In Memoriam: Gus Conley

First of all, Gus didn't choose us. Let's make that clear. We've had dogs that contributed to the selection/adoption process...that came up to us as if to say, "Please...pick me!" Not Gus. In late 1999, when we first took him out of his pen in the shelter for a little "test walk," he couldn't have cared less who was on the other end of that leash. He just wanted OUTSIDE!

Secondly, Gus was not what you would consider an intelligent dog. Even though he lived with my parents recently, he would "come to visit" with them fairly regularly. When he came, he picked up right away on how to go out the doggie door (and often headed straight for it), but he could never seem to remember how to come back in. Again, he just wanted OUTSIDE! (and so a pattern emerges...) Also, he was convinced that he could get to the cats who lived in the rafters of a shed on Kendra's parents' farm by incessantly digging at the foundation of the shed. He was no canine Einstein.

Third, Gus was not exactly a "people" dog. Oh, sure, he'd greet newcomers to the house. He'd diligently stick by your side if you were eating something. He would follow my dad around the house from the moment he (dad) got home until he (Gus) got his walk (OUTSIDE!). But if there was no explicit means to benefit (food, walk, a scratch on the rump), Gus generally was content to be away from the people.

Fourth, Gus lacked subtlety. When he first came to live with us, he took the liberty of "marking" our bed when I was still in it. One night, when we were having a group of friends over, he stood up on his hind legs to steal from the cheese tray on the kitchen counter while we were standing in the kitchen. And then there was the time, OUTSIDE, when in a fit of doggy jubilation, he launched himself over an enormous hole (dug for a basement; again, on the farm). The last visual I had was his lanky body, squirming, mid-air, when it dawned on him that he wasn't going to make it to the other side of the hole. (By the time I got to the hole, he was unfazed...up and out the other side.) But his begging at the table probably constituted his least-subtle times: he would come up and gingerly place his drool-filled jowls squarely on the lap of whomever he sensed was most likely to give him food--at times, brand-new guests to the house--leaving a huge smear of saliva on the unsuspecting person's trousers (or, in the worst-case scenario, if he/she was wearing shorts, on their bare leg).

Fifth, Gus left a bit to be desired in the appearance department. Oh, he had a very cute face, replete with saggy ears and droopy lips, and he maintained his puppy-dog eyes (which he mastered the use of when it came to begging) all the way to the end. But on his other--shall we say, less attractive--end, he had chewed almost all of the hair off his tail, such that it appeared as though someone had replaced his real tail with one from a 50-lb. rat. He had also obsessively licked what started as a small lesion on his "wrist" to the point that it was a golf-ball sized, open, festering wound.

Sixth, Gus lacked an essential element that makes for a good watchdog: bravery. Once, a party of male college students we had at our house was "raided" by a group of girls who burst in the door shrieking and emptying cans of spray-string about our living room. We found Gus, some time later, cowering under a futon in the only windowless room in the house. While his bark was enough to ward off any would-be miscreants, if that failed, you'd be on your own--he'd be the first one out the door. And don't even mention a thunderstorm around him.

All in all, Gus was often times an aloof, apathetic, dim, unaware, obsessive, neurotic dog, motivated mostly by thoughts of food and going OUTSIDE.

But he was also exuberant, hopeful, and in one particular time with my mom, extraordinarily compassionate. He had a wonderful howl-song he woooooo-ed at you when he was excited. As a young dog, he would gleefully tear around the house, leaping down half-flights of stairs and "dinging" his tail against a metal pole in our living room. When he especially wanted something from you, he would left-handedly paw at you in a very convincing (and very endearing) way. And he had about the cutest head-tilt I've ever seen.


In sum, he was ours.

And we couldn't have loved him more.

Gus Conley

January 31, 1998 - April 19, 2012

A Meditation for Holy Week: Love and Death

But God shows his love for us in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us. - Romans 5:8

Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. - John 15:13

Christ on the Cross is the perfect sacrifice because he there embodies perfect love. The immense power of all the wickedness, scorn, and sin of the ages, when heaped upon his broken body, is met with a power infinitely greater: Love. Perfect love. And love covers all offenses. Christ’s death was not merely necessary to satisfy justice, but since only through death—a good, sacrificial death—is wickedness definitively undone, his perfect death provided true atonement for the wickedness of the ages: the sin of the world vanishes before the death of Christ as a wisp of smoke before a gale-force wind. In the beauty of God, Death, the last enemy, the wages of sin, is precisely the vehicle through which Death is overcome. Love is the giving of oneself for the sake of the other. Perfect love is giving all; perfect love is self death.

When we are baptized, we are incorporated into Christ’s death. It is no coincidence that water, the matter of baptism, is simultaneously a symbol of chaos and evil in ancient Hebrew thought and a sign of cleansing in the Law and the Prophets. Christ’s side would not have been pierced but for the evil of humanity, and yet evil is drowned in the flood which flows from him. It is no mistake that water both flooded the earth in God’s judgment and flowed from Christ’s side in God’s mercy. God’s great mercy could not have been fulfilled without God’s judgment upon the sin of the world, yet mercy triumphs over judgment. Perfect love undoes Death through Death.

