The Big Hairy

“Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?” Abraham Lincoln

One morning I was in the church yard glancing up at Fan Mountain. She was certainly out in all her glory. The peak was capped in fresh snow, glistening in the sunlight. The sky behind her was so clear and blue you could almost see the stars beyond.

I stood staring, but the reverie of the moment was broken when a big hairy scary dude wandered across the lawn toward me. He was gargantuan, and was covered in long, ginger hair (not unlike that of those Highland cows you see periodically). He looked like Cousin It – only from the uglier, seamier side of the It clan.

I was fairly alarmed, and must have said so as the stranger replied, “You’re skeered, eh?” (“Skeered” – that’s how he pronounced it). “You have reason to be skeered,” he continued. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

He appeared to be sneering at me from behind the hairy haystack that hung where his head should be. My knees were shaking, but I knew I dared to show no fear to this hombre, so I gritted my teeth with grim determination and stood tall and brave like Marshall Dillon on the outside, while feeling more like Barney Fife on the inside.

“I suggest you build yourself a fortification,” said the stranger, most reasonably.

I looked around, but I had nothing I could use to build a fort or shelter, or even that I could use as a weapon against this fearsome Hairy Scary Dude.

He perceived my consternation, disappeared for a few moments, and then returned with some lumber and tools. Before I could say, “One, two, buckle my shoe,” the two of us began to build a beautiful fence of immense proportions. His carpentry skills were marvelous (against which mine paled in comparison).

“Nothing will get over or around that,” I said with some pride when we had finished.

Big Hairy Scary Dude simply nodded in agreement, adding, “It appears you now have a Wall sufficient to keep out what skeers you.”

But then I stepped back and looked at the great fence and noticed how it now blocked my view of both the mountains and valley. It was gorgeous and effective as a barrier, but it fenced me in every bit as much as it fenced out the world!

I didn’t know what to do, but unbeknownst to me, the Big Hairy Scary Dude had a plan. “Give me a hand,” he said, and we picked up the fence and set it down face-up on a series of sawhorses.

As soon as we had done that, people began to gather from every direction. Each brought a dish to share and began setting the table, which soon groaned under the weight of the bounty that was brought. The fence-cum-table was covered with a beautiful linen cloth and adorned with yellow bees-wax candles (which flickered under the evening stars), and bouquets of the most fragrant lilacs, blue-bells, and baby’s breath flowers.

People sat down and as I looked around, I saw the Big Hairy Scary Dude sitting with folks from every community of faith and civic organization; and he was sitting with the morally upright and the ethically suspect; and he was sitting with both family and friends on the one side, and with strangers and n’er-do-wells on the other. He was sitting with children and elders, and with newborns and the dying – and he was seated with everyone simultaneously!

I wondered aloud how he could do that, and asked him his name.

He smiled, and as he did, his hairy coat began to fall away, and he began to shine more brightly than the noon day sun and with the effervescent smile of the Wonderland’s Cheshire cat he said, “I AM Yeshua ben Nazareth.”

With that, he disappeared and I awakened.

I came to believe in my heart what I had long suspected: this world doesn’t need bigger and better fences or walls, but a people willing to extend their tables to make room for all who hunger and thirst; for when all is said and done, the ultimate reality is that a Big Hairy Scary Dude called God has made and set a splendid table for ALL in this, our valley (and beyond).