Covenant Church

He came from nowhere. Just drifted in. Woody and his Collie dog. I had found him and his dog hitchhiking near our little town.

I was a young pastor. He was the son of a former pastor of the same church. Something had called him home. Years of vagabonding had resulted in a longing, he said, to see the church and place where he had grown up.

It was the Seventies. Men with long hair. Hippies. Yippies had not quite arrived. Disenchantment with the “establishment” (society) had fostered thousands of Woodys, love communes, and countless ventures of countless youth to Eastern religious sites in search of esoteric spirituality different from tradition.

Mind you, there were others who did not enter into the rebellion against tradition and the establishment. I taught college in those days. Students contrasted in dress and culture to extremes difficult to describe. Discussions were often intense with battle lines deep and uncompromising. Arguments for the right to use drugs, live in sexually promiscuous communes, dress radically and talk “freedom” to do whatever a person wanted to do were challenged by equally staunch students who held to strong Christian and traditional values. Most professors tolerated the radicals, but a few professors joined the radicals in dress, language and actions.

Woody was a part of this disenfranchised generation. God, the Bible, Church, monogamous marriage and living a quiet and peaceful life of faith in hope of heaven was not the creed of Woody and those who were like- minded.

Naturally, being a pastor’s son, my heart was touched. Laila, a pastor’s daughter, joined with me in reaching out to Woody. We took him in. The ground level of our home was completed. A bed and basic amenities were provided. Only one condition was imposed: Woody’s dog would have to sleep outside, because of parishioners and guests who were allergic to certain pets. Woody agreed.

Oh, it was a wonderful thing to see Woody reconnect with church folks. He renewed his love for his Lord. He delighted in being with church people. Working alongside me, we did church chores. He seemed to love every minute of just being back “home”.

Then one morning I found the Collie in our home. I explained to Woody the importance of keeping our home (the parsonage) acceptable for all guests, including those who had specific allergies. Woody said he understood. However, there were other mornings that the Collie was found inside our home.

Woody slowly regressed spiritually. His initial surge of spiritual hunger waned. He talked less. He seemed less interested in worship services or being with church people.

Then one morning I discovered that Woody and the Collie were all wrapped up in the covers of his bed. This I knew could not be tolerated.

”Woody,” I gently explained to him, “We are more than happy to provide our home. You are important to us. Being a pastor’s son we want you to establish your faith and live the Christ life. However, we have two children. Laila simply does not have time for ministry, children, and washing of bed sheets and covers for your Collie. Plus I have explained to you the allergy factor of some of our parishioners.”

A day or so later driving back into town I saw Woody standing beside the highway with his Collie. Stopping, I asked him where he was going and how I could help. He explained that he was leaving. I pleaded with him not to go.

“You do not understand,” he said. “I know that my dog is a problem, not to you, but to me. When I get down to pray the Lord speaks to me about my dog. I am too attached to it. My dog comes between Jesus and me. But my dog and I have traveled thousands of miles in the past few years. He was all I had. Often we were all alone, just the two of us. I just cannot give him up.”

Nothing I said helped. Woody and his dog just faded into the horizon and into history. In thirty years we have not heard any clear word of Woody, or whether he is alive. It is fair to assume that the Collie is dead. However, Woody would only be in his late fifties.

Woody is on my mind. He reminds me of countless other persons whom I have met along life’s journey. They have little things in their lives that addict them to behaviors and attitudes causing rebellion against commitment to God. Love for things comes up before them when they are in prayer. They occasionally talk about and long for a real touch of the Lord and genuine fellowship of the Church, but they have no roots. Soon, too soon, the only life they know calls them back to the wandering vagabonding of doing what they want to do, with an occasional dosage of self-satisfying religion.

If I am sure of any thing, I am sure that this is a time for folks to put down roots. Get in a good fellowship of Christian believers. Put down an anchor of faith. Make friends with mature Christians. Eliminate the tendency to run from one place to another in search of a momentary thrill.

Real faith is about the Blessed Hope of the return of Jesus! We are talking about mature faith that cures the wanderlust of running to and fro in search of temporary thrills. Please don’t be a Woody and trade eternity for a momentary pleasure.

Now if you are a pet lover, may you be blessed. Nothing is wrong with pets that don’t come before the Lord. They can be wonderful friends. Just be sure that you keep your eyes on Jesus and that Jesus is first in all things.

Much love—
Pastor Bare