Living with Virtue: A Tribute to Mr. Higgins

“For everything that lives is holy, life delights in life.”
-- William Blake

We named him Mr. Higgins, but we just called him Higgins. He was half English shepherd, half Border collie and half Belgian shepherd, which, if you add all that up you will see that he was a dog and a half. More than anyone else, he taught me to "be here now," although I do not think he originated that phrase.

Grand is the best single word to describe him. In his prime, he was 90 pounds, looking like a longhaired black and tan German shepherd. He had the confident and precise gait of a Tennessee walker as he patrolled the perimeter of our back yard anytime he suspected something unusual or amiss. He was something of a changeling. Higgins could become very small in the presence of a toddler at play as he delighted at getting down at the child's level. He could become extremely large whenever an unknown meter reader approached the house, with hair rising above his haunches, a booming voice, and a mouthful of teeth that looked as though they could engulf a Halloween pumpkin.

I heard Buddhist scholar, Robert Thurman, say that to be born a human being meant that one had been extremely virtuous in a former life. I like what that concept says about human existence: that humanity begins in virtue. I also like what it says about reverence for all of life. Mr. Higgins showed me by example the virtue of being. He was loyal, grateful, inquisitive, loving and defending. He enjoyed work, loved to play, and he was happy to be wherever he happened to be.

On one occasion, I saw Higgins do something I have never seen in a dog before or since. We had acquired a little terrier puppy for my daughter. Higgins, of course, was delighted with the company and took very seriously the task of showing the little tike all the ways of life as a dog. One thing Higgins particularly enjoyed, aside from his squeaky toys, was a good bone to chew. We always had two or three of those beef bones from the pet store scattered about the yard. On this one particular day, Higgins was lying in the yard gnawing his bone while the little terrier was in his face making it known that she would love to chew on a bone. Instead of snarling or snapping, Higgins stopped his chewing, raised his head and looked about. He got up from his spot, walked over to another part of the yard and retrieved one of his other bones. He then took the bone back to his spot, dropped it in front of the puppy, and lay back down as they both proceeded to enjoy a bone chewing session together.

We are influenced by whomever we live with, whether that one be human, canine, equine, feline, fish, fowl, or rodent. Mr. Higgins certainly affected my own existence for the better. Any life that we let into our circle of being expands our awareness and broadens our experience. Mr. Higgins helped me to live in the present moment. He taught me something about delight and devotion. He exemplified trust and companionship. He also taught me something about aging and dying.

By the time he was 12 years old, he was slowing down, but still exuberant. Cataracts dimmed his sight, and he also became hard of hearing. He had always been an inside/outside dog, but we began keeping him in more, letting him sleep in the kitchen every night, and always bringing him in during very hot or cold weather. During his last year, he struggled with arthritis and frequent incontinence. One day a friend, who was obviously not an animal person, asked me how long I was going to keep a dog that pooped in the house. My reply to her was that Higgins continued to be a valued companion. I told her that I intended to treat him with the same regard that I hoped someone would give to me when I am old and incontinent.

For 14 years, Mr. Higgins lived his dog nature with virtue. My life was made richer and more down-to-earth by his presence. If the Buddhists are right, I might meet him again in his human nature one day. If not, it was certainly enough that our life forms made contact and learned from one another for 14 years.



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Groundhog Day: A Long Tradition of Looking Toward Spring

Several years ago I was given a new insight into the origins of Groundhog Day. I was a new member of an Episcopal Church which was in the Anglo-Catholic Tradition. I was also new to all things liturgical, since I had grown up Baptist. One of the liturgical services celebrated by that church was The Feast of the Presentation, which always falls on February 2nd. At the beginning of the service, one of the choir members came to the front and began chanting the dates that were set for Ash Wednesday, Good Friday, and Easter. I thought it was rather unusual to be chanting what sounded like announcements upcoming church services.

