The Woman With the Dog (Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4; Luke 19:1-10)

Last weekend’s regional assembly, which took place at the Claremont United Church of Christ, had as its theme, “Traveling the Holy Way.” The scriptural focus centered on images of “preparing the way,” of “valleys being exalted and hills being brought low” and “rough places being made smooth” so that one’s journey could proceed. This all kind of combined into an image of movement.


Strangely enough, with all this emphasis on movement and journeying and traveling, we did a lot of sitting.

After attending the clergy summit and dinner on Thursday night, and after worship, morning workshops, and lunch in the church basement on Friday – all of which involved a great deal of sitting – it was time for the afternoon workshops.

A few minutes before the workshops were to begin I noticed that I had a voicemail message on my cellphone. I listened to it, and became rather distressed by the message I heard.

I wasn’t quite sure what to think or do about this message. The more I thought about it, the more stressed out I became.

It wasn’t long before I realized I needed sometime to sort things out internally. My mind and emotions were in turmoil. Since I have a mind that is easily distracted anyway, I got up from where I was sitting, and I started walking.

It was time for some perspective. It was time to sort through the emotional turmoil and find some clarity. As good as the Friday afternoon workshops might have been, I knew I wasn’t going to find the perspective I needed sitting in a room for an hour and a half. I needed to get away.

I walked out of the church and headed south, down several blocks of beautiful, tree-lined streets. There were some beautiful historic homes, similar to what we have in some of our local neighborhoods, but there were so many trees that it felt as if I was in a forest and not the city.

I continued until I came to a quaint shopping village filled with independent restaurants and music and art stores. I got a cup of hot green tea which was, in fact, too hot to drink right away, but I carried it with me as I continued my walk.

A woman with a dog approached. She looked a bit confused, and her eyes were scanning her surroundings, and I was about to pass her by when she asked me, “Do you know where the library is?”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m not from here.”

I continued on my way, turning the corner, going around the block. It seemed to me that things were starting to become clearer to me as I walked. It seemed to me that perspective was starting to come to me. I could tell that my mind was in the process of sorting things out. It was a meditative experience for me, walking up and down the streets of Claremont Village. At times, I think I was even in a state of prayer.

At the end of the block, I turned the corner again, and lo and behold: there (again) was the woman with the dog. Seeing me (but apparently not recognizing me), she said: “Do you know where the library is?”

I was about to tell her that she had already asked me that … and that, if I didn’t know five minutes ago where the library was, then I probably didn’t know now.

However, in that moment I remembered Tamara Nichols Rodenberg’s sermon from that morning’s worship, in which she had talked about the Good Samaritan, and how few people – even people in religious vocations – are willing to stop their journeys, their traveling, to help a stranger they meet. Hardly any do so, she said, especially when their journey is accompanied by anxiety.

So, instead, I stopped and said to the woman with the dog, “No, I don’t know where the library is, but let’s ask those city workers over there. Maybe they know.” They did know, as it turned out, and I was able to guide the woman with the dog toward the library.

I began walking back toward the church, wondering if God had arranged my encounter with the woman with the dog just to test me, to see how well I had understood the morning’s message. The turmoil and anxiety within me turned to laughter as I contemplated God’s strange ways, as I thought about how I had passed the test, but only because God had given me a second chance; I also laughed as I realized that, of all the people the woman with the dog could have asked, she kept asking me, a newcomer to the village.

Maybe that woman with the dog didn’t just need me to help her; maybe I needed her to help me. Maybe I needed her help to find the perspective I that I was looking for.

I arrived back at the church, and sat down on an outdoor bench to finish my tea. I thought some more about the voicemail message, and realized that I was no longer stressed out or filled with anxiety. My insides were no longer in turmoil.

I realized that the voicemail message I had received and the situation it described was a lot like the woman with the dog. In the same way that I and the woman with the dog needed each other, I needed the situation described in the voicemail, and it needed me. Dealing with it would help me and everyone involved travel God’s holy way. Dealing with it would, in fact, be a blessing.

What a change of thought. What a complete turnaround. Isn’t it amazing what a little perspective will do for you?

Right then and there, I thanked God for the opportunities God gives me. Then I drank the last of my tea, and headed off to the business session that was about to begin.

This week, back from Regional Assembly, I read and contemplated the story of Habakkuk. And guess what? Habakkuk was a man who experienced great turmoil, and who discovered that he needed to take some time to get a little perspective.

Habakkuk was stressed out by a number of things. His nation was under attack. War seemed imminent. The people had turned away from God, and God could not be heard over all the turmoil.

Habakkuk couldn’t make sense of anything. All these events seemed to be swirling around him – and within him – like a great whirlwind. Even his head was spinning.

He cried out to God, but if God answered, Habakkuk didn’t hear it. He needed to get away. He needed to go someplace away from it all, someplace where he could get some perspective, someplace where he could hear God’s voice. But where could he go, when city and nation were being attacked?

Looking up, he spied the watchpost, the tower along the city wall. He said to himself, “Well, maybe that will do. I’ll go up there, high above everything. Up there, in the watchtower, high above the city, is a good place to gain some perspective. I’ll go there, and I’ll wait for God’s voice. I’ll go there and listen for God’s answer.”

Habakkuk waited for God, on the watchtower; and God answered,… and Habakkuk heard God’s voice. And in the end, despite the turmoil around him, despite the turmoil within him, Habakkuk rejoiced. “Even though the fig tree does not blossom,” Habakkuk sang; “even though no fruit is on the vines; even though the produce of the olive fails and the fields yield no food; even though the flock is cut off from the fold and there is no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the LORD; I will exult in the God of my salvation. God, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, and makes me tread upon the heights.”

Habakkuk had found his perspective.

Now let us jump forward about six hundred years. A man named Zacchaeus was the chief tax collector, and as the chief tax collector, he was very rich. From the outside, it seemed that things were going well for Zacchaeus, but in fact, on the inside, Zacchaeus’ life was in turmoil. Something was missing from his life, but in the midst of his day-to-day activities, collecting taxes, keeping tabs on his wealth, mingling with other rich people,… something was not right.

Maybe it was that even though he was rich, Zacchaeus was always worrying about money, always worried about and anxious about having enough money to maintain his social standing; always afraid that something might happen that would cause him to slip down on the social ladder.

Maybe it was the twinge of guilt he felt every time he passed someone in need, someone who struggled in poverty, always wishing he could do something to help, but held back by his own fear of giving.

Maybe it was the discomfort he felt over how his money was acquired, charging more than what was required, taking a little extra from those who were poor in order to fill his own pockets. It was what all the tax collectors did. It was what was expected.

But did that make it right?

Too much anxiety. Too many questions. Zacchaeus needed some perspective.

So he climbed a tree.

And the perspective he got from the top of his tree was of a man passing by, passing through a crowd; a man who had no money and few possessions, and yet who appeared perfectly content and at peace with himself.

How can that be? Zacchaeus thought that peace and security came from his monetary wealth, which is why he was so anxious about maintaining that wealth. And yet here was a man who had no money, and yet wore on his face such peace that Zacchaeus knew that peace filled him completely.

What Zacchaeus didn’t know was that this man often took time to find perspective. He spent time in the wilderness, on a mountain, on the far shore of a lake, and in a garden, seeking perspective, seeking a place where he could be in a state of prayer, seeking a place where he could hear God’s voice.

Zacchaeus didn’t know that. But he knew that this man who was about to pass by could give him the perspective he needed, could take away his anxiety, could even take his broken life and make it whole.

As it turned out, Jesus happened to see Zacchaeus sitting in his tree. It was an odd sight, this wealthy tax collector sitting in a tree. It does make one laugh, contemplating these strange ways God works.

Jesus needed a place to stay, and seeing Zacchaeus, he knew that this funny little man in a tree could provide that for him. Zacchaeus, meanwhile, needed Jesus, to help him find some perspective. Just like me and the woman with the dog, they needed each other.

It’s not always easy to find perspective. It’s not always easy to hear God’s voice.

You may have to go on a journey. You may have to go up to the top of a watchtower. You may have to climb a tree.

You might have to turn off the computer, the TV, the radio; at the very least, stop listening to all those awful political ads. There’s no perspective there!

To find perspective, you might have to put on your walking shoes. You might have to learn how to rejoice even when surrounded by turmoil. You might have to learn how to give generously, and I mean really give, give of yourself, and learn that peace and security do not come from money and possessions.

To find some perspective, you probably need to spend some one-on-one time with God. You probably need to spend some more time praying – especially praying for your enemies. One of the best ways to gain perspective is to pray for someone with whom you are in conflict.

But whatever it takes to find perspective – whatever it takes to get to a place where you can hear God’s voice – do it. That’s the only way to find wholeness in your life.

And then, perspective will come. Your heart will be changed. You will once again find salvation, healing and wholeness. And you will rejoice in the God of your salvation, the God who is your strength, the God who is worthy of all praise and glory.