God Doesn't Want Pets

Recently, my wife and I became dog owners for the first time in our marriage.  For her, this was a long-desired development - she's had pets for much of her life and loves animals.  For me, however, it was a rather daunting adventure.  I haven't had a pet since I was in grade school, and even then it was an outdoor cat.  Transitioning to an inside dog was quite a change for this allergic introvert used to a quiet house and my own space.  Yet some ministry friends needed a good home for their Yorkie, and I saw the opportunity to brighten my wife's life with something she wanted, and so Bilbo came to abide at the Tyler abode.

To be honest, God has blessed us.  Bilbo is a good dog - not overly hyper, possessing a good temperment, hypoallergenic, and (most importantly) already housebroken.  In the month and a half since we brought him home, he has become a crucial part of our little family.

Having Bilbo has also helped me reflect on matters of faith.  He, of course, has aided me in my understanding of how God has charged us with the care of his creation, including the animals in our lives.  And his need for love and attention reminds me that others in my life need moments of love and attention, too - no matter how busy I am.  Yet the biggest insight I got from Bilbo's presence in my life is less about our dog and more about us as followers of God.

Bilbo, and many of the pets in our lives, are the ultimate consumers.  On a typical day, Bilbo awakens me before the alarm to go outside.  Once business is taken care of, he makes a beeline for his bowl - he's ready for his breakfast.  If I (or Cadance) are home that day, he wants to climb in our laps or be around us - unless there's something else he wants to do, like sleep or sniff around.  And if we have eto put him up because we're going out, he runs away or whines.  In the evening, its more food, more attention (when HE wants it), and more avoidance of being put up at bedtime.

Now, don't get me wrong:  Bilbo's a good dog, and he has brought our lives much joy.  Yet he's doing what a pet is supposed to do - be cared for.  His entire purpose in life is to be watched over, scratched, held, and in general spoiled - and Cadance and I do our best to make that happen.  That's pretty normal for pets.


The thing is, sometimes we human beings start acting like pets, especially in our walk of faith.  I can only speak for myself, but I imagine many of us are tempted to embrace a version of faith that goes something like this:
  • we look to God to provide for our needs;
  • we expect God to make life good;
  • when life is tough, we look to God for comfort and strength;
  • when life is good, we look to God when we feel like it, and ignore him when we find something more interesting;
  • in all of this, we expect God to care for us, witha  minimum of effort or responsibility in return.
 Like Bilbo, that sort of approach to God is fine if we are to be God's pets - but God doesn't want pets.  God wants us to be his children.  Such a relationship is more involved than a pet-owner relationship, with some expectation of mutuality.

When I was a child, my parents cared for me.  They fed me and clothed me.  I was never in want and always felt loved.  Some would even say I was spoiled!  Yet life with my parents was more than a pet situation.  I was expected to learn and grow.  They taught me to interact well with others, to be truthful, and to be responsible.  I had chores, and the expectation to do well in school and be involved in church.  In short, my parents showed their love by preparing me for life and expecting me to be part of life.

Paul tells us that's how it is with God.  In Galatians 3 and 4, he says we are children of God, and as children, heirs of the kingdom.  "So you are no longer slaves, but God's children; and since you are his children, he has made you also heirs." (Gal. 4:7) A child of God is an heir of the kingdom - and heirs have responsibilities.  Heirs don't just enjoy the blessings of the kingdom, but work to honor the values of the kingdom.

All of this means we can't live our life the way my dog lives his life.  Bilbo goes through life consuming my time, attention, and resources.  That's fine for a dog - but not for a child of God.  We are to receive God's blessings, but that's not all we must do.  We also have to act like God's heirs, extending those blessings to others.  That's just what God's children do - or else we're just pets.

May we stop being God's pets and embrace our calling to be his children and heirs.

In Christ,
Adam

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