This past year saw my pack of dogs increase from 1 to 3. My first pup, Riley, is now about 10-11 years old; as a rescue from a hoarding situation it is almost impossible to determine an exact year of birth. Rescue number 2, Freddie, is also a terrier, now either 4 or older; rescue number 3 is, again, a terrier, perhaps 11 or older; I suspect Jack is closer to 13 or 14.
Rescue number 1 has, for the most part, been fairly healthy, although there have been brief scares due to temporary conditions. Rescue number 2 is a veritable energy machine, a Nixnutz in Pennsylvania Dutch. Jack, whom I received from a foster caretaker, started out in the county facility in very poor condition: a fractured jaw, rotten teeth, 2 heart murmurs, cherry eye, and dry eye. In addition it seems he was routinely bitten by another foster dog in that home, and the first sight of him convinced me I needed to get him out of that environment. Fortunately Jack has rebounded beyond our expectations; the cherry eye repaired, the dry eye contained so no more medication for that; the heart murmurs on both sides of his heart were re-diagnosed to a 2/6 on the left side, 0/6 on the right side, while he was originally diagnosed in the county facility as having a 5/6. He has no teeth but we accommodate that, and he has a boundless appetite. All is good.
Except that what lurks in the back of my mind as a pet owner, is this: these gifts in my life are only temporarily here with me. I’ve had other pets throughout my life, and the day comes when they die. It cannot be avoided, and each death of a beloved pet leaves a bit of a whole in my heart. I am no stranger to death, as, being clergy, I’ve been with many dying people, conducted more grief visits and funerals than I care to remember, and am fairly realistic about my own mortality. Yet the bond I have with my pups causes in me what is called anticipatory grief---I am preparing myself for the day when I lose them. And it’s deep. As a theologian I know what Christianity teaches about life after death—the party line is that only humans are made in the image of God, and therefore only humans are guaranteed a life in the Great Resurrection. Animals might have “souls,” or whatever one wants to call that aspect of---personality?---but it is not on the same level as humanity.
So I’ve sought some consolation outside of Christian theology, even though I am pulled back into it, as that is my life. One of my resources, especially when I am overburdened by thoughts of my pets’ deaths is the poem, The Rainbow Bridge. The author is unknown, but is obviously someone who also had a very deep relationship with God’s wonderful creatures. Here it is:
Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.
All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....
As an answer to my question about the theology of The Rainbow Bridge, AI had this to say: “The poem is pastorally understandable but doctrinally imprecise.” That is a way of saying the poem can comfort the bereaved, but don’t expect to find much evidence to support it in Scripture. AI calls the poem “theologically thin:” “The poem subtly re-centers salvation on human emotional fulfillment, rather than: God’s glory, Resurrection, the new heavens and new earth.”
No, no one wants to believe that a living, loving, faithful, forgiving companion is gone forever. There’s the deep need for emotional fulfillment: we will meet again. But just how does one flesh out the statement that the One who knows when a sparrow falls will—or will not-- receive that sparrow on the other side of death? Christian traditions go out on a very short limb by saying, we HOPE there is life beyond death for our fellow creatures. And, yes, doctrinally, there is thin evidence for our hope for them. Yes, Psalm 36:6 states this: “You save humans and animals alike, O LORD.” The psalm extols the “steadfast love” of God; this is a Hebrew way of saying that God keeps God’s promises, made in eternal covenants to God’s people. Verse 6 might simply refer to the saved animals in Noah’s ark during the great flood, and so can/cannot be used as a blanket statement that all is well depending on one’s point of view.
Paul’s argument about the creation groaning in Romans 8:22 is also touched upon in giving us the hope we are seeking:
“We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now.” Paul’s hope is that the creation is restored, and all the harsh treatment of God’s beloved creation becomes wiped away and “will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.” (v. 21)
But a promise of no more pollution of the ocean, for example, is not the hope I am looking for, for Riley, for Freddie, or for Jack. Personally I trust the promise includes me, but the Romans passage does not go into further detail about what that restored creation entails for other creatures. So if my own salvation does not depend on my emotional longings, but rather God’s action in Jesus on my behalf, I am free to go further out onto a limb and consider a different way of understanding Scripture.
