Zēkē's Blunder: The Simplicity of the Gospel Story

Zēkē (pronounced with long “ee”s) got in trouble the other day. Oh yes – my perfectly behaved little (well, compared to other dog breeds) rambunctious, 12 pound, straggly-haired Maltese, did something he knew he wasn’t supposed to do.

If any of you own or are acquainted with toy breed dogs, or even cats (sometimes it’s difficult to tell the difference between the two), then, you know that, to which I am referring, when I describe their natural tendency – to “burrow” – a process of digging, and scratching, and sinking deeper and deeper into the folds of their fabric of choice, creating a “nest,” either on the sofa, chair, bed, blanket, or wherever it is they decide to lie down, in order to make their designated “bed” “just right” for their nap. Consequence of such a tendency: scratched and ruined furniture. Such is the habit of my two little Maltese, but most especially with the male: Zēkē.

Now, most of the furniture in the house is “dog-safe;” that is, they’re “dog-used.” We’ve had these chairs and couches for years, “pre-worn” by previous pets, stained by past “food incidents” from guests and family alike – furniture I’ve literally “grown up” on, and furniture we’ve decided not to replace, due to the presence of animals in the house. However, there is this ONE chair – just ONE in the house – the Great Leather Chair,– a high back overstuffed chair with rich/gorgeous walnut brown leather, the “reclining glory,” Dad’s weekend throne, on which he props his feet and releases the cares of the workweek for hours of uninterrupted rest. Oh yes – we bought this ONE new chair for Dad, a gift we, my Mom and I, lovingly and excitedly gave him for his birthday one summer as our special treat for him and him alone; and we trained the dogs not to even TOUCH this chair, for obvious reasons. After all, they have all the other couches and sofas in the room, but THIS one was for Dad, and Dad only.

We were so pleased with how well the dogs minded this new rule. They did great! We placed a towel on the seat of the chair initially, just in case they had some issues in learning the new limit, and we did have to use minor disciplinary actions the first couple of weeks of ownership – but in the end, the dogs finally understood: this was “Dad’s Chair,” and they were not allowed to partake of its leisure. Period.

Years went by without an incident. The reclining beauty remained untouched, grandly situated in the corner of the room – our crowning jewel of the living area…until one day – the unthinkable happened.

I was busily working on my computer at the dining room table, which faces the living area, when I heard this unusual sound – one I had never heard before. I couldn’t make out what it was at first. It started out slowly {{{rip...rip...rip...}}} it was muffled, deep, thick…its’ speed gradually increasing…{{{rip, rip, rip, rip}}} and then, the “dawning of understanding” sank into my gut with a sickening thud! {{{rip, rip…rip, ripripriprip}}} It was the sound of tearing leather! I shot up from my seat in angered dismay, and lo and behold - Zēkē had decided to make his “nest” on the forbidden chair of glory!

“Zēkē! NOOO!!!!!” I felt time stand still – there he was, claws embedded in the beautiful elegance of walnut-stained luxury, and my legs and arms were encased in “Dream’s Lead,” that heaviness that weighs one down during the stress of a nightmares’ climax, preventing either escape or sprint at desired velocities. Zēkē’s eyes shot up in surprise at this sudden outcry, then his head lowered, ears drooped, tail tucked – he knew he was in for it. I desperately ran over to the chair, whisking up the cowering mutt, hoping against hope that maybe… (sigh) only to discover that the damage had already been done. The glory of “Dad’s throne” – ruined.

Zēkē spent the next space of time outside on the dark patio, left to lie on the chilling/hard cement in the waning hours of summer evening’s light, dejected in the cold, rather than comfortably content on a warm, soft, friendly-lit sofa. Chin woefully on the ground, Zēkē gazed sadly at the backdoor, not knowing when (or if) his Momma was going to come and rescue him from his lonely plight. (For any of you that know Maltese, you also know that solitary confinement is their worst possible predicament). And there he lay for, what seemed to him an eternity, ruing his current, “disastrous” situation.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at how this story seemed so familiar…the “One Chair” among an abundance of others – the One, from which a dog could learn the “knowledge” of “good and evil” (or the difference between a “Mean Mommy” and a “Nice Mommy” in Zēkē’s case). With a quick switch of time, setting, and characters, you could easily see the story of the Garden of Eden, and the Fall of Adam and Eve. Adam’s apple is still falling; even the animals are subjected to the fate of man’s sin. Why else would a dog disobey his master, after learning, knowing, and being forbidden to do the very thing his “sinful” nature insisted he’d do?

And what does sin bring us in turn? We never get away with it; not really. No matter how hard we try. In the end, it gets us left outside, in the cold, away from the inner warmth of fellowship and embrace with the Lord, doomed to remain under sin’s curse: death and disease.

But there IS a redemptive plan! The key to redemption: repentance and forgiveness.

Just when Zēkē thought he’d never come back inside, the backdoor opened! Ears perked, head raised in hopeful, albeit hesitant, expectation, Zēkē looked at me wishfully, as I stood in the doorway with hands on my hips. “Well, what do you say? Are you ready to come back in?” With a pitiful grunt, Zēkē slowly turned over onto his back, striking an “I surrender!” pose (i.e. falling on his back, baring his tummy with legs straight up in the air) – to which I responded by picking him up, carrying him inside, and receiving his repentant kisses all over my nose, chin, face, and fingers.

Likewise, SomeOne came to get US from the outside! The Law shut the door on us, leaving us out in the cold, a place that we deserved. But the door reopened regardless – and there stood Jesus. Jesus wasn’t satisfied with leaving us out to be cold and lonely, even if our sin justified such a state. He didn’t want His Beloved to have to stay separated from what He had intended for her in the first place: union. He came to us, and will carry us back inside, safe in His arms, if we’ll let Him by striking our “surrender” pose, acknowledging our guilt, and receiving His forgiveness and reconciliation.

And redemption gives us an interesting ending. Our relationship becomes stronger than it was at first! From that night forward, Zēkē became irrevocably attached to me! You wouldn’t think that he, having received discipline for his wrong committed, would react in such a way, but this was precisely the case! It was as if he decided that his Momma was his best friend because she laid down the law and enforced punishment for the boundaries crossed. Or was it because I opened the door and relieved his “suffering”? Either way – his affection for me only intensified after the incident’s conclusion.

A redeemed relationship is an even sweeter one than what it was in the first! A redeemed relationship wipes away tears, comforts and relieves pain and shame, and brings a healing bond that strengthens the union between the parties involved. It’s a union that understands the knowledge of “good” and “evil,” deciding that the former is far better than the bitter taste of the latter, and it affords a deeper appreciation of the gift of what this “good” truly is.

I know – this is a simple story; it’s the story of a dog that disobeyed, received disciplined, and then was later reconciled. But sometimes stories like this help us see, even in the simplicity of the day to day, what Christ’s love for us really is: it’s simple; but by far the most profound love imaginable.

Hope you enjoyed today’s story.