(This Blog is Going to the Dog(s)…)
I was reading the newspaper, groaning, and shaking my head.
This combination is routine for me – the reading, the groaning, and the head-shaking.
“What a mess!”
I said it aloud.
Bonnie (our dog – and the only member of the household who truly, deeply cares to hear what I think about the contents of the newspaper) responded immediately.
Leaving her much-chewed blankie on the floor, Bonnie came and commiserated earnestly with me. Paw on my knee, sympathetic gaze, deep sigh.
And then, as if Bonnie had woofed the words aloud, the pun hit me – the unholy mess of this world can only be put right by the Messiah.
Rest assured – not every Bonnie-catalyzed inspiration translates to a full-blown blog post. But in this case that dog would hunt (yep – I really typed that).
Check out this shaggy dog story of word origins:
Mashiah / Messiah
“Messiah” – originally from the Hebrew, “mashiah,” meaning “anointed” – is a noun derived from the Hebrew verb “masah,” meaning “to smear or anoint.”
In Old Testament times, when wafers or shields were smeared with grease or oil, they were said to be “anointed.” Same word, slightly enhanced connotation applied when the altar, Tabernacle, priest’s vestments, etc. were “anointed” with blood.
The idea of a Jewish “anointed” one, a Davidic King who would liberate and exalt Israel forever, is integral to this Hebrew origin word. Such a King would be “anointed” – ready for battle like the greased shields AND holy like the blood-spattered Temple vessels.
Mashiah / Christos?
This grease-and-blood association is less overt in the Greek and Latin of the New Testament, when “mashiah” is translated “Christos” and assigned to solely Jesus, God’s anointed on behalf of all humanity.
Even here, though, “anointing” implies oil on the head – a kingly chosen-ness – the fulfillment of the Old Testament promises.
Old English obligingly co-opted the old Hebrew word (in new form, “messias”) alongside “Christos.” That’s why we have both “Jesus, the Messiah,” and “Jesus, the Christ,” in our modern parlance.
Mashiah / Mess!
“Mess” – originally from the Latin, “mittere” (to send or put) and “missum” (something put on a table); adapted in Old French to “mes” (a portion of food) and then, in Middle English, to “mess.”
Back to my newspaper commentary… “Mess” has almost as interesting a history as “messiah” in our language!
The Middle English version of “mess” began as a direct corollary to the Old French: “mess, meaning a serving of semi-liquid food.”
The meaning morphed over time: In the mid-16th century, military usage began to apply: “mess, meaning a group who eat together.” Think “officer’s mess”, etc.
And by the late-19th century, presumably because “semi-liquid food” and institutional / military food had brought about their own distinctive flavor of morphing, our contemporary meaning came into being: “mess, meaning unappetizing concoction; or predicament.”
Ahem.
But ponder the amazing synchronicity of it:
The word for Jesus, Messiah – Himself the Word, the Logos – originated in a word that described deliberate mess-making. (Smeared grease on a shield or poured oil on anyone’s head recently? It’s messy.)
And, the word for “mess” – that which Jesus came to clean up, once and for all – also originated in two later words that both point to Jesus.
The first was a verb that meant “sent.” (Jesus identified Himself as “sent by the Father”).
The second was a noun that meant “something put on a table” (Jesus declared Himself the bread and the wine at the Last Supper, and then put on the table various truths about Himself, His Kingdom, and even the one who was about to betray Him…)
The upshot of these insights is simply this: my Messiah is explicitly, definitionally equipped to deal with the mess we have made of His world!
I shouldn’t need these philological field trips to keep me focused on the truth of Christ.
Bonnie… and Discipleship
So, I have to acknowledge Bonnie-the-dog as much more than sympathetic pun-instigator.
In terms of messianic hope and focus beyond the mess to the Messiah, Bonnie provides an exemplary example of what a “disciple” should look / live like…
While I read the newspaper, Bonnie looks at me.
I scan and sigh and recoil from headlines that will change (that may already be obsolete by the time I’m reading them); Bonnie still looks at me.
I finish reading the newspaper and I am usually unnerved and restless and sad; Bonnie maintains her status quo of emotional equilibrium throughout, draws near in affection, looks – unwaveringly – at me.
Bonnie, like most dogs, mistakes me – her Human – for God.
And that is a mistake (as Mark will tell you in a hurry).
But Bonnie models a life truly focused on worship.
Further, hers is a disciplined, devoted life; it’s a life in which acts of service and demonstrations of affection are routinely joyful.
(I ask myself: if I had a tail, would I wag it as frequently as she does? Doubtful. Is my lack of joy due to my doubts…?)
Bonnie’s is a life in which sin happens but forgiveness is assumed.
Bonnie’s life is a life in which provision is never questioned.
Bonnie’s life is a life in which simple comforts and pleasures are enjoyed to the zenith.
In fact, Bonnie trusts and loves me so completely that simply being with me is more than enough for her, day in and day out.
When I focus on the mess of the world (through the newspaper, or any other means) rather than the Messiah, my sense of time, place, purpose, safety, hope – pretty much everything – skews.
But when I focus on the Messiah the way Bonnie focuses on me… Well. It’s rare. But when I manage it, I begin to understand all the tail-wagging.
Of course, my mind is more complex and sophisticated than Bonnie’s – of course, I am more adept at forming arguments, drawing conclusions, and thinking beyond the present moment.
But two things about this “greater capacity”:
First, it clearly does not yield greater contentment.
And second, contrasting the worshipers (Bonnie / me) and the objects of worship (me / Jesus), it’s easy to see that the disparity between the worshipers is nothing like the disparity between the objects of worship.
In other words, I may be smarter than my dog, but God is exponentially smarter – and more powerful, holy, good, and loving – than I… so the lopsidedness in the comparison is actually between Shannon and Jesus rather than between Bonnie and Shannon. Ahem, again.
The old adage about the world “going to the dogs” looks increasingly aspirational these days. Especially if “the dogs” are anything like my Bonnie. So, as we contemplate the messes that abound, I suggest a canine correction that has linguistic as well as theological depth: Let’s fixate on the Messiah in adoration, trust, and tail-wagging joy.