So it might be helpful to go back to the beginning of things. Christian theologians have, since ancient times, understood Genesis 1:26-27 as pointing to the uniqueness of humanity:
“Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea,” and so on. The key word is image. This obviously does not mean a physical image, as God is Spirit. One of the overriding messages of Scripture, both in the Hebrew and the Christian testaments, is that human beings are called to have a relationship with the Divine. That is, to humanity is given the gift of knowledge of the existence of the Divine, who wants to be in a relationship with each individual person. We are called to be in community with one another, and in community/relationship with God. This perhaps is why the animals are not created in the image of God. They are unaware of the existence of God, but that does not mean they are unloved by any means. They are simply unaware, and have not been given the “divine spark” of knowledge of their creator, and therefore are unable to have a conscious relationship with God. But just as God is aware of the death of one sparrow, so must God be aware of all the lives of the creatures God has created. And who is to gainsay that in the promised new creation, the creatures will not become aware of God? The relationship will be different than that of redeemed humanity, but it will be there.
One of the other tenets of Christianity is that only humans have souls. These souls are immortal, and will see us through death. But that belief is heavily influenced by ancient Greek philosophy, and that has created an interpretation that just might not be there in Genesis. The second creation story, taken from Genesis 2, tells of the fashioning of the first human from the dust of the ground; “and [God] breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.” Simply said, when God withdraws the breath of life upon death, the living creature (human or animal) is dead. Period. There is no sense of the immortal soul. The dead (humans) are consigned to a place called Sheol, a place of darkness and stillness. Whether this is a metaphor for the grave or is an actual place is up for grabs, depending on its usage. But Sheol is not a place for immortal souls. It is a break in the relationship between God and the person, and one of the dreadful aspects of Sheol is that God has forgotten the person. Also, Sheol is not “hell” as modern-day pearl clutchers would have it. Both the righteous and the unrighteous “go down” to Sheol when this life is over.
What this means is that it will literally be an act of God that restores the personhood of humans when the new creation is borne. And might God not just include beloved animals in this re-creation? After all, in the final book of the Bible, the victorious Christ who has conquered even death, says, “See, I am making all things new.” Jesus does not say, “I am making all people new.” We are, simply put, part of the “things” of creation, all destined for restoration to a Garden of Eden lifestyle, where all things in the entire creation live in harmony with one another. In other words, the relationship between God and creation, of which we are part, is resurrected, transformed as God’s act of love towards us and all things.
The entire Bible is used to justify many different interpretations of how things are supposed to be understood. But to make the Bible something it is not---an end-all for believers who are called into relationship with God---limits the freedom of God in how God will demonstrate divine love for all things. If anything, the Bible is the book which asks a question of each of us: this is who God is, how God has acted in the lives of beloved people throughout the ages, how God is acting in our lives now, and the promised fulfillment of the kingdom come. Knowing that---how do you respond to God’s desire to be in relationship with you?
Understanding the Scriptures from this point of view does not limit the message of the Bible as challenge and invitation to people. It opens up the possibility that our animal friends will share in the new creation as God’s gift not only to us who really desire to have them in our lives again, but also that God sees the value in each fallen sparrow and makes “all things new” at that time.
Yes, I will still read The Rainbow Bridge at times of sadness, and will read it when my pups leave this world one by one. But I can be comforted by the picture images it puts forth. After all, much of the Bible is composed of picture images, which are concrete ways of helping us understand that which cannot be grasped completely by any creature. Taken together, the biblical picture images draw us closer to the God of love, who remains unfathomable aside from the divine heart: a heart that loves all that has been created by the finger of God, and in that we can find comfort and hope.
Prognosticators are telling us we will be in contact with other creatures from outside our solar system. Will that destroy the message of the Bible, that humans as we know each other are totally unique in the entire cosmos? Or, perhaps, help us to understand the Bible as invitation to this relationship with the Divine, thus keeping open all the wondrous possibilities that life has in store for us---and perhaps even the wondrous possibilities that come after death.
One final thing: AI offers this rewrite of The Rainbow Bridge, stating that this is a “theologically grounded rewrite---pastoral, restrained, and faithful to Scripture---without asserting more than Christian theology can bear:

Beyond the Bridge

When a creature’s breath grows still and its days among us end,
it rests in the keeping of God who formed it from the dust.
The One who feeds the sparrow does not forget what He has made.
All life returns to Him, and nothing loved is lost to His care.
We do not know the shape of what awaits, only that creation itself
longs for renewal, and groans toward glory yet unseen.
In the day when earth is made new and death is swallowed up,
all that God declares good will be restored and transfigured.
Until then, we trust---not in bridges unseen, but in the mercy of the Creator,
whose joy is wider than our knowing and whose love outlasts our grief.