The Friendly Beasts

Searching for the Baby Jesus and Finding a Poodle

The call from the district lay leader came on the Wednesday of final exam week asking if I could fill in this coming Sunday for a minister who needed to be out of town. Seeing how busy my schedule was and that this would mean writing a sermon quickly, I should have said no, but instead I agreed. Located just down the road from where I grew up, this church was familiar to me but mainly as a place to glance at as I drove past on my way to some other location. But I had also been inside several times including to play violin at a wedding. During my childhood, this was a vibrant church in the community, to such an extent that in 1998, they built a new, 6,000-foot sanctuary with beautiful stained glass windows and brass chandeliers designed to comfortably seat 300 congregants. Over twenty years later, as I walked from the narthex into the sanctuary on the second Sunday of Advent, it was even more breathtaking with Christmas décor to rival that of the Biltmore Estate in Asheville, North Carolina. But despite the abundance that the aesthetics communicated, the empty pews spoke a different message. There were less than 50 souls present, even counting the poodle.

Photo by Nataliya Melnychuk on Unsplash

I stood at the back of the church to get my bearings as a small choir of about seven struggled in their rehearsing of the morning anthem, “Let There Be Peace on Earth.” Despite their musical challenges, I was happy to see that they still had a competent pianist, which is rarer with each passing year. Not wanting to disturb their efforts, I quietly made my way down to the second pew, and it was then that I saw it. The choir director, who was vigorously conducting with his right arm and singing loudly to cover missing parts, had a white poodle in a candy-cane striped Christmas sweater tucked under his left arm. I had one of those “just when I thought I had seen everything” moments. As a conductor myself, I tried to imagine how that was feasible, let alone comfortable or helpful to those being led. But as the minutes ticked by, and the dog and choir members seemed content, I decided that this must be standard operating procedures.

About ten minutes before the service was to start, the choir finished their practice, and I made my way up to the pulpit to get situated and to put on the lapel microphone. The service began and preceded in a predictable fashion through announcements, prayer requests, a children’s sermon, and the offering. I prayed the pastoral prayer, read the scripture lessons, and then delivered the message. After conveying a benediction, I followed the acolytes down the aisle. They were supposed to be symbolically and literally carrying the light of Christ out into the world, but in their eagerness had extinguished the light too early.

I stood at the back of the sanctuary, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with the congregants. They were friendly, but I couldn’t tell if the sermon I had worked so hard on had made any impact. Maybe all we can do is plant a seed or two and wait for God to water and give the increase at a later time. When everyone had almost filed out, I saw the choir director pushing a baby stroller down the aisle. A glance inside told me that this wasn’t the Baby Jesus or any other baby. Looking up at me was the poodle. The choir director launched into a random story about the time he played the trumpet in an orchestra. He laughed at his own punchline and then abruptly continued to the lobby, leaving me a bit baffled.

I returned to the front of the church to gather up my stuff. After handing back the lapel microphone, I slid my arms into my coat and headed to the lobby. I could tell by the way the women were gathering under the outside overhang that the mist of earlier had given way to a steady rain. As I pulled the coat’s hood over my head and prepared to dash to the car, I saw the stroller again. I watched the choir director open a large umbrella, which he proceeded to hold over the dog as he pushed it to the car, with his own bare head getting soaked. I couldn’t help but think about the animals that we imagine gathered around the manger that held the swaddled Christ child. I also thought about the carol “The Friendly Beasts,” which most likely originated in 12^th century France. It offers that “the friendly beasts around Him stood” then provides a stanza each to a donkey, cow, sheep, and dove, who describe in first person their gift to “Jesus our brother, strong and good.” The final stanza concludes: “And every beast, by some good spell,/In the stable dark was glad to tell/Of the gift he gave Immanuel.”

Is there room for a poodle in this nativity scene? Maybe so. In Job 12, scripture instructs: “If you want to learn, then go and ask the wild animals and the birds, the flowers and the fish. Any of them can tell you what the LORD has done. Every living creature is in the hands of God.” So, upon further reflection, I can’t help but believe that the poodle was as faithful a witness today as any human present.

Let every heart prepare Him room. And heaven and nature sing.

Photo by David Trinks on Unsplash