August 17, 2007

On occasion, I feel led to share in this column “parables”… that is to say, stories that use word pictures to convey spiritual truth.  At times, in the New Testament, Jesus would teach by using parables to help people understand God’s Word, His will, and His ways.  In the Old Testament, God would often bequeath His truth to His prophets through visions, using symbolic imagery to communicate His messages of warning and invitation.  For me, fairy tales with which we have all grown up are so ladened with spiritual significance that I frequently feel compelled to share parable versions of them with you, particularly when it seems that the messages contained within them urgently need to be heard.  So it is today.

In a storybook land where animals could talk and fantastic things were so common that one might be tempted to think them “run-of-the-mill”, there were three little pigs.  When it was time for them to go out into the wide, wide world, they went their separate ways, bearing from their father a gift of blueprints for houses that would keep them well and keep them safe.

It so happened that Pig Number One loved comfort and ease, and would settle for any shortcut that promised him as much.  When he surveyed the paths before his feet, his eyes were drawn to the blossomy meadow near the river.  The tall grass waving in the wind seemed to be beckoning him their way.  So, with a chuckle, he made his choice and, discarding the blueprints that his father had given him, headed towards the meadow.  With a little scythe whipping back and forth in his little piggy hand, he quickly cut down what he thought he would need.  After letting it dry for a day or two, he bundled it tightly together and built himself a house on a slab of rock in a spot he thought would be safe from the river if it should flood, but also seemed somewhat sheltered from the wind.  When he had finished building and decorating, his new home was so quaint and so comfortable one would hardly believe that it was even built of straw.

Pig Number Two, on the other hand, watched Pig One’s efforts with a smug look on his porky little face.  Of course, no one likes a smug looking pig, but no one was nearby to notice.  With a smile on his face, he headed towards a grove of trees near the river bed.  Pig Two considered himself a very clever pig, always ready to invent new ways of doing things, and so paid little heed to the blueprints that his father had given him.  Once he had gathered himself piles and piles of long, sturdy sticks, he hauled them up to another slab of rock and began to tie them together into a frame and then into the walls and roof of his home.  With clever knots and lacings, he wove an airtight structure that he was sure no draft or rainwater could enter.  And when he had finished, his house too seemed so tidy and well-built that one would have hardly believed that it had been built with sticks.

Pig Three had not paid much attention to Pig One or Pig Two’s ways of doing things.  Instead, he had poured over the plans his father had given him.  When he felt that he had a good sense of what his father had advised him, he also went to the river.  Pig Number Three however didn’t look at the friendly looking grass, or even the strong and supple lengths of sticks in the grove of trees; he went down to river itself and began to haul red clay from its banks to a third slab of rock beside which he had built a small oven.  While his brothers stopped what they were doing and incredulously watched him scoop up the messy and goopy clay, getting himself very dirty in the process, he formed the clay into bricks and baked them in the oven until they were very hard and very strong.  “Around here, you can’t make a house that will keep you well and keep you safe unless you build it of brick,” his father’s notes had stated.  “And you can’t make a good brick without a hot furnace to pass it through.”  And so, even though it took him far longer than his brothers to build his house and in spite of the fact that the work was far harder than was needed to build a house of straw or sticks, he eventually finished.

And it was just in time, too.  The very moment that he stepped inside and shut the door behind him, a huge wolf from the hard and craggy mountaintops loped into the meadow.  Wolves are, as a rule, very fond of ham, bacon, spareribs, pork chops, and sausage.  This wolf was no exception and had been drawn irresistibly to the meadow by the scent of the three little pigs.  His wolfy eyes spied the little house made of straw and he went to the door.  Rap, rap, rap!  “Little pig, little pig, let me in!”  Pig One, who was hoping that it was yet again time for a Girl Scout Cookie fund-raiser, ran to the door.  But he saw the wolf before he opened.  “No, wolf!  Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin!” he called.  The wolf shrugged, and replied, “Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow your house in!”  And he did just that!  He inhaled and filled his hot lungs with air, and then blew it out again in a huge blast!  The little straw house MIGHT have not blown away, but the wolf’s hot air was SO hot that the straw caught fire and within seconds was burning furiously.

Pigs, as a matter of principle, don’t like bacon, especially when they’re the bacon.  So this little piggy ran to Pig Two’s house.  Just as they slammed the door shut, the wolf reached the door.  Knock, knock, knock!  “Little pig, little pig, let me in!” the wolf called.  “No, wolf!  Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin!” squeaked the two little pigs, quaking with fear.  Again the wolf shrugged, and answered, “Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and blow your house in!”  And just like before, he huffed and puffed and the little house of sticks caught fire and began to burn.

Pig Three had watched it all happen.  He ran to where his brothers were and grabbed them.  “Quick!  Back to my house!” he said as he pulled them along behind him.  Just as they slammed it shut, the wolf reached the door.  Bam, bam, bam!  “Little pig, little pig, let me in!” the wolf called.  “No, wolf!  Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin!” said the third little pig, without any fear.  Just like before, the wolf huffed and puffed.  But this time, the little house wouldn’t catch fire.  The wolf pounded and pounded, but it was no use.  The little piggies simply watched him through the barred windows until the wolf got tired and went in search of an easier snack.  He thought that he’d seen a Girl Scout in a little red hood earlier in the day; maybe she had some cookies he could mooch.  In the meantime, the three pigs sat in the little brick house, reflecting on the wisdom of building one’s house with things that last and not merely settling for easy shortcuts or for cleverness that falls short of the wisdom of their father.

“For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ.  If any man builds on this foundation using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay, or straw, his work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light.  It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each man’s work.  If what he has built survives, he will receive his reward.  If it is burned up, he will suffer loss; he himself will be saved, but only as one escaping through the flames” (1 Corinthians 3:11-15 NIV).

(Thom Mollohan and his family have ministered in southern Ohio the past twelve years.  He is the pastor of Pathway Community Church, which meets on Sunday mornings at 455 Third Avenue.  He may be reached for comments or questions by email at pastorthom@pathwaygallipolis.com).