What's the Issue? Me or the Other?
By Brother Luke
Once again I have fallen asleep with some lights on in my room. Then a strange crunching sound arouses me. Struggling to see what's causing the noise, I look toward my armoire, and there is my five-month-old puppy, Pyrena, chewing on the wooden handle of a lower drawer. I cry out NO! and spring into action as she dashes away and hides under the bed. I pull her out from under the bed and lead her over to the crate where she will spend the night. She actually has been very good in my room overnight, but she is still teething and learning what is and what is not OK to chew on. She is not the first or the last puppy or dog to do this in my room. Yes, I am frustrated by her destructive behavior. But I also have to remember that taking on the task of raising a puppy will inevitably include episodes like this. So the puppy tests my patience.
It is often thought that being so intimately involved with animals as we are at New Skete takes us away from our core purpose as monastics: our life of prayer, contemplation, and reflection on our life in God. And yet, we have repeatedly learned that our life with German Shepherd dogs gives us ample opportunity to go more deeply into what makes each one of us tick. Life in community is a constant challenge to each of us because we reflect back to each other the impact and implications of our behavior. But we do have our rooms, where we can retreat from human challenges. However, for some of us the dogs are there to remind us of how much work we still have to do on our interior life, as Pyrena frequently reminds me. And I have two other adult (just barely, they are each just two-plus years old) dogs: Lucy and Iso. They also keep me grounded. Being patient with my puppy as she learns is one thing. But being patient with my "adult" dogs, who should by now know better, is another. And all of this isn't about denying faults, but rather learning how to work with and live with dogs (and humans) with understanding and compassion while letting go of the ever-present desire to control them and my immediate environment.
We do train our dogs. The issue is not about leaving dogs untrained, but rather accepting the reality that training dogs is also about training human beings to follow through and keep up the lessons learned by the dogs. And that is the nexus where our work on ourselves meets our work with dogs.
In monastic life this kind of work connects to a concept known as apatheia. Apatheia comes into Christian ascetic practices from Stoic philosophy. It is sometimes translated as indifference but may be better rendered as equanimity. To put it another way, we might say: I can let things bother me or I can let them go and move on. Letting go does not mean blindly refusing to see reality, including wrong behavior. Rather, it gives me a chance to step back from my initial emotional reaction and allow me to respond in a measured and more productive way.
Jesus did not deny the reality of the inequities in the society of his time. He also did not mount an armed revolution to overturn that society. Instead, he called for repentance, a change of mind in all people to allow a new perspective to emerge. When we embark on this path, we are following Jesus’ recommendation to us: deal with the log in our own eye before we try to take the speck out of someone else's eye. Often that log in our own eye is all about control: the opposite of letting go. The better way isn't always my way. When I can be at peace with that, I will begin to notice that the power of what frustrates or annoys me begins to ebb away. And the benefit? We don't break with the people and animals we love. We keep connected. We inch closer to God's perspective: the love that binds all wounds.
It is often thought that being so intimately involved with animals as we are at New Skete takes us away from our core purpose as monastics: our life of prayer, contemplation, and reflection on our life in God. And yet, we have repeatedly learned that our life with German Shepherd dogs gives us ample opportunity to go more deeply into what makes each one of us tick. Life in community is a constant challenge to each of us because we reflect back to each other the impact and implications of our behavior. But we do have our rooms, where we can retreat from human challenges. However, for some of us the dogs are there to remind us of how much work we still have to do on our interior life, as Pyrena frequently reminds me. And I have two other adult (just barely, they are each just two-plus years old) dogs: Lucy and Iso. They also keep me grounded. Being patient with my puppy as she learns is one thing. But being patient with my "adult" dogs, who should by now know better, is another. And all of this isn't about denying faults, but rather learning how to work with and live with dogs (and humans) with understanding and compassion while letting go of the ever-present desire to control them and my immediate environment.
We do train our dogs. The issue is not about leaving dogs untrained, but rather accepting the reality that training dogs is also about training human beings to follow through and keep up the lessons learned by the dogs. And that is the nexus where our work on ourselves meets our work with dogs.
In monastic life this kind of work connects to a concept known as apatheia. Apatheia comes into Christian ascetic practices from Stoic philosophy. It is sometimes translated as indifference but may be better rendered as equanimity. To put it another way, we might say: I can let things bother me or I can let them go and move on. Letting go does not mean blindly refusing to see reality, including wrong behavior. Rather, it gives me a chance to step back from my initial emotional reaction and allow me to respond in a measured and more productive way.
Jesus did not deny the reality of the inequities in the society of his time. He also did not mount an armed revolution to overturn that society. Instead, he called for repentance, a change of mind in all people to allow a new perspective to emerge. When we embark on this path, we are following Jesus’ recommendation to us: deal with the log in our own eye before we try to take the speck out of someone else's eye. Often that log in our own eye is all about control: the opposite of letting go. The better way isn't always my way. When I can be at peace with that, I will begin to notice that the power of what frustrates or annoys me begins to ebb away. And the benefit? We don't break with the people and animals we love. We keep connected. We inch closer to God's perspective: the love that binds all wounds.
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