GSM's 'Willie' on top of Tome Hill, a sacred shrine in New Mexico, Good Friday 2002.

Not everyone thinks of Scotties and religion together. In fact, Dad says some folks don't think Scotties have souls at all, but see us as secular things too lowly to be included in any divine plan.

This wheaten Scottie is not convinced. In fact, from my lowly perspective the bias of Persons-at-the-center-of-cosmic-purpose is curious. When I look at what's going on in that place Persons call "the Holy Land" or think of the terror justified by religious Persons as "holy war" I'm embarrassed for those who insist only humans are made "in the image of god."

What got me thinking about sacred things was my trip with Dad up to the top of Tome Hill, a sacred place in New Mexico, which is scarcely a quarter-mile from our house. I'm Willie, the wheaten wonder at GSM, and at 7 AM we joined this year's procession of pilgrims on Good Friday who quietly walk the country road past our house to make their way to the giant crosses permanently erected at the hill's summit.

Dad says in 1947, Edwin Antonio Berry, a Penitente who survived the brutal Italian campaign of WWII, organized and led the building of a calvario at the top of the hill: three crosses of wood and metal, each sixteen feet high. El Calvario has been the setting for Easter passion plays, processionals, and pilgrimages, since 1948.

But long before that—as early as 1776—there are records of elaborate Easter celebrations at Tome. And long before the veneration of the place by Christians the hill was site of Native American religious activities. Their rock art drawings, called petroglyphs, can still be found among the basalt boulders that dot the hillside.

Now, I like the name, pet-roglyphs, and I approve of the sacred art it stands for, too, because much of it depicts animals. The Native American approach to sacred things suits my Scottie sensibilities because I'm included—right in the middle of their understanding of what is holy. They think of animals as spirit-brothers, all part of the great circle of life.

Perhaps my notions of sacred places and what it means to be spiritual will appear naive to some readers—perhaps Dad is right when he says my god-thinking is simplistic. Nevertheless, to me holiness is as holiness does. Period. Maybe I am too young to grapple with deep questions but since our trip up Tome Hill I've pondered them just the same. Besides, I'm not a hellion pup anymore. I'm five years old, a Scottie fully-grown, and I notice things.

I've noticed, for instance, how differently Persons pray. Oh, I saw plenty of Rosary prayers on

Tome Hill, and there were those who knelt down at the foot of the cross, of course.

I don't mean to slight those acts of reverence but I do mean to say I saw other forms of prayer on Tome Hill—forms which some might not even think of as religious acts. I saw elderly couples, far too old to hazard the sliding rock on the hillside path, gently helping each other reach the top. I saw young mothers and fathers carrying babies and young children—perpetuating a sacred ritual to the fourth generation. I saw a young woman reach down and pick up a tiny, shivering Chihuahua dog to warm it against the chilly morning.

Not formal prayers, it's true. But prayerful acts from my Scottie point of view. I know I have limited understanding of the ways of God, but as I see it being good ought to count more than being right.

I've noticed that's not always how it is in religious matters. Dad says sometimes Persons get so full of passion to be right they forget all about being good, and kind, and gentle. I've noticed that Persons who talk most about grace are not always the most gracious; that those who do the most public praying sometimes do a lot of private preying on the innocent.

Religious pilgrims at the peak of Tome Hill, Tome, New Mexico, Good Friday 2002.

My point is not to dismiss public religion but to say that, at least to this wee doggie observer, public displays are not all there is, nor even the most important part of what it means to have a `holy spirit.' Quiet expressions of spirituality like the informal kindness and goodness and service that go unseen and unapplauded are the real signs of the holy within us.

To this Scottie dog, at least, a kind word, a friendly pat, a welcome bowl of water on a hot day, are more evidence of a `holy spirit' in a Person than all the genuflection in the world.

I noticed other things on our climb up Tome Hill, too, things that ought to count as spiritual. I think practicing good sense, for example, ought to count as a prayerful act.

Unfortunately, good sense is not high on most devotional lists. We saw an example of that going up the hill when we met an unleashed Husky coming down. The Husky was not in a humble frame of mind, was not under control, and was intent on demonstrating he was `king of the hill.'

Now it's not easy keeping one's mind on a higher plane when you've got 75 pounds of intimidation in your face. Dad says sprituality to some folks is absolution from good sense. I say the Maker of All Things gives no such license and that prayer that tramples courtesy is no prayer at all.

Another lesson in the art of the sacred I learned on top of Tome Hill concerns holy water. Let me explain.

When we reached the summit we found large boulders and jagged rock faces. Below the three crosses at the trail's mouth is a boulder on top of which is fashioned in concrete a font for holding water. It's holy water, of course, which Roman Catholic pilgrims use in their formal prayers.

Without asking, I helped myself to a cool drink. To me, it was a bowl of much-appreciated water and I was most grateful for it.

Dad was horrified and quickly got me down from the rock. I think I embarrassed the program—but I didn't mean any disrespect.

The scornful looks I got from surrounding pilgrims have lingered with me, though, and left me pondering the meaning of `holy water.'

I know this much, no one on Tome Hill that Good Friday was more genuinely thankful for that

The author and Willie contemplate true sacredness from the top of Tome Hill, Tome, NM.

water than this wee pilgrim. My problem with the `holy water' business is not that that particular water is considered precious, but rather that other water isn't. We live in the high desert of the Southwest where water is scarce and ought to be a precious resource. But it isn't. Persons waste it habitually and treat it as anything but holy.

Maybe I don't understand, but it seems to me every water is `holy water' and no use of it ought to be taken for granted. Perhaps if Persons saw all water as precious, saw every drink as sacred, as I do, we'd all be more respectful of the Earth's resources. We might rediscover what my spirit-brothers have known all along: the earth is a sacred place.

One other thing I divined on our trip up Tome Hill. On the way back down, just off the trail to one side, was a pile of old rubber tires and a fallen, rusted sign that once read "REPENT."

Dad said it was a parable of how repentance has fallen on hard times in a culture where no one is guilty and everyone is a victim.

He may be right. The old lettering on the sign is scarcely legible and its message to pilgrims long silenced.

Willie inspects a fallen 'REPENT' sign alongside the path down from the summit of Tome Hill.

But just maybe the symbolism can be read differently. I want to believe the tires and fallen sign are an undesigned altar of sorts to the only repentance that counts. What I'm saying is that just like prayer-acts and water called holy, repentance is deeper than signage. Repentance has to do with inward sorrow that shows in outward change, not ultimately with placards. Maybe the unintended altar calls pilgrims to look within for the only repentance that counts.

Dad and I returned from Tome Hill to Las Golondrinas full of thoughts and impressions. Mine have lingered in the weeks since Easter.

I know I see things a bit oddly—that's my prerogative. And I know not everyone will share my perspective or even approve of my having one.

Still, I'm more convinced than ever now that my definition of what is sacred, of what counts as spiritual, is not bad dogma. More important, I'm more sure than ever that the first Americans were right—I am one of the spirit-brothers; I am part of the sacred circle of life

©2002 Tartan Scottie. Reprinted from Great Scots Magazine, Vol 7 No 3 (May/Jun) 2002. All rights reserved.