Saturday, July 11, 1998

Walking the dog, relating to God

By TOM EHRICH

c. 1998 Religion News Service

(Tom Ehrich is a pastor, writer and software developer living in Winston-Salem, N.C.)

UNDATED - "Want to go for a walk?" I ask Penny.

She leaps up, bows her head to the leash, and strains toward the door. Outside, she walks busily from side to side, happy within the 48-inch radius of her tether.

The free spirit in Penny tugs at the leash. Do I really mean my command to stay near? In time, she relaxes and submits. Could she know that we gave away her predecessor because he never would stop tugging?

To some people, this is our relationship with God. They believe God controls all things. We live at the end of a leash. Within the radius of that tether, we have freedom. When we tug, God reminds us who is in charge. When we obey, our lives fall into place. When we disobey, God rejects.

Accidents or distress happen "for a reason," they say. Maybe we are being punished, or taught a lesson, or God has a plan. All reality is controlled by the master whose hand holds the leash.

Another analogy would be my 17-year-old son. As he moves into adulthood, he has profound freedom. He lives most of his life beyond my control. I could try to keep him in a child's state, rein him in, compel his obedience, but I would only drive him away. Compelled obedience means nothing. Childhood is a stage toward adulthood, not a final state.

Our bond as father and son is more subtle than a leash. He knows me, knows what I value, knows my limits, knows my character. He knows I trust him. He knows I have a life of my own, but will always be there for him. He knows I will drop everything to talk with him. Or he can nod quickly as he heads out the door and I won't take it as personal rejection.

I do make suggestions, draw the occasional line, express interest in his friends and activities, and provide a home base while he tests his wings. He listens, not because I am powerful or perfect, but because he respects me and knows my love for him. I don't need him to be dependent on me. We are close because he chooses to stay close. I treasure our time together. I admire what he is becoming. I want him to see me growing, too.

That is another view of our relationship with God. It suggests real freedom, not compelled obedience; bonds that arise from trust, respect and self-differentiation, not a tether of the master's choosing. By that view, our call is to live boldly, to take wing, to explore, to fail and to rise, not to look anxiously backward, waiting for the sudden yank that will rein us in.

Our job is to love as we are loved, not to bark at others who walk on different leashes.

When troubles arise, we don't blame a God who controls. We turn to a God who comforts. The deep divisions within Christianity sound like arguments about Scripture, authority and style. But I think, deep down, our divisions spring from these profoundly different conceptions of God.

Those who turn to Scripture literally, seeking precise guidance and answers, seem to be gauging the master's hand on a leash. What direction does he want me to go now? Is it time to cross a street?

Those who submit to ecclesiastical authority seem to want the comfort of a controlled circle, where someone else decides not only destination, but the specifics of when, how and at what speed. Those who are being walked bark angrily at strangers. A 48-inch tether encourages suspicion, not discovery.

Others, by contrast, read Scripture as the story of grace and forgiveness, not a compilation of laws. They seek to know the Father and what he values, so that their choices are consonant with higher purpose. They turn to God for help, not to placate an irascible parent. They explore, ask new questions, rebel, learn from bad choices, receive comfort and give comfort to others.

The aim of faith, in my view, isn't to know the leash better, but to know the one who walks with us and invites us to embrace life.