Afterwards, the priest explained to me that in medieval times, the tradition was that on The Feast of the Presentation the bishop would announce the dates for Easter. Since Easter is determined by lunar dates it can be as early as March 22 or as late as April 25. Among agrarian cultures, is was quite vital to know when Easter would fall since everyone knew that planting should start on Good Friday. I can remember from my childhood in rural Alabama there were still many who farmed (usually to supplement their mill worker incomes). I remember the old folks swearing that you had to get your first crop planted on Good Friday.

Anyway, my priest went on to tell how Ground Hog Day was a Puritan anti-Catholic device for the New World colonists. The Puritans were so anti-liturgical, they did not want anything resembling the Feast of the Presentation, or Candlemas as it is also known. They did, however, need a way to inform the community when they could plant their crops. Hence, the concept of Ground Hog Day was implemented. Think about it, Ground Hog Day, on February 2, will let people know whether there will be six more weeks of winter. In other words, will Easter arrive in March of April?

I have to say I was amazed. I had never associated the ground hog and his shadow with how late Easter would arrive. If the priest was correct, the Puritans were successful in giving us a tradition to herald the arrival of spring that doesn’t remind us in the least of Catholic ritual, or even church. I decided to google Ground Hog Day to check out my priest’s version of its origin. I didn’t find it stated so explicitly, but on Wikipedia I saw that Ground Hog Day “bears some similarities to the medieval Catholic holiday of Candlemas” which actually harks back to an even older pagan holiday of Imbolc.

So this Ground Hog Day, you can wait in anticipation to see if Punxsutawney Phil sees his shadow, or you can just look at the calendar to see when Easter is this year. I will say from my own planting experience, you can’t rule out a late freeze before Easter. So when you see all those flats of flower seedlings for sale, just remember to wait until Good Friday to plant anything, or you may just have to buy everything again after that late freeze kills what you put out in the yard.



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A Poetic Sense of Life

“Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.” Luke 18:17 (RSV)


Mircea Eliade wrote many books about mythology. He made it quite clear that ancient people were not simple-minded. They were every bit as sophisticated in their thinking as we modern people are. The difference is that their mode of thinking was mythopoeic – mythopoetic, if you will – while our modern mindset is scientific and analytical. Reading Mircea Eliade convinced me that myth is not falsehood. Myth is truth, spoken from a poetic mind set.

Another author I would recommend is Robert Coles who wrote a book called The Spirituality of Children. He showed us that children have a much greater grasp of the truths of life than we adults often give them credit for. I think that children have that poetic sense that our ancient ancestors had and that all of us once had before it was socialized out of us.

When my daughter, Elaine, was six years old, I overheard a remarkable conversation between her and her playmate. They were involved in an art project painting rocks at our dining/arts-and-crafts table. Elaine (while painting a rock) said, "There's the right color! I knew God would show me."

Her friend said, "God is in my heart."

Elaine replied, "There's Mother God and Father God. Mother God is the Earth and Father God is up there watching over us." She made a big sweep of her arm as she said this. "Father God can't watch everyone at the same time, but Mother God can."

Her friend responded, "There's two – there’s God and Jesus."

To which my daughter replied, "Well, I know Mother God very well – I'm like her."

Her friend, not exactly following Elaine's statement said, "I like her to."

"Do you sway with the grass?" Elaine asked her. "Mother God sways with the grass," swaying her arms and her body back and forth as she spoke.

At six years of age, my daughter had a remarkable gift. She had latched onto a feminine identification with the divine. "I know Mother God very well – I'm like her... Mother God sways with the grass."

Elaine had talked to me before about her ideas. I once told a theologian friend of mine about a conversation I had with her about Mother God and Father God when she was four years old. She said, "It's hard for me to say something about Father God, but it's easier to talk about Mother God." I asked her why that was. She said, "Well, Father God – I don't really know him, but I know Mother God. I was in Mother God's belly before it was time to be in my mother's belly to be born. You see, I have two mothers: Mommy and Mother God."

I had marveled at her honesty and insight. My thought was that she captured the notion of the imminence of God vs. the transcendence of God. My theologian friend's comment was that Elaine's idea was "classic Meister Ekhart." Not bad company for a young observer of life. My daughter is a sophomore in college now. My hope for her is that she will always remember the God who is like her, and that she never forgets how to sway with the grass.



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