Among siblings few things change quantitatively over time – I will always be a little brother. A few years ago, rapidly accelerating towards thirty years of age, I found myself playing the baby brother role in Boston – my big brother's very new hometown. Outside various shops between Washington Square and Harvard Street in the Brookline neighborhood I stood awkwardly, embracing my trademark insecurity, waiting for my big brother to purchase some picture hangers at the hardware store or pick up a to-go order from the Thai restaurant (well worth the wait). And why was I waiting outside? Because little brother was holding big brother's dog – "you hold Baxter while I get this…it'll just take a minute." Yeah, right. Baxter, a massive, hundred-plus pound yellow Labrador mix, and I had ample time to bond as we stood, sat, and occasionally lay down along Beacon Street.
But, as I soon discovered, being the designated little-brother dog-walker did have its benefits. Standing along the bustling sidewalks, filled with thousands of defrosting Bostonians enjoying the perfect New England summer weather, Baxter became quite the conversation piece. "Your dog is beautiful" and "That's the biggest head I've ever seen" were frequent comments of passersby. Often other dog owners would stop to strike up a conversation as well – their Pekinese and Chihuahuas yapping and growling incessantly while Baxter calmly investigated exactly what type of creatures these little things were.
There was a great sense of humanity to the whole process. Gracious comments passed from one to another, the engagement of human beings in conversation, and expressions of sincere interest in one another's lives – even if at an introductory level. I had more discussions with more people in three days than I had had in suburban Atlanta in the last three years. There's something about being 'out there' walking and talking in the streets that produces a true sense of community, and real opportunities for all sorts of ministry. And there's nothing like a dog in the city to keep you on the street – off the couch and near the fire hydrant.
Jesus was always on the move – from town to town, village to village. Certainly Jesus' ministry would have been much easier if everyone had just come to him – he definitely could have saved on sandal treads. Like John the Baptist he could have established a central location and then waited for the crippled, blind, poor and miscreants to simply come to him. Jesus was a carpenter, surely he knew how to erect a building – and with Matthew's experience collecting taxes starting a capital campaign would not have been a stretch. But, Jesus did none of those things.
Jesus moved through the streets and byways making himself available for individuals and communities in need. And along the street he entertained a broken humanity with healing. The unnamed woman with the blood issue, Zacchaeus, and blind Bartamaeus all found healing after meeting Jesus in the street. Jesus' transformative power was revealed through the daily dynamics of human interaction – he 'walked his dog', as it were.
Wearily standing outside my brother's apartment, Baxter in-tow, I ran into his neighbor. Recently widowed and transplanted from Virginian suburbia to urban Boston, she had spent the entire day discovering the joys of laundry mats. With little more than a sincere "how are you doing?," she opened up the pain of her life to another human being who would listen. It had been a hard day, burying the dagger of a lost marriage partner of thirty-eight years deep into her heart. Her sense of loss heightened, she let choked tears go as she shared her story with another human being who patiently gave her the time to speak. As I finally submitted to Baxter's pleas for relief, she opened her apartment door in a much better mood – "Thank you." A healing had occurred in the street.
Later, outside a video store in nearby Washington Square I found myself again staring through the glass leashed to the Behemoth. Many passed in and out with polite smiles and greetings. From the parking lot I saw a stern looking man walking slowly towards the door. But, as he approached a smile crossed his face as he stared at the large Labrador sprawled on the pavement. Then on his way out he stopped and reached out his hand to rub Baxter's neck. For a full minute he silently stroked his fur. Looking up to speak for the first time he said in a deep Russian accent, "I lost my dog a few months ago." Returning his attention to the great beast latched to my arm he received a bevy of warm licks to his hand. Turning to leave, he simply and sincerely said, "Thank you." Another healing on the street.
Certainly I didn't perform any supernatural miracles, but it seems the truly miraculous is bound up in the natural. Unwittingly I found myself made available to the world in the seeming triviality of walking my brother's dog.
A few weeks ago we welcomed Cleo, a yellow Labrador puppy, into our home. My New Year's resolution is to take her on many walks in my neighborhood. Though far from the crowded metropolis of Boston, I look forward to the many people we will meet along the way this year in our town…and the many opportunities to receive and offer healing on the street. – D. Christian Nix, January 1, 2011
