Twenty years ago, in the top floor of our white brick home sat a beautifully spacious room with a prominent bay window. It was a bedroom shared by our oldest sons, adorned with bunk beds and soft, stretching carpet.
One night, after the sun had set, the boys set up their Rescue Heroes and Legos to play before bedtime. The windows were inched open, begging a slight breeze of night air. Suddenly, they heard a commotion outside, in our culdesac. Peering through the blinds, they noticed our typically reclusive neighbor hollering at his dog. The boys ran to the top of the stairs, calling for us: Mom, Dad!
Jon and I jogged upstairs and flicked off the lamps, watching the outdoor drama unfold as we peeked through the blinds.
Come here! The man bellowed in the dark, pointing at the sidewalk before him, and stomping his foot. The street light glowed, casting shadows over this peculiar scene. The dog faced his owner directly, smiling so it seemed, wagging, tail high in the air as his front paws crouched low. He was ready to leap and play.
I said come here! The man shouted, lurching forward as fast as his paunchy, middle-aged self could.
The dog ran and soon circled back, just barely out of reach. Our neighbor stopped, winded, brushing sweat off his shiny forehead with his sleeve, before bending at the waist, hands resting kneecap. After a moment he ramped up the yelling and the short bursts of chase, to no fruitful end.
The angrier the man became, the more energized the dog grew, relishing such sport.
I could see the poor fellow wrestling with ideas, turning over possible ways to end this torment, such blatant disobedience. He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. Come here! When that command was ignored, he shot for friendlier tones, with Come here, Buddy!
And when these attempts floundered, inspiration struck.
The allure of the promised dog treat.
Treat! Come here and get a treat!
Nope.
Please! Please! He wailed, and I thought he just might crumble into a heap on the pavement.
The dog, of course, did not care one whit. He was having fancy fun provoking his master, who then circled back to the former tactics of seething irritation and loud threats. Measures that yielded nothing more than empty hands.
The dog was delighted, dashing and spinning away only to return, again and again.
This scene played out for the longest ten minutes as we giggled, albeit quietly. It was like watching a slapstick comedy. Imagine that…Barney Fife in our own neighborhood.
Finally, the man was done. Ready to explode.
Flinging his hands straight into the air, he shook his fists, yelling Aaaaagh! as he cried to the skies for help.
Met with silence, he raked his fingers through thinning hair and performed an about-face, and with one last spasm of rage, marched violently to his front door.
The four of us bent over, covering our mouths, howling at this primetime show unfolding beneath our window. It was now over, as the credits rolled.
But wait.
An encore.
Just as the man pushed open his front door, the dog breezed by, running directly into the house.
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I have thought about the dog and the man many times over the years. When I feel myself growing weary and frustrated with people who are repeatedly toying around with God and Scripture, claiming the label Christian while digging in their heels and living precisely as they please?
I am learning to pause, pray, and walk away.
Jesus never chased people. He spoke plain truth in love, calling people to repentance and holiness, while permitting them to disregard his words and bend toward their own sinful desires. The Spirit is not at work in such people. Jesus knew this, understanding that his sheep would be different, knowing his voice and following him.
Do you have people in your life taunting you, having the appearance of godliness but denying its power?
Plant seeds by speaking the gospel truth in love. If they reject it, time and again, be like Christ, and keep moving along. Resist the urge to pull out a bag of tricks in the failing attempt to lure someone who does not want to surrender their will to God.
Pray for them, yes. But remember that changing hearts is the Holy Spirit’s work, not ours.
Be kind, let them go, and minister to others.
No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him. And I will raise him up on the last day.
-John 6:44
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