What’s more, when we are joined to Christ’s death through baptism, we ourselves assume the character of perfect love, for he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God. God’s righteousness is the victory of perfect love, which we cannot claim for ourselves unless it should become the character of our life. As Bonhoeffer said, "When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” True love is death to self. Our Christian lives therefore evince the perfect love of God through the sacrificial nature of our deeds, empowered by our incorporation into Christ’s death through baptism, by the working of the Holy Spirit.

It should come as no surprise, either, that baptism is essentially a communal sacrifice: the one baptized is incorporated into Christ’s death and into his Mystical Body, the Church. Perfect love cannot exist with a subject alone. When we are incorporated into Christ’s death, and we assume the character of that death, it can mean nothing else that we assume his perfect love for the Father and for all of humanity. As his body breaks and blood flows to reconcile the world to himself, who lives in perfect love with the Father, we who are incorporated into his body through baptism are entrusted with the message of reconciliation.

And how do we manifest that message? No other way than always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. The Eucharist is the source and summit of the Christian life precisely in this way—it molds the Church, the Body of Christ, into a cruciform shape. As we are nourished by Christ’s body broken for us and his blood shed for us, our mortal bodies take on the essence of perfect love, of the death of the self for the sake of the other. Only this perfect love—but certainly this perfect love—is able to be the eternal unmaking of sin and death, and moreover, to restore to us our true and eternal self.

Whatever happened to the courtesy wave?

Zipping westbound on I-94 today, I slowed slightly to let a signalling Camry in to my lane of traffic. No great sacrifice, I'll grant you. Still, I watched the driver as he/she entered and settled into "my" lane, thinking there might be some acknowledgement for my politeness. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Of course, I'm one of those people who, having had this experience, then begins to ruminate upon it. First, I thought about how often I give courtesy waves. I'll bet, on an average week, I give anywhere from three to 10 courtesy waves. For me, it's nearly a given whenever I'm merging onto a busy interstate, which accounts for at least half of the occurrences. Then there's the awkward "who-was-here-first?"-s at stop-sign controlled intersections, the driver who stops the line-up of traffic to allow me to turn in front of them, and just generally anytime a driver shows even a small degree of courtesy (hence the name).

But I've noticed lately that, for all the courtesy waves I give, I receive very, very few. In fact, I can't remember the last time I got one...and I'd classify myself as a fairly courteous driver. That said, I think I'm going to go on a hunt--a hunt for the courtesy wave. I wonder how many I can "obtain" by, say, Thanksgiving? Watch this space. I'll keep count.

Now, if I was the cynical type, I might suggest that this dearth in courtesy waves is just one small, symptomatic factor of the ever-growing disease of individualism, self-centeredness, and entitlement pervasive in our American society today. But rather than ranting about that, let me draw a life-analogy...

In a way, traffic patterns around metropolitan areas are fair examples of how cooperation and interdependence work. Out on the highways, we all have similar basic goals (to get where we're going) and similar basic values (to travel expediently, if not speedily; not to have an accident). By virtue of the planning of the Department of Transportation, we are forced to share the same roadways, hence interdependence is not simply an option, it is, for all intents and purposes, a given. We depend on other drivers to pay attention (hang up and drive!) enough to avoid accidents that will slow us all down, to keep up with the car in front of them, to generally obey all the traffic laws, and yes, even to show courtesy now and again. While we recognize that there are some instances where legitimate emergencies (recognized by their sirens and flashing lights) will demand us to slow and pull over, we justly feel wronged when someone disregards the unwritten (and written) "codes" and obtrusively drives on the shoulder, butts in line, or otherwise puts him/herself above the cooperative spirit of the highway. It's when this spirit of self first dominates and exceeds the cooperative spirit that the whole system--not just a few inconvenienced drivers--begins to erode.

In short, on the highway, we depend on one another to restrain our self-centeredness in order to keep the system working best for all involved. We ought to simply expect that we cannot drive 90 mph, rapidly switching between lanes--not just because it's illegal, but because as drivers, we depend on other drivers not doing the same.

It occurs to me that while this analogy may be helpful in terms of contributing to a sense of social ethic, it falls far short of the demands of Christ. As the Church, we are bound to live our lives in sacrificial love (Mt. 22:36-40, pars.; Jn. 15:12-13), putting the needs of others before our own (Php. 2:1f.). In this is love perfected, the putting to death of the self, being made regenerate in the likeness of Christ, and subsequently living a life of humility, kindness, gentleness, faith, and goodness, in deference to others. It's a tall order, one which far surpasses our meager abilities. Hence, in life, we must continually turn to, acknowledge our utter dependence upon, and live our lives in surrender to our loving Heavenly Father.

On the highway, I'll settle for a courtesy wave.



For now.