Tippy's Private Sermon

I started out my career in church ministry as an itinerant Baptist evangelist preacher. While I only preached one sermon, my memory tells me it was a pretty good one, even for a six-year old. 

One bright summer day found me standing tall in my mother’s high heels, with her hat, jewelry, and gloves, a little pocket New Testament opened and held just right in front of me. My airy pulpit paralleled the side of the garage where the snapdragons bloomed in

Granddaughter by my petunias.

riotous profusion. 

Waiting in full regalia, I just knew that rugged, rebellious sinner-man would show up soon.  I was ready for him, ready to smack him between the eyes with fiery rhetoric that would surely have him on his knees in anguished, tearful repentance.

A flash of fur and wide, wild eyes brought Tippy, the maverick neighborhood junk-yard dog, to an abrupt halt right in the first row of my imaginary country church.  I stared him down until he took his place like a gentleman, cleared my throat, and holding his puzzled gaze, proceeded to share my six-year-old version of the gospel with him.

I don’t remember if my knees were knocking. All I remember is my sincere, impassioned pleas. “Tippy, you are way too mean and no one likes you because you bite and chase cars.” His dark eyes flashed acknowledgement that my words were true. I forged ahead.

“Tippy, you need to repent and become a Christian. It’s the only way you’ll ever be nice. Wouldn’t you like people to pat you on the head and say, ‘nice dog’?” The tilt of his head and the slight relaxation in his jaw told me he was considering this proposition.

“And besides that, I want to ride my bike past your house but I can’t when you chase me and try to bite my legs.” A tiny smile appears at the corners of his mouth, but he suavely suppresses it in respect for the holy place he’s stumbled upon.

Tippy stood at attention while I quoted John 3:16, explained the sinner’s prayer, sang a couple hymns, and ended with an altar call. The moment of truth hung thickly between us as he thought a bit. Then he was off, back in the direction he came from, back to his life of terrorizing children, stealing scraps of garbage tossed into the garden, and running wild and free.

Tippy’s lack of repentance may have been my sign that I wasn’t called to be a preacher.

But that meeting did instill boldness deep in my bones. Several months later I started taking piano lessons from my mom’s cousin who lived a mile down the road. Instead of riding my bike or walking by Tippy’s yard on my way to a lesson, I hatched a plan to beat him at his own game. 

Dressed in a bright red little jacket with hood, I boldly crawled under the fence at the foot of Harrison Hill and walked through the pasture where Uncle Oscar kept his Guernsey bulls, walked along the far east fence row, and came up through the dirt road in the gravel pit. 

Tippy never got an opportunity to bite me en route to lessons. 

The fuller chapter, Little Red Riding Hood Goes to Piano Lessons is a story for another day. In the meantime, remember this—if there are mean dogs in your life, a dash of perfume, your Sunday best attire, and a hymn or two sung uninhibitedly and full-throated, might be what it takes to make those dogs turn tail and run.

The doors are open at churches in your neighborhood this Sunday. Hope to see you there!

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MUSIC LINKS 

O Sinnerman - Ensemble Phoenix Munich

Sinnerman -  Nina Simone

How Beautiful are the Feet - (of them that preace the gospel of peace) from "Messiah"  

Great Was the Company of the Preachers - from "Messiah"