Lessons on Faith from Dogs
- Pastor Serena Rice
- 6 hours ago
- 6 min read
A sermon on Luke 17:5-10
[for an audio recording of this sermon, click here. Photo by Kara Eads on Unsplash.]
It is a common refrain in my family that if we could have chosen the life we were born into, we would have wanted to be our dog, Hamilton.
Can anyone here relate?
He has no responsibilities other than keeping his toileting to approved locations.
He divides his time between napping in comfy locations, exploring the outdoors with enthusiasm, and receiving the adoration of pretty much every human being he encounters.
And, I mean, who doesn’t want to be soft, and sweet, and effortlessly lovable.
Sure, his food options are pretty boring by human standards, but the way he gobbles them up you would think they were Michelin star cuisine.
And then there’s the added benefit of being blissfully unaware and unconcerned about national politics or global conflicts or the state of our climate.
It sounds so idyllic, right? Ease, comfort, affection, a total lack of anxiety…
Sign me up!
Of course, I know I couldn’t actually be me and be happy with the life of a dog, no matter how pampered and adored, because I have a human mind and perspective, and I could not possibly give up reading.… It’s just not the life I was created for.
Still, on this “blessing of the animals Sunday,” I have been thinking about the lessons that we might be able to learn from the dogs in our lives, and – as it happens – I think they might be able to help us with today’s gospel reading.
Specifically, I think the contrast between the way that dogs exist in the world, and the way that we humans exist in the world can shine a light on some of the growing edges that this gospel lesson presents to us.
The first contrast relates to our habits as regards contentment (or the lack thereof).
The demand that opens today’s reading from Luke (and it is definitively a demand, not a request, the verb form is in the imperative)… the opening demand, “Increase our faith!” aptly illustrates the human habit of discontent.
In this phrasing the apostles admit that they do already have faith, but they are not satisfied with what they have. They want more.
And isn’t that just so human?
We are probably used to thinking of this habit of discontent as it relates to possessions, but really it is a much more pervasive orientation.
We might want a nicer house, or a better phone, but we can also yearn for more of almost anything in our lives: more friends, more free time, more confidence, more intelligence… even more of God’s precious gift of faith.
And none of these things are bad things to want, but the habit of discontent corrodes these good desires because it focuses us on what we DON’T have.
In contrast, think of a dog who is deep in their joy: chasing a ball, or rubbing their nose into a new smell, or panting for belly rubs. They want “more” in the sense that they don’t want the good thing to stop.
But there is a qualitative difference between the exuberance of, “this is wonderful; keep going,” and the angst of “what I have is not enough.”
One is an experience of delight; the other an experience of discontent.
The second contrast is a bit different; it relates to the orientation toward time.
I already mentioned that the apostles’ demand for more faith is in the imperative verb tense, but more specifically it is in the aorist imperative.
We don’t have this verb tense in English, but according to Greek scholars this somewhat unusual construction communicates a demand that something be accomplished definitively, with a sense of completion.
Translator D. Mark Davis explains, “we can hear the Apostles’ aorist imperative as wanting something in its entirety, as opposed to an ongoing process. ‘Increase our faith,’ would have a ‘right now’ sense, rather than a ‘daily’ sense.”[1]
It’s a subtle rejection of the idea that faith is a journey, that part of what we sign on for in following Jesus is a gradual process of learning and transformation, through which our faith grows as our experience of God’s faithfulness deepens.
And Jesus’s response pushes against this over-eagerness to get faith done in one go, because he constructs his response about faith the size of a mustard seed as an on-going proposition.
Again, the sentence structure doesn’t translate easily into English, but it implies a sense of “whenever” you speak to the sycamore tree…it would listen, suggesting a continual process of active faith, rather than a once and done accomplishment.[2]
Thus the “now-ness” of the apostles’ demand is nothing like the “now-ness” in which dogs famously exist.
Dogs live in the now, focused on the moment they are in, without anxiety or expectations about what comes next (unless dinner is late, of course, but even dogs can’t be perfect).
In contrast, the human “get it done now” conveys impatience and dissatisfaction.
Being aware of the passage of time can make us want to speed through it, longing for the final result now and foregoing the learning and effort that happen along the way.
The final contrast is probably the most uncomfortable because it rubs painfully against our egos.
Jesus sets his listeners up, a bit, with the hypothetical in the second half of today’s reading. He begins with the question “who among you would say to your (servant)…” clearly inviting us to imagine ourselves in the role of the householder, who has a right to demand a certain level of service.
But then he flips the script with the, “So you also…”
It turns out we are not the masters after all, we are the servants… who are in no position to be making demands.
Ouch. That feels pretty harsh! At the very least it’s not much of a sales pitch for the life of faith.
But Jesus isn’t trying to sell his disciples on faith… he trying to call them deeper into it… he’s trying to break down the barriers that stand in the way of them actually experiencing a transformative faith.
And I think that Jesus’s bait-and-switch story about what a master expects of their servants is his way of saying:
“Before you ask for ‘more’ faith, maybe you need to understand what faith actually is… it’s a relationship with the God of the universe. And while it’s a good relationship, that doesn’t mean God is there to serve you.”
And this is why I chose to make dogs my point of contrast in this sermon, rather than cats. Because cats definitely do think we exist to serve them!
But dogs don’t get confused about who the master is.
When my dog barks or whines – whether that be for my attention, or my help, or for his dinner (usually starting about an hour for it’s actually dinner time) – it’s an acknowledgement of the nature of our relationship.
He understands his dependence on me, and while he might be impatient about my rate of response at times, he has no illusion about who is actually in charge.
And he wouldn’t want it any other way.
Of course, that’s the hard part for us, when it comes to learning from our furry friends.
It’s kind of part of the human condition to want things “any other way,” to see the grass on the other side as greener, and the thing we are denied as the one thing that would finally make us happy.
And that instinct so easily slips into even the practice of faith. We can get a taste of the life of faith and say, “This! I want MORE! I want it NOW! I want it to be about MY NEEDS.”
But that’s not how faith actually works.
The thing about faith that makes it good is the way that it changes us.
And that change is about delight, not discontent.
And it takes time, it doesn’t happen immediately.
And it draws us into an experience of knowing our right relationship with God that might not stroke our egos, but will bring us deep satisfaction and joy.
And if we continue of that journey of faith… we might even get to the point where we don’t envy the lives of our dogs. Thanks be to God.
[2] Ibid.
