"Were the Whole Realm of Nature Mine"
5.
"Talk to the Animals, and Listen - Especially Listen"
Numbers
22:21-34
First
Presbyterian Church
The
Reverend Donald E. Ray
July
25, 2010
I was three years old when we bought the family
farm. For the next 15 years, it was
my life. I went to school, church,
and worked on the farm. Everything
on the farm had a justifiable purpose; cows gave milk, horses pulled the plow
and the wagon, chickens laid eggs, calves were future milk producers or steaks
and roasts, cats kept the granary free of rodents, people did chores.
At
an early age, I learned to help with the milking, feed the livestock, clean the
- well, that’s bordering on more information than you need. Though
I realize differently now, as an adolescent, my school peers seemed to enjoy a
more appealing life. I was none to
happy with my lot. I talked to the
animals. I had choice words for the
kitten that jumped from her hiding place to wrap herself around my leg at 5 a.m.
I talked to the cow that on a hot
summer day wrapped her tail around my sweaty neck after she had dragged it
through - that’s definitely more information than you need. “Dumb
animal.”
A fly was biting her. She
was created with a tail having the bony and muscular structure by which she
could swish the fly away. She was
doing what came naturally. But in my
adolescent quest for who I was; to build my sagging ego, I needed her to be a
“dumb animal” so that I could be better than something.
A song written for the film, Dr. Dolittle in the late 1960’s, suggests,
If
I could talk to the animals, just imagine it,
Chattin’
with a chimp in chimpanzee,
Imagine
talking to a tiger, chatting with a cheetah,
What
a neat achievement it would be!
The song had its moments, acknowledging that if
humans and other creatures could communicate congenially, What a lovely place the world would be!
But
then it concludes:
And
if you just stop to think of it
There’s
no doubt of it
I
would win a place in history
If
I could talk with the animals
From the beginning, from the beginning of
imagination of what the beginnings were like, humanity has claimed superiority
to animals and other creatures. Therefore,
animals are inferior to humans. Through
the years I worked with persons in critical times, I more often than I could
count heard the comment of a person in distress; “O well, there’s always
someone worse off than I am.” Not
only is that counterproductive for dealing with one’s plight, but what a sad
state when we need to see ourselves better than another because they are in a
worse plight.
The story from the Old Testament book of Numbers we
read this morning is to me a classic. In
the whole story, Balak, King of Moab is gravely distressed that the people of
The donkey has long borne the butt of derision. Never
mind that they are hard working, sure footed, smart enough to choose the best
path in rough terrain. Because they
don’t go our way, “dumb, stubborn, stupid beast.” When
Balaam’s donkey turned off the road, Balaam whipped the animal; when the
donkey crowded against the wall, Balaam, struck the donkey again; when the
donkey had no place to evade the danger and just lay down, Balaam struck the
donkey with his staff. What follows
in the story is priceless:
Then
the Lord opened the mouth of the donkey, and it said to Balaam, “What have I
done to you, that you have struck me these three times?” Balaam
said to the donkey, “Because you have made a fool of me!” . . . But the
donkey said to Balaam, “Am I not your donkey, which you have ridden all your
life to this day? Have I been in the
habit of treating you this way?” And
he said, “No.” Then the Lord
opened the eyes of Balaam, . . .
(Numbers 22:28-31)
Balaam didn’t see the danger; the donkey did and
“stubbornly” refused to go on. Only
after Balaam was brought up short by his donkey speaking to him, did he see what
the donkey saw and realize who really was the fool.
Certainly one of the gleanings from this summer’s
series is a keener, more sensitive, intuitive, attentive walk through this whole
realm of nature. To appreciate that
requires that we drop ego at the head of the nature trail. Listening,
observing, tuning in to animals, to all creatures, opens new windows on the
world. Weather radar can define the
borders of a summer storm almost to the street map. A
herd of cattle will stop grazing, begin mooing and move together toward the
shelter of trees lining the pasture - a sure sign of an approaching storm. If
you wonder if a storm is over, listen for the birds as they emerge from their
shelter and begin singing again, assuring that the storm is past.
As I grow in knowing more of God, I am less certain
of anything I would claim to know about God. So
as I learn more of animals and birds and other creatures, the less I am sure of
what I think I know about them. What
I am about this morning is not so much seeking to justify the animal world as a
life classroom, but to say that we let go of our presumed superiority, live in
the whole realm of nature as a level playing field. While
the creatures about us seem to be reflecting things strangely, they may in fact
be tuned into the creative force in ways we would do well to heed. That
is, there is more benefit to communicating with animals, talking and listening
in the common language of respect and care, than our achievement and place in
history.
Karen and I have friends who have the kind of time
and the fascination with searching cyber space for those gems of awe and wonder
that bring sometimes laughter, sometimes tears. We
are grateful for the treasures they pass along. A
month or so ago, our friend sent us one with pictures showing a female swallow,
that swooping low across a road was struck by a car and critically injured. A
series of photos show her mate by her side, bringing her food and attending to
her with love and compassion. When
her mate returned with more food, he was shocked to find her dead, he tried to
move her. Realizing she was gone,
the photos show him standing beside her, beak wide open, crying in his sadness. The
photographer sold the pictures to a paper in
A high school friend of Karen’s is another of our
cyber space gleaners. She sent a
story of a three year old orangutan that, after losing his parents, became so
depressed he wouldn’t eat and didn’t respond to any medical treatments. The
veterinarians thought he would surely die of sadness. About
the same time, an old, sick dog found in the park where the zoo was located was
brought to the animal treatment center. The