Howling the Gospel
Last week, I preached about us being wolves, and I meant it in a mostly negative way. I don’t want to throw our oldest animal companions under the bus, so now I want to make a comparison to wolves again, but this time it will be a bit nicer. What can we learn from wolves?
I discovered a YouTube channel last week called H & K, which is all about two dogs. One of them is a husky, which are already pretty close to wolves, but in that regard Harvey is easily outcompeted by his brother Kane, who is a wolf-dog (much more wolf than dog in this case). In one video, Harvey and Kane work together to quiet down neighbor dogs. They meet barking with haunting, mournful howls that demand the full attention of the neighborhood. It’s a cute little video, but it got me thinking about wolf howls.
I grew up watching nature shows on Animal Planet and National Geographic, which made me really think I knew a lot about animals. A narrator with a smooth British accent would describe animal behavior in the most flowery language. As a kid, enthralled by the beautiful images and fascinating facts, I absorbed everything. I was pretty sure I knew what these animals were thinking and feeling, like I could talk to them.
Unfortunately, as I grew up, the spell was broken. I realized that a lot of what is said in those documentaries about animal behavior and psychology is essentially made up for the story. The truth is: we don’t know. While we like to pretend we know what wolves are saying when they howl, no one has ever translated wolf-howls into English. There’s no Rosetta Stone or Duolingo course whereby we can learn Wolfish. Really, we don’t know if they are even communicating anything at all, let alone what they might be trying to say specifically. And while I was thinking about this and watching this video, I couldn’t help but look upon wolves with a little bit of disdain and disappointment. As far as we know, all wolves are actually communicating by howling is simply their own position, or maybe affection toward close relatives, but the studies on that aren’t widespread enough to say for certain. Where were the cunning, super-intelligent animals I had grown up with? All they are doing is saying, “Hey, I’m here.” That’s pretty limited. That makes them look pretty dumb. But then again, I’m not sure humans actually even do that.
No one could doubt that this pandemic has been hard on everyone, but it would be wrong to pretend that normal life isn’t also very hard. The difference in this case is that everything is a bit more dangerous and our daily and weekly practices have had to change as a result. On a massive scale, our “normal” has been disrupted. However, I’ve had hard times other than this year. Some have done quite poorly during the pandemic, while some people have gotten by relatively well. This year may have disrupted everyone’s “normal” in pretty dramatic ways, but everyone has experienced that on a more individual level in the past and probably will experience it again in the future. Dealing with sudden unexpected loss, existential doubt, getting burned out at work or school, even a simple move or career change can completely alter a person’s life. During those times of liminal space, people may find it very hard to process where they are in life. Our sense of place and normalcy can become completely disrupted. We can’t effectively communicate that we’re “here” because we don’t know where we are, what we’re doing, or why we’re doing it. In our lives, we get lost a lot.
The Psalm for this Sunday is Psalm 22:25-31. If you just read that, it looks like a very happy Psalm of praise, but when you read the beginning you’ll see it comes from a very dark place. This is the Psalm quoted by Jesus on the cross. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” The Psalmist is lost, feeling a very real sense of danger and lacking the confidence to stand up for themselves. The Psalmist is described as a worm, mocked and derided. It’s pretty bleak, but not entirely hopeless. Despite the weakness of the Psalmist, they put their trust in God to help, not relying on their own strength but on God’s mercy. The Psalmist may be lost, but they know where God is.
The last few verses of the Psalm see God as the anchoring point of all people, no matter where they are. Whether they are worshipping in the assembly, living in other nations, or even dead in the ground, all people turn to God in praise.
We humans can say plenty of very well articulated things, but sometimes we struggle with place. We may find it easier to talk about philosophy, politics and religion or simply to gossip about other people than to honestly say who we are, what we want, and where we are along life’s journey. But even when we’re lost, and we can’t really speak to our place in the world, we can still speak about God. God is with us, along the journey, wherever that may be.
Maybe we need to learn to howl like the wolf, which for us might look a lot like the proclamation of the Gospel. It doesn't have to be complicated or extravagant. All we need to say is that wherever we are, we can see God at work. “I can’t say much for sure, but I can say that I’m seeing God care for the poor and oppressed.” “I don’t know where I am or what I’m doing in life, but from this place, I can see God caring for me and walking the wilderness road at my side.” “I might not be able to articulate a lot about philosophy, politics, or religion, but where I am, I see God. Look to cross with me and see.” In a world full of doubt and uncertainty, where people are getting lost all the time, maybe we need to raise up our voices, point to God in praise and thanksgiving, look to the people around us, who are also struggling in their search for meaning and God, and say, “Hey, I’m here.”
