If you’ve been reading this blog for long, then you’ve been introduced to all of the denizens of the home in which I live. There’s people, of course, me and my wife of thirty-nine years (!). Then there is our son Rhys, the newly minted Master of Library and Information Science (though we are still waiting for the paperwork to prove that he has completed all collegiate righteousness). But we humans don’t sum up the life force in this address. There’s Nick, the three legged terrier mix, who passes comment on the goings on of the entire neighborhood (and La Donna is fond of saying terrier is close to terrorist). Rounding out the sometimes peaceable kingdom of our dwelling are the feline members of the family, Dora, the substantial cat and Cato.
It was Cato that brought this inventory to mind today. There is something about her that embodies the theme for this week’s message. See, Dora came to us in the usual way, someone in town, a friend of our daughter Maddie, had a cat who had kittens and wondered if we wanted one. Maddie went to see them and of course she simply had to bring one home, so after receiving permission the little ball of fur came with her into the house. So, Dora joined us and quickly became comfortable and content. And she grew, and grew and now takes up some considerable space. Granted some of it is fur, as she is a long haired, silky and beautiful cat. But some of it is ... Dora. Just a lot of Dora. Cato, on the other hand, was a stray. Half wild, she was born on the campus of Wittenberg University where Maddie attended. Apparently this wasn’t unusual, as the campus was sometimes called “Kittenberg” in recognition of this feline phenomenon. One day as Maddie and some friends stood at the front door of their sorority house, a gray streak darted through the open door and ran from room to room, keeping the giggling college girls at bay for a considerable amount of time. Finally, however, the numbers won out and the few ounces of shivering fur were gathered up and claimed.
After much debate, they named her Cato. Maddie, always innovative with names wanted to name her Cat. Someone else suggested something more substantial, like Catastrophe, and it got abbreviated to Cato. The story how she came from University in Ohio to full time resident with us also long and convoluted, so I’ll skip it for now. I tell you part of her story to help you understand her personality a little bit. I don’t think she ever lost a little bit of wild in her. She would probably be diagnosed as ADHD if there was someone competent to evaluate cats psychologically. Cato is constantly on the move. I’ve debated attaching a pedometer to her somehow, just to see how many steps she gets in on an average day. There isn’t a corner she won’t investigate, a door she won’t go through or demand be opened. When she’s in she wants to be out, but don’t close the door behind her, or she’ll turn and want back in.
It’s like there is a fire burning inside of her, driving her to move, to explore, to discover, to go. Just go and embrace a world that’s much bigger than her little kitty eyes can endure, and often bigger than her little kitty heart can withstand. Sometimes her explorations send her running back into the house with a puffy tail and arched back having encountered some threat, some terror that overwhelms her. But it doesn’t keep her down for long, it doesn’t keep her in behind closed doors. As soon as her heart stops pounding so hard and the hairs on the back of her neck lay down again, then she’s off. Like Jeremiah.
Jeremiah 20:7-9 O LORD, you have enticed me, and I was enticed; you have overpowered me, and you have prevailed. I have become a laughingstock all day long; everyone mocks me. 8 For whenever I speak, I must cry out, I must shout, "Violence and destruction!" For the word of the LORD has become for me a reproach and derision all day long. 9 If I say, "I will not mention him, or speak any more in his name," then within me there is something like a burning fire shut up in my bones; I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot.
We are concluding our Disciple’s Heart series this week. We’ve talked about a lot of different dimensions of this process, this journey in these past six weeks. It’s called “sanctification” in proper theological terms. Or striving for Christian perfection in Wesleyan language. Becoming more like Jesus, learning to love God with all of our heart and soul and mind and strength, we could say. And we’ve talked about the role of the individual, of the community and of the Spirit in making this happen. But no matter how diligently you work these ingredients into the mix, it isn’t going to produce what we hope. Because something else is required to make this work, to sustain us in the journey, to keep us on the path. A fire.
Jeremiah had a difficult task. Some would say impossible. To announce bad news to a nation that thought it was doing well. A nation where the numbers showed growth and strength and prosperity. Jeremiah had bad news to share. He had a reprimand to administer, a warning to proclaim. And he hated it. He hated how it made him feel, almost as much as he hated the response it evoked. He’d just as soon give it a pass. Just sit this one out. Let them go on their merry way, thinking all was well and everyone was happy. Let them continue to ignore the broken being trampled in the mad rush to progress, let them continue to ignore the hungry and the hurting on the margins. Just let them, he thought as he turned off the TV and pulled the blinds and hunkered down to let it all go skipping along without him.
Except he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Even hiding in his blanket fort on his comfortable bed, in the dark of his room, he heard the cries. He felt his call vibrating in his skeleton from within, urging him out yet again. Something like a fire, he said, burned inside of him. The presence of the Lord resided deep within him and if he tried to keep it in, tried to take the easy way out, the comfortable route through this life, then it flared up. Like he had eaten something so spicy it burned inside of him. Like he had biting insects covering his skin. Like he backed into a cactus. He had to move.
It’s this compulsion that is required to complete the journey of sanctification. This something like a fire burning within that drives us to continue on. But not just a compulsion to completion. Not just a drive to be better. That could be a part of it. That self motivation to be all you can be. But it won’t sustain you for this journey. Because this is a journey outward. What we discover about this pathway is that it leads out to serve. To give. To love. To walk alongside, particularly the forgotten and the broken, hurting and the hungry. It is a journey to live a life of love like Jesus showed us.
In the end, this journey is not really about us. Or, it’s not really only about us. It’s about the Kingdom, about the reign and rule of God, and the world that matches the prayer we pray week after week: “Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” We’re seeking, no, we’re driven to live in the kingdom, to be shaped by that hope, to gather up all those that God loves and find our way to heaven.
I don’t know for sure what Cato is seeking in her mad dash to everywhere. What adventure she seeks to encounter, what friends she searches to include, what world she seeks to inhabit. But she continues to search, is driven to discover.
May we all be so driven.
Shalom,
Derek
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