If one were going to begin (which, as you can plainly see, I am),  one would probably want to begin with a personal story— a governing metaphor, if you will. Well, this faith metaphor happened to me when I was about ten years old, and I sensed it was important somehow, even at the time...

I had a dog back then. His name was Pepper. He was a pure half-breed, you could say— a strange cross between a purebred Cocker Spaniel, and a purebred Beagle. He looked like a hound, though, and certainly acted like one. Most of the time, he was proud, independent to the point of being almost indomitable, and absolutely committed to his central purpose in life— finding the scent of any strange animal, and hunting it down. His nose was everywhere, or so it seemed, and it was an amazing nose. In years to come, I would watch him track me down in the brush when I’d gone ahead of him, catching up at almost full tilt with his nose just millimeters off the surface of the dirt. I also remember one time when he refused to come home after a jaunt in the local brush, and stepping out late at night just to hear him still baying up the canyon. Early the following morning, we literally had to carry him up the porch stairs because he was too exhausted to make it inside the house. Suffice it to say, Pepper would almost sacrifice life and limb for that crazy nose of his. It was his governing raison d’être. 

But on this particular day, his nose couldn’t help him. Nor could his eyes. We were out for a winter-time walk, and a special one at that. The west coast of British Columbia doesn’t freeze all that often, so when a two-week cold snap happens in January, the national past-time comes out of its hiding, and closet hockey players take to the smaller lakes while there’s a rare opportunity to skate.

We were out, too, that Sunday afternoon after church, but just for a chance to share something as a family, and enjoy a walk together. We had no skates, and Pepper was unleashed, as usual. Nevertheless, when coming to the lake’s edge, and seeing it frozen solid, crossing the lake felt somewhat irresistible as an opportunity. And so we ventured forth as a family, eager to slide our way to the skaters in the distance, at lake’s centre.

However, we didn’t get very far from shore when we heard an absolutely frantic dog barking behind us. It was Pepper, and to our amazement, he was (by his own choice) completely landlocked. All he could do was pace the shoreline in utter panic while we walked on, and we soon realized that he had probably never really seen a frozen lake before.

And he was the one that was frozen. Frozen in fear. Frozen by doubt. He could see us standing on the ice, but did not believe that his weight would be supported by what he thought could only be liquid.

It was a moment when Pepper was like the eleven other disciples of Jesus in Matthew 14:26-31. Peter may have risked the walk on water, but Pepper was going to stay in  a dry place, like Andrew, James or Judas.

In essence, Pepper was having a hard time connecting the dots. He could see us walking on the lake, but he couldn’t believe his eyes, and his nose was useless, too.

FAITH IS WHAT WE NEED TO CONNECT THE DOTS!

Pepper was having a faith crisis. And no amount of verbal coaxing or encouragement could seemingly help. In truth, Pepper was more frozen than the lake. Have you  ever been “frozen” at all?

Well, what did we do? If memory serves, it was my father who came back to the shore line to help the family dog. Calling had made no difference. Pepper needed real help, and a demonstration to get over his faith crisis. So, in one swift manoeuvre (I’m sure designed to make us all laugh) my father grabbed Pepper by the collar, and pulled him onto the ice, causing him to slide until his claws finally dug in a few yards from shore.

And, quickly, as though a light had gone on in his “Cocker-Speagle” mongrel mind, Pepper was back to his old, exploratory self again— walking on water with an assurance that had begun with a crisis of faith. 

That Sunday, in January of 1974, at Stump Lake on the road to Whistler, British Columbia, Pepper had connected the dots...

© David MacKenzie, 2008