking long ago. I never discovered where he came from, nor did I learn much about him, only that he had found a room next door to two of my colleagues, refugees like him. I met him again only rarely and then quite by chance. For me the image is symbolic of all those whose journey through life is a lonely one. It reminds me how easily I can prejudge others and jump to conclusions, especially in unusual situations. But its chief importance lies elsewhere, in what I saw of the relationship established between the man and his dog during his flight. There was a remarkable degree of mutual dependency. The dog provided companionship and warmth at night, keeping watch in the darkness. The man provided food and care, and gave it his constant, loving attention. They belonged together.
Reflecting on this, I think of the many ways that personal relationships enrich my life and how much I have need of them. Without those who go with me I would soon lose my way on my journey through life. We exist and feel alive only through our relationships with others, and with certain places and things. It is this urge to transcend and connect which makes us fully human and which prompts us to explore the mysteries that lie at the heart of our existence.
It has always been our Quaker message that one can experience a direct, personal relationship with God without the mediation of priest, ritual or ceremony. But when George Fox claimed to have experienced that of God within him which answered his need, this was not simply a matter of personal salvation. It had consequences for the society around him. To be convincing to others, firm evidence is required and, accordingly, Friends have always insisted that such evidence is to be observed – testified to – in the behaviour of the person concerned. Our traditional testimonies – Truth, Equality, Peace and Simplicity – highlight the main characteristics of the transformed life, though they are not exclusive. Our relationship with God is a mutual one for God needs our hands and as our need for Divine companionship is met, we know ourselves necessarily engaged in God’s work. No other direct help to the world seems available. ‘What will you do, God, when I die? When I, your pitcher, broken lie?’ asks the poet Rainer Maria Rilke – each one of us has a unique contribution to make. The idea of mutual obligation, a covenant made between God and humankind, runs right through the Bible. The image of the shepherd and his flock is not simply poetic. Those listening to Jesus were fully acquainted with the nature of sheep and goat herding. Without care for his flock the shepherd would perish from hunger, along with his sheep.
Evelyn Underhill used the words ‘a brave attempt’ when discussing Quaker worship. We have to admit that our ‘ritual silence’ can be demanding, even to the experienced. It requires practice and self-discipline. In his autobiography The Seven Storey Mountain Thomas Merton chides Friends for being somewhat careless in this respect. Quakerism is but a tiny corner of the world community of faiths, whose myriad rituals and ceremonies are experienced by their followers as equally transformative. Many seek a mediated and more emotional experience of the Divine and this may include the belief in a personal God closely involved in human affairs. I think again of that lonely refugee on his dangerous flight across Europe, constantly searching for shelter and protection, often hungry and cold, and always with that burning need, that urgent longing for companionship, and as if in response he is found and befriended during the night – the appointed time for visions, visiting angels and God’s call to Samuel asleep in the darkened temple.
In her novel Miss Garnet’s Angel, Sally Vickers writes that the Zoroastrians of ancient Persia considered dogs to be sacred animals, appointed to guide us throughout this life and assist us into the next. Those ancients would have found no difficulty in recognising the miraculous in that nighttime meeting of dog and man. But why should this be such a problem? Things happen constantly, seemingly quite by chance, which are quite remarkable. Why argue about the cause? We are far too slow in expressing and sharing our gratitude. Attribute such wonders to a beneficent Divinity if you will but first and foremost let us celebrate them, with joy. ‘Why, who makes much of a miracle?’ asks Walt Whitman, ‘As to me I know nothing else but miracles.’
Zoroastrians believed in a band of angels serving humankind: ‘bounteous immortals’ who aid in the fight against destruction and evil, and towards health, happiness and right conduct. But nowhere is it said that angels must be attired in shining robes and be endowed with wings. In the apocryphal story of Tobit, nobody recognises the angel Raphael in the marketplace when he appears as a hired labourer and is employed to guide and cook for the youthful Tobias on his dangerous journey. Across the world, as the sun sets each evening and darkness falls, countless people are on the move seeking shelter for the night: in the draughty doorways of British cities, in The Jungle by Calais, in the refugee camps of the Greek island of Lesbos, and on every continent. But at least for some, sustenance and companionship are on their way, brought by people just like them, many of them volunteers and themselves far from home. Let us give praise for these implicit angels and the miracles they work. The face they see in the darkened doorway, in the makeshift shelter in the wood or within the squalid barrack room, is the face of the voice that calls in the hush of silent worship or in the song of a cathedral choir, in the chant of a Vedic kirtan, and everywhere on this earth in the sacred chamber of the heart.
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From Mahaprasthanika Parva (Sanskrit: महाप्रस्थानिक पर्व), or the “Book of the Great Journey”, the seventeenth of eighteen books of the Indian epic Mahabharata:
At the start of the journey, a dog befriends them and keeps them company throughout….
Yudhishthira continued his journey undeterred by the loss of near and dear ones. And all this while, the dog kept him company.
Just before it was time to ascend to heaven, Indra descended in his chariot, asking Yudhishthira to come on board so they could go to heaven together.
The epitome of all that is virtuous and righteous, Yudhishthira refused Indra’s offer. He said he couldn’t travel to heaven without Draupadi and his brothers. To this, Indra told him that they all ascended to heaven after falling to their deaths.
Yudhishthira then asked Indra to allow the dog to accompany them
A firm Indra told him that dogs can’t travel in his chariot, but only Yudhishthira can. But, how could the man of dharma let go of the being who stayed with him throughout. To the former king, the dog was now a friend who didn’t leave his side through the rough and smooth of the journey. His heart didn’t allow him to betray his friend, as that would’ve been a sin.
But Indra continued to convince Yudhishthira by means of clouding his beliefs. He asked him to give importance to his happiness and abandon the dog. Yudhishthira countered him saying that his happiness lied in not abandoning the dog for as long he breathes.
Yudhishthira was just being himself till his very last moment, but unknowingly, was weaving one of the most glorious stories of morals in the epic.
Another thing he didn’t know of was that it all was a play of the supremacy.
The dog he showed his everlasting commitment for was none other than the deity Dharma himself.
Touched and impressed by Yudhishthira’s unnerving kindliness and commitment as strong as that of the Earth to the sky, the dog reappeared as the deity and praised the kind for his virtues. It was a test of dharma and Yudhishthira had once again proved his righteousness by not abandoning people who stayed with him throughout.
The gates of heaven now welcomed the virtuous in the chariot of Indra.
By GordonF on 21st January 2021 - 14:23
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