Parables of the Pastor’s Cats

And the Door Will Open

We rent a modest house on a farmstead that includes a variety of outbuildings and some groves of trees, all spread out over a few acres. The cats have explored the area and pretty much made themselves at home among the unused sheds and rustic tree lines.

Out behind the house, there is an old barn that seems like some kind of feline Disneyland. The kittens run around inside at full speed, kicking loose straw in all directions. They climb over bales and crawl into the smallest spaces. The larger cats scale the sheer face of walls or old support beams. When they prefer a little peace and quiet, they prowl the upper level where the kittens can't easily reach.

When some internal clock signals nap time, they all just plop down on a bed of straw or find a more scenic spot outside under a bush. During cold weather, they seek out southern exposures for warmth. Or they just pile on top of one another to conserve heat.

But there is one location that is to be preferred above all others. It is not the most comfortable or the best protected from the elements. There is no soft hay for warmth or wood to climb. It isn't particularly fun or stylish.

It's our back porch.

Plain concrete. Metal rails. But in spite of the spartan design, it has a certain something that can't be found in very many other places on the farm. 

It has a door. 

The two oldest cats are the most likely to park themselves there, nose to the door, waiting for something to happen. They can sit for hours at a time, completely oblivious to any other attractions waiting for them across the barnyard.

They wait because more than once the door has opened and food has appeared there.

They aren't exactly starving. They all eat regularly. My wife and I may in fact be too generous with our cats, but that's a story for another day. At least we feed them good meals at proper times.

But we also feed them because they wait.

Blame my wife, more than me. The calico cat, Smoky, has had a difficult time with her litter of kittens. My wife can resist even the most brazen begging of a greedy pet, but not the sight of a weak and weary mother. So we made sure that Smoky had all the food she could eat, partly for her sake and partly for the kittens.

Every time the door opened, someone was bringing food out for Smoky. Soon she learned to sit at the door where my wife could see her. And it worked. The door would open and a snack would appear. It was as if Smoky knocked on the door and it opened for her.

When Jesus looked for an image to describe prayer, he borrowed a bit of cat theology to tell the story. He told the people to come to the door and knock. This was no religious challenge or test of endurance. Wait at the door, Jesus said, because it will open.

As generous as my wife and I could possibly be for our creatures, God is so much more generous with us. He seems to wait at the door, watching. The door opens, and he feeds us. The door opens, because we are weak and weary.

Cats are practical creatures. If the door never opened, Smoky wouldn't waste her time. And neither would I. But there is a place to find answers, and that place is in the presence of God. And so I wait.

Are you weary? Hungry? Come. Tap on the door.