Stephen
Terry, Director
Living
With Christ
Commentary
for the March 14, 2026, Sabbath School Lesson
"Here I am! I stand at the door and
knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with
that person, and they with me." Revelation 3:20
As a child, I had two younger
sisters and a younger brother. We lived with our mother and father during a
time that seemed somewhat more feral than today. During the school year, we
spent much of the week attending classes in public schools that ostensibly
sought to tame that wildness and turn us into productive adults with a sense of
community and patriotic love for our country. How successful that agenda was is
often debated as we have struggled through several wars and civil uprisings
since those early decades of my life. To a degree, the family home provided a
refuge from things that would threaten us as children. While the schools were responsible
for our safety and well-being during the day, during the afternoons that responsibility
passed to the various households. Some were better than others at this.
During the summers, when school
was not in session, and any income-earning parents, usually the fathers, were
absent from the home, the children were often turned out in the morning after a
simple breakfast and left to fend for themselves until evening when the streetlamps
came on. Naturally, this was a recipe for unsupervised mischief like vandalism,
petty theft, and shoplifting. Though we grew up in a small town, there was little difference between our penchant for finding ways of
getting into trouble and the metropolitan teens in Leonard Bernstein's and
Stephen Sondheim's "West Side Story" set in that great American Gotham, New
York City.
Despite these excesses, there
were some positives that came with this lifestyle. At an early age and into our
teens, we freely moved between our home and those of our friends, and their parents
assumed responsibility for our safety and guidance without question. This meant
that parents were not reluctant to welcome stray children into the home with
hugs and shelter when needed. Neither were they reluctant to dole out
punishment if a child turned abusive or destructive toward others. Today,
should a parent discipline a child not theirs, an outcry would ensue, 911 would
be called, and the police would soon arrive to sort out the matter, hopefully
before things devolved into a neighborhood brawl. But back over half a century
ago, if a child was slapped for daring to cheekily sass an adult or was spanked
to convey the idea of respect for others and their property, if that child had
the temerity to report it to their parents, the response they could get would
be, "You probably deserved it." If the error was outrageous enough, the parent
might even add their own corporal punishment to that already doled out.
Despite these differences from
today, the sense that "it takes a village to raise a child" was present as long
as dysfunctionalities like alcoholism or mental illness did not assert themselves.
Some of the best memories from childhood were the times children would be playing
at one home or another, and the adults in residence would pass out treats:
popsicles, Kool-Aid, cookies, or some other snacks. These occasions bonded us
as family even though we were from different households and diverse backgrounds.
Seventy years later, I still remember popsicles made from Tupperware molds, and
brightly colored aluminum tumblers with ice cold Kool-Aid while sitting in the shade
during a sweltering summer afternoon. We did not live in a wealthy neighborhood.
It would probably be considered lower middle class by sociologists. We had
pensioners, divorced single parents with children on assistance, and laborers
and small business owners trying to get a leg up in life. Most never figured
out the formula to become well off, but we managed to function as a community
and show compassion for one another. Although times have changed, I still see
some of that compassion occasionally shine through on social media. Even though
trolling seems to have become a way of life for some with harshness toward
others over trivial matters, there are those who stand out for their kindness
and empathy toward those with fewer blessings in life.
Maybe if there were not so many
ways to interact without the sharing of bread with one another things would be
different. To add insult to the injury, food has more often become a barrier
than a boon to fellowship. Instead of pooling resources as used to be done to
come up with enough for all, we adhere to strict diets for social, religious,
or health reasons and refuse to associate with those who do not accommodate those
preferences. A family member, long deceased, even refused to enjoy meals with
others if they did not eat the right number of meals at the right times of day.
He did not begin that way, but over time, his dining habits became ever more
bizarre, venerating "health reform" over bonding with others over meals as was
customary in the early church.
We could learn a lesson from
cats in this. We have several feral cats that roam our neighborhood. As we
would share food with wandering children decades ago, we also do so for cats
and set out fresh water and kitty kibble for the abandoned felines. Since we
were already feeding our own housebound cats, it took little extra effort to
provide for a few more. Three have regularly visited the food and water dishes.
A female calico we christened "Smudge" because of the color of her coat was
first. She was barely out of kittenhood and devoured everything she was
offered. Her coat was matted, and she was underweight, but over time that
changed. Initially, she was afraid to draw near, but now she comes for pets as
well as food. I think a neighbor has informally adopted her as she is looking
much better groomed lately.
The second cat we named "Tabs" because
he has beautiful tabby markings. When he showed up, he was six to nine months
old. He had been bullied by other ferals and driven away by people, so he was
very fearful and still struggled with that fear. Nonetheless, he is appreciative
of the food and no longer automatically runs when he sees me filling the food
bowl. I have found a small measure of trust in his heart, a precious milestone.
The third feral is older and has
an ear torn from fighting. So far he has lived too long with abuse and a hard
life to demonstrate any trust of man or beast. It breaks my heart that he had
no one to come to his aid when he was abandoned. He is a living miracle. We
have coyotes who live in the area who took one of our own cats years ago, leaving
only his collar as evidence. This is why we only have housebound pets now. This
older feral has a lot of white like a long-haired tuxedo in his coat which
could make it easy for coyotes to spot him. His fear of anything and everything
may be the only thing that has helped him survive.
When I look back on my childhood,
and I consider these cats and their personalities, I realize that they are
metaphors for the ministry of Jesus. He freely moved among the homes of the
people just as we did as children, and like the feral cats, he seeks to
discover if he will be welcomed and fed in our homes. Eating together, fellowshipping
as family, and sharing the common joys of life were things Jesus intimately
understood. He saw them as removing barriers that otherwise grow between
people. The gospels make this point strongly with Jesus' example bringing the
people together and feeding them with bread and fish. Thousands were welcomed
to be part of those meals, and their hearts were so opened toward him through
the simple meal provided they would have made him king had he allowed it. (John
6:1-15)
We spend hundreds of thousands
of dollars as Christians on campaigns designed to show others how we are right
theologically and prophetically because being right has become more important
than living a life of compassion and love. We seek to prove our rightness to
prove we are living like Jesus, not realizing that we are no nearer Jesus than
if we had never met him. I could lecture our visiting feral kitties on how much
better it is to be living as a pet in a loving home, but that will not get them
to trust me or to seek out a warm and cozy home for themselves. I could never
convince them to accept the doctrine of pethood no matter how logical and well
sourced my argument might be. But if I feed and water them, and I make them
feel welcome and loved in my presence, it will soften their hearts. They will grow
to trust what I say to them. Love and compassion will feed their hearts as food
has fed their bellies. My understanding of that will save me as much as it
saves them.