Jake and Jesus 2.0
The Inevitable Sequel
Last week, I wrote about Jake, my unflappable unoffendable Labrador Retriever. If you have not read Jake and Jesus, this sequel may make more sense if you go back to that three-minute read before proceeding with this one. In that story, I put Jake on a pedestal, in the spotlight, and even said outright that “the dog at my feet may be more like Jesus than me.” And then…
The next day, I was driving a typical narrow curvy mountain road in a long line of traffic. We were following a dump truck and had two dump trucks behind us. The three dump trucks, with less than perfect braking going down the mountain and caterpillar-like acceleration climbing the mountain, somewhat altered what was otherwise routine mountain travel. We were making a rather steep descent with the trucks behind us creating jackhammer-like engine braking sounds amplified to near deafening levels by the surrounding mountains when unflappable Jake started whining - loudly. With the raging truck so close behind me that I could see nothing but his grill in my rearview and another just ahead of us, I assumed their intimidating presence and inescapable noise had driven Jake to break the impeccable poise so consistent with his nature. But he would not stop whining.
As the next ascent put more space between the vehicles, Jake’s whining only increased as he added pacing to the escalating drama in the narrow confines of the back of the Jeep. I promised him that I’d pull over, but we were on an unfamiliar road on the side of a mountain, and I honestly had no idea when we would have the opportunity to do so. As we started the next descent with the three dump trucks roaring, Jo looked back at Jake and yelled, “He’s pooping!” There he was, squatting in the back of the Jeep with this mixed expression of panic, embarrassment, and I-told-you-so on his face. And that was just the beginning of our impending crisis.
As soon as Jake finished his business, he decided that he couldn’t possibly ride back there with poop. Without warning, he leapt over the divider behind the front seats, with both front feet crashing into the cup holders and gear shift arm between Jo and me. I managed to stop him from completely coming over the divider, which he was determined to do, with my right arm upholding the front two-thirds of his body while navigating hairpin turns with one hand followed by two dump trucks now sounding as if they were firing fifty caliber machine guns at us. We had found the end of unflappable unoffendable Jake’s patience. Now I know. Poop is Jake’s kryptonite. I get it. It was rather gnarly.
Clearly, we survived. After what seemed like an eternity (maybe five minutes of holding Jake and driving), we slid into a wide gravel driveway. I hurriedly got Jake out of the Jeep and profusely thanked my servant-hearted wife who cleaned up the gag-worthy mess with the humility and kindness of Mother Teresa. Upon reflection, Jake’s not the only one in our family who’s more Christ-like than me. I may be the least Christ-like member of our threesome.
Why is it that when we receive applause for our Christlikeness that our own pile of poo is not far behind? We often blame Satan. We suggest that when we get applause it attracts his attention, and he increases our opposition. But maybe we should ask why we received the applause in the first place. If the applause was for Christlikeness, it was most likely for the way we faced a difficult circumstance. We focused on Jesus and found peace and joy in circumstances where other people think they would have crumbled. Do we really think Satan could overwhelm us if we stayed locked in on the Lord? Are we suggesting that Satan overwhelmed Jesus? Of course not. We liked the praise, and we sat in it a bit too long and took our eyes off Jesus. Just like Peter, who must have felt pretty good about himself when compared to his peers still in the boat while he walked on the water right before he took his eyes off Jesus, looked at the waves, and sank like a rock.
Perhaps it’s because the spotlight, the roar of the crowd, or a compliment from just the right person tends to awaken our egos. What I mean by this is that when we are praised for focusing on Jesus we can think, “yeah, look what I did,” and divert our focus from Jesus to ourselves. When our focus is diverted to ourselves by praise, ego always takes the wheel.
Ego drives with two hands – pride and fear. When life, like a mountain road, presents a curve and pride is the inside hand, it pulls us toward trusting ourselves. We look at our past and think, “look what I did,” and “if I could do that, I’ve got this.” Then as we come out of that curve and into the next, fear becomes our dominate hand. We find ourselves second-guessing as we realize that we’re taking credit for something without knowing exactly how to replicate it and we fear losing credibility, disappointing people, or being recognized as a fraud. When that happens, control becomes the primary expression of fear. So, we start trying to control people and circumstances to lessen our own fear. Winding through life shifting our focus from trusting ourselves (pride) to fearing what is beyond our control eventually crashes us into a proverbial pile of poo.
Jesus does not promise us a trouble-free life. You can do your best to follow each of his commands and there will still be curvy mountain roads, dump trucks, and poo. What Jesus does promise is that by following his commands out of love and gratitude for his love and grace, we should find our focus squarely on him and, in doing so, we can face each challenge with a supernatural joy and peace that can only come from him.
Accept praise. Thank those who offer it, and intentionally reset your focus on the Lord before you start believing your own headlines and give your ego the wheel. Pride and fear are terrible substitutes for the joy and peace awaiting those who trust Jesus.
