Dogs

We have two big, black dogs. They look so intimidating if they’re leaning on the fence and barking at you. They are each at least 80 lbs and one of them, Lady, can rest her chin on the kitchen counter. If she were allowed.

But they are not allowed in our kitchen. We have a line on the floor and the dogs may not pass it. They know it. When we first laid a hard floor in the kitchen and dining room, and laid carpet in the living room, that became the defining mark as to where the dogs were permitted.

When we first enforced the rule, the dogs didn’t dare cross the line. We would stop them, push them back onto the living room floor, and firmly command them, “Out!” They held that line religiously. No matter what we ate at the kitchen table, they stayed on the carpet and could only drool from afar.

Sometimes they get cheeky and sometimes we get lazy. We hear their toenails tapping on the hard floor more often than we would like to admit. But they don’t get all the way into the kitchen. Even while sniffing under the table for dropped crumbs, there is always a token foot still on the carpet. “See? I’m still out–at least part of me.”

A Toddler

Our youngest has just turned 1 year old. He’s also just gotten the hang of walking, so he marches around the house, confident that he’s just like the rest of us–big, strong, and on two feet like people are supposed to be.

Along with his confidence in walking, he knows he is like us in being boss of the dogs. He doesn’t say many clear words yet. But he gives the dogs a babbling piece of his mind quite frequently.

Last week, while he was sitting in the high chair, dropping food as per usual, one of the dogs inched into the kitchen to lick his hands. But his hands were in the kitchen, and when that dog clip-clopped her paws onto the floor, my little boy shouted, “Out, ‘ady!” Granted, it was not Lady who had sneaked to him, but who cares?! He kicked her out!

When we tell them to “go lie down” for getting in our way or roughhousing, he will follow them, finger pointing, and yell in his toddler gibberish for them to go to their corner.

The dogs will look at us and at him sheepishly and, depending on our stance, will obey, albeit reluctantly.

Spiritual Authority

This, friends, is a funny, but very clear, picture of spiritual authority given to us who follow Jesus.

The dogs know that we are the boss over them. We distribute their food, we tell them where they are to go, and we own the beds and the toys. In short, we are in charge of this place. They know they’re dogs, and that’s the way we all like it. They’re very secure, content, and peaceful, and have never hurt any of our kids.

The baby belongs to us and is one of us, even if he isn’t big, strong, and capable of forcing the dogs to do anything. The dogs acknowledge this. They know he’s not one of them, he’s one of us, so there’s no wrestling for dominance. He’s distinctly the same type, even if he’s significantly smaller.

The baby, being one of us, is the boss over the dogs. We’ve done our best to demonstrate that the baby deserves a wide berth, that he is not to be messed with, and he is privileged like the rest of us to sit at the table, move freely about the house, rest on couches, and eat people food.

The baby knows he’s the boss over the dogs. He loves them, he chatters about them going outside, he coos to them when he wants to flop into their sides for hugs, and he tries to lock the crate when it’s occupied. He has no fear of them, though he knows to keep his head away from their wagging tails and to move away from the door when they’re coming inside. But he’s not shy to puff out his chest, point his finger and shout them out of the kitchen or onto their beds, just like Daddy does.

The dogs also know that he is the boss over them. Not because he’s so great, but because we enforce his exercising of our authority.

We enforce it, but the kids have a part to play in it. We’re reinforcing it every time–the kids are boss over the dogs. This is demonstrated in the way our older girls interact with the dogs. The dogs can easily push the girls out of the way–they weigh almost twice as much and are decidedly stronger–but they submit willingly to the girls. The 6-year-old can put the dogs in their crates. She is never alone in accomplishing this, because we oversee the process, and sometimes step in, but always reinforce it, usually with only a look and a gesture. The girl and the dog are learning together how to enforce and submit, respectively, in this process.

And it works. The dogs do what the kids say. They don’t obey because the kids are powerful and able to make them do anything, but because we are the ones in authority and the dogs are submitted to us.

This is what it’s like learning to walk in the authority Jesus gave his disciples. He gave authority to us as his followers, over spiritual powers, over sickness, and over our households. We are responsible to exercise His authority–not because we are great, powerful, or strong, but because He is. Because we belong to Him, we can walk like Him in our sphere of influence.

Now, the cat? He’s an entirely different story.