Psalm 50:10-11 “For
every animal of the forest is mine, and the cattle on
a thousand hills. I know every bird in
the mountains, and the creatures of the field are mine.”
As I write this, I’m at my cabin in
central NH for some Sabbath time. It has
been unseasonably warm for November in
Yesterday Ruckus and I set out with
great gusto down the road. After we had
gone a little ways I saw a couple of trucks by the side of the road. There are no houses there, but my neighbor
has some property for sale and I thought they might be checking it out. But then another truck pulled up. Three men got out of the truck. They were wearing orange vests, and they
carried guns. My heart sank, and my large,
deer-colored dog and I turned around and came back to the cabin. And so it continues today, the peaceful
sounds of nature punctuated by the harsh sounds of gunshots all around me.
I don’t understand it. What makes a person wake up on a glorious
fall day and say, “My, what a perfect day to go out and slaughter God’s
creatures!” I understand when a person
is driven by hunger to feed a family or the need to protect those near and dear
from predators. But why is it fun to
kill a deer, the animal that represented gentleness to the Native
Americans? “I just like being out in the
woods,” some of my friends say. Well, so
do I…but I manage to be out in the woods quite frequently without shooting
anything. “The herd needs thinning or
they will starve,” say others. Aside
from the fact that God has already planned for that with wolves and panthers,
no hunters I know are hunting for the diseased fawn. They want the big buck…and taking the
strongest only weakens the herd in the long run.
And what’s with the alcohol? Why is it that after the hunters leave the
woods are littered with empty cases of beer? It’s against the law to drink and drive but it’s okay to drink and shoot guns? Great. Sure makes me feel better. And is the joy of walking in the woods made
more pleasurable by hearing the crunch of beer cans underfoot? I don’t see how any of this is an
appreciation of the environment.
“Every animal of the forest is mine,”
God says. Are hunters asking God’s
permission to kill God’s creatures? I
have my doubts.
Yes, this is a rant of sorts. My heart is broken. I stay in on a glorious day because my eyes
well up every time I hear the sounds of death.
It feels as if those men in orange vests are hunting my family, and I am
powerless to stop them. Seeing a deer in
the yard at dusk is a thing of beauty to me.
It reminds me of the wonderful diversity of God’s earth and the grace of
Creation. Why do otherwise kind and
generous people lust for their blood? Why
not walk in the woods and shoot them with a digital camera? Why do we condone an industry devoted to
killing as a sport? What does that teach
our children?
Ruckus isn’t happy staying inside so
much. But to a guy
with a gun drinking beer, he could look like a deer pretty easily, and I’d
rather have him unhappy than dead.
And hey, if Dick Cheney can mistake his friend for a dove, I can’t say I
feel all that safe out there either. The
hunters want their freedoms. Do they
know how much their freedom has compromised mine? Do they know who owns the beasts of the
forest?
Come quickly, Lord Jesus,
and save your creation. Amen.
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