It Takes a Woman

This morning, I had to argue with my husband, who yells louder than I do.

It was about Black, my favorite of our four dogs, the oldest, the one always accompanying me when I walk the three miles in this Banario. Black loves to dive into the Rio de La Plata to cool off, get a sip of water - who knows if it is good or bad tasting - and who wanders the sand with me, looking for weird things that might have been rolled up on the shore, or sometimes we see a pair of swans or a bevy of ducks or even some thing of beauty that God allowed to stroll near the shore’s edge, maybe so Black and I can ooh and aah for a few minutes before we continue on our stroll, till we get to the end of the long curve by the river.

But today, my heart broke. My Black has weakened so much because, I’m told in his loud voice, Black is dying. I insisted on taking him for a walk ( the first on this trip) and it was sad to see him try to get himself strong, and for the first time since I left, he was able to slowly walk to the neighbors who has three black dogs - they sort of said “hi” in dog language - and I had to encourage Black to keep moving, because he was not moving well at all. I knew the walk would be crucial to his health, and he didn’t have much of that anymore.

So, we crossed the road a bit and went to the water. I always cried out to Black: “We are going to the Waters so you can drink I,” and he loved that. He walked through a bit of the shore water splashing up and down, and then laid down to cool off and maybe get his sort of weakening black hair to refresh, and he laid down a couple of times. Then I tried to keep him moving so we could make it back to our home.

Husband had shouted and yelled I shouldn’t walk with him. The dog is dying, he said.  He is hardly eating. He has no strength. And I saw all that, but I was confident that Black knew who I was after all these years we have hiked up hill and dale, along waters of the sea, or in deep sand, or down the road, the kind of old shabby ones, and he has managed to salute all his dog buddies along the way - some barking at us as if we were robbers, others just maybe envious that we could walk the three miles without disturbing others. They might bark and yell at us, but we just smiled and went on by and continued on our daily trips that took about an hour. It certainly helped my weight, over the years.

But Black was the leader and sort of did what he wanted to do when he did it, but that’s gone now. He was panting hard. He was weak. He hardly eats any more. In Memphis, we would have put him to sleep so he would not suffer any longer. But they don’t do that here. So, I tried to talk to Black, and let him know I love him more than anything else in this world where I go to be with my husband a few months of the year, and our other three dogs. But Black has been mine since he persisted sufficiently that we opened the gate and brought him into our domain about 8 years ago. He was already old at that time. And he always knew my ways, where to go, sometimes he was way behind after chattering to other dogs, then others he might be at my side just to chat between us. I spoke English to him, always. I don’t know if that mattered. But I believe it takes a woman to understand these things. It also points a finger at the story of Mary Magdalene. She was the one who stayed and did the tomb work, actually seeing her Savior, before she knew He was risen. She knew the Jesus she knew was at the end. I feel Black is toward his end as well.

According to John, after Jesus was taken down from the cross, dead to the world, Mary Magdalene had stayed the night near the tomb where she thought Jesus had been laid. She was probably hiding in the eerie cemetery, waiting to see when she could get into the tomb and do what she had to do, maybe some sort of embalmment of the body, or checking if she needed to wash the corpse with more expensive nard, myrrh, or aloe. It seemed the pair of guards, assigned to the tomb, were out of it, sleeping, probably snoring loudly and not paying attention to see if anyone could enter or touch or disorder the tomb which held this strange man who was King of the Jews.

Yet, somehow, the giant stone that took a number of people to close the tomb off from everything, had been moved in the night and now the tomb was empty. In shock, Mary Magdalene’s instinct was to find the leader of Team Jesus, Peter, who had been so close, so supportive of Him till it got too tough. He was with fellow apostles not knowing what to do, fearing for their own lives. I can imagine Peter was furious, even horrified, when a female, though he knew her, came running to them where they were hiding out in a secret room. She was claiming that Jesus was NOT in the tomb. She was totally upset because she didn’t know where they, whomever “they” were, had taken the body of Jesus. Had he been stolen?

When the disciples dashed away, Mary Magdalene saw two angels sitting where the body of Jesus had once been lying and they asked why she was weeping and present in this high-class cemetery where Joseph of Arimathea had taken the corpse and placed it in a tomb. “They have taken away my Lord! “She cried.  As she moved away from the tomb, a strange man was standing there, possibly the gardener. But the gentleman said: Mary! and she recognized her Rabbouni. She was not to touch Him yet; He was ready to ascend to His Father and to your Father and to my God and your God. So, Mary Magdalene dashed away to tell the disciples that He was still alive, that she had seen the Lord for sure.

Jesus was in the process of raising to all peoples, those to whom he had preached, taught,

suffered for, fought for, healing and predicting trying to get us to hear Him and to believe in His word. He told them who He was, He is the Son of God, and only through Him can we all be restored and saved.  It is so huge, so important, that I doubt we would ever have that opportunity again until the end of the world, if that ever happens. We all need to know, to carry in our heart, our souls, our spirits, that He is yours, He is mine, He is our neighbors, and He belongs as well to every single man or boy, woman or girl locked up in prison, and maybe don’t even believe because they didn’t know such a God. But it is up to us - to love the most difficult, the homeless, heartbroken, hungry, and war-torn. It is up to us, especially priests and pastors, to share love and hope when each Easter rewards us every year, so that all will know Christ.

Jesus doesn’t stop at any line. Be there dogs, cats, horses, prisoners, criminals, the un-loved or the non-trustworthy, because everyone’s life is different and filled with pain and disappointment and loneliness and frustration, and not knowing how to do what they need to do to become a child of God. We all are children of God. Animals are created by God. Plants grow for God. Every drop of anything, from rain to berries to shout-outs, to song good or bad, to victory and defeat - all of the things on this earth, scattered, frightening, changing as it is happening these strange days - this is a part of God’s world, of God’s gift to us to do good for others, to dedicate our lives to helping others - as well as dogs, cats and all sorts of animals. We all belong to each other. Give it a chance. Shout it out to God. We have been blessed beyond reality, and too often we don’t know it. Start praying and see what happens when you like me, begin to shout out our joys and our pains and our hopes to Jesus. It works.

~ Rev

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audrey@audreytaylorgonzalez.com
www.audreytaylorgonzalez.com