Learning from Cyril

 

 

Texts: Acts 17:22-31; 1 Peter 3:13-22; John 14:15-21

 

The thing about university study is that it involves a lot of reading interesting but heavy stuff.  And every now and again it's good to read something a little lighter, just for the pure enjoyment of being entertained.  So over the last few weeks, on the recommendation of a number of people, I have been reading the stories of Alexander McCaull Smith, particularly those set in Edinburgh.

 

Those of you who are fellow devotees will know that one of the most interesting characters in these stories is a dog, called Cyril.  Cyril has many appealing features, including a gold tooth, a characteristic he shares with his somewhat eccentric owner, Angus Lordie – partly explained by the fact that Cyril and Angus share the same dentist!  Among Cyril's other idiosyncrasies is a habit of winking at attractive young women (thereby showing off his gold tooth to advantage), and enjoying his own wee mug of beer at the local.

 

But it's his inner musings that appeal to me because of their clear theological content.  Through Cyril, we learn a lot about the world as it is experienced by dogs.  We learn that dogs are aware of their dependence on human beings, in particular, of course, their owners.  They know that they have a certain sphere of freedom – in which they can do doggie things – but that sphere of freedom is necessarily circumscribed by virtue of the very fact that they are dogs.  They are owned by someone, they are not truly masters of their own world.

 

Central to Cyril's life as a dog is his relationship to his owner, Angus Lordie, and so a lot of Cyril's musings revolve around this relationship.  When temptation comes Cyril's way in the shape of some particularly tasty looking ankles, he resists it by reminding himself of what biting them would do to his relationship with Angus.  The ankles belong to a guy called Matthew, a pleasant if rather wet young man whom Angus knows.  Cyril realises that if he gives in to the strong urge to bite Matthew's ankles, Angus will feel obliged to punish him physically and verbally in order to soothe Matthew's feelings.  Cyril might even be excluded from future social occasions, lest he bite someone else's ankles; and so, after a monumental struggle with his canine nature, Cyril manages not to bite Matthew's ankles.

 

But in the course of his musings there are three other key points to note from a theological perspective.  First, Cyril reminds himself that he loves his owner, and therefore would not enjoy displeasing him.  And secondly, he is quite indifferent to Matthew's feelings.  If he had bitten Matthew's ankles it would not have been personal: he had no wish to hurt Matthew, it was just that those ankles were a delight to the eye.  Conversely, his final choice to refrain from biting those ankles owed nothing to any desire to please Matthew.  Cyril quite likes human company in general, but he seeks to please only Angus, his owner.

 

And thirdly, there is an interesting aspect to his love for Angus.  It is perfectly genuine, but it also has practical implications.  Angus is the source of his food and other essentials.  Cyril is perfectly clear about that: his love, however genuinely from the heart, can never be entirely disinterested.  Cyril's love for Angus brings with it very practical rewards.

 

Now let Cyril's musings guide us as we look at today's Scriptures.  The first point to notice is the exact parallel between the canine world and our own.  Just as Cyril's freedom is always and inevitably circumscribed by the fact that he is a dog and not a human being, so ours is circumscribed by the fact that we are creatures, not the Creator.  As St Paul would have put it if he had met Cyril, we are not masters of our own world precisely because we have an owner.  We are owned by God as surely as Cyril is owned by Angus.  We are necessarily dependent on God just as surely as Cyril is dependent on Angus. 

 

Secondly, when we notice how well behaved Cyril is, we must qualify that in one important regard that applies to all well-trained dogs.  They do not obey commands, they obey their master.  If Angus tells Cyril to sit, Cyril will sit.  If anyone else tells Cyril to sit he will decide for himself what he wishes to do at that moment.  Dogs know their masters' voice, and can effect profound deafness to the voice of anyone else.

 

The theological significance of that is surely clear.  We must first know our master's voice, for that voice alone is the only one we must obey always.  That's part of the teaching we can draw from our first lesson today.  St Paul is in Athens, and as he wanders around the city he is struck by the plethora of shrines and temples to a whole range of 'gods'.  And he even finds one that is dedicated to 'an unknown god'.  All this appalled St Paul, of course, a convinced monotheist.  But instead of stamping his foot and raging against them as hopeless pagans, he tells them who this unknown God is.  He is the only one, says St Paul, the creator of all things seen and unseen.

 

He could have put it this way.  Up until now you have been listening to so many different voices and trying to obey them all.  You are like dogs with multiple owners.  But I have good news for you.  There is only one owner, who owns everything and everyone.  There is only one voice you have to obey.

 

Well, what sort of owner do we have?  How can we know what he is like?  St Paul is able to tell them what they need to know.  They have an owner who loves them, an owner who cares for them and provides for them and protects them.  An owner who, in turn, they may also love.  An owner whom they are called to obey.

 

And on that point we can switch from St Paul to St John; because here in our gospel passage today we have this same point expanded.  How do we prove our love for God (for Christ)?  By obeying him – hearing his word and doing his word.  And if we truly love him this will not be a burden to us.  We will want to please him precisely because he is a good and loving owner – precisely because we love him.

 

And that is not diminished in any way by the fact that it is also in our best interests to love and obey him.  Just as Cyril recognised that loving and obeying Angus brought its own rewards, so we are assured that if we love and obey God we will be richly rewarded.  And notice what the nature of that reward is, according to our gospel passage this morning.  It will be our owner's presence with us – Father, Son and Holy Spirit – the God who is Holy Trinity –will come to us and make his home with us.

 

And, yes, there is one more story about Cyril that illustrates this for us.  At one point Angus is visiting a friend who doesn't like dogs inside, so Cyril is tethered to a railing outside.  Suddenly some terrible scoundrel comes, unties him, and drags him away, onto a bus.  Both Cyril and Angus are devastated at the thought they may never see each other again.  However, Cyril manages to escape from his abductor, and, to cut a long story short, someone recognises him and brings him back.  Fittingly his reunion with Angus takes place in their favourite pub.  As he is led in through the door he sees Angus at the same time as Angus sees him.  Both let out a whoop of delight as Cyril bounds across the floor and leaps into Angus' waiting arms.

 

And, says the author, a time of strange quiet descends on the other customers, for it is not every day that you see such a display of tender love in a public bar.  It reminds us, perhaps that there is joy among the angels of God over one sinner who repents.

 

Not that Cyril is a sinner, of course!  That would be far too heavy for such light reading.  Yet there is one important difference between Cyril and ourselves.  As I noted above, Cyril had no feelings one way or the other towards Matthew, the owner of the tempting ankles.  Dogs feel no calling to love their neighbours as well as their owner.  That's what makes us so superior to dogs, isn't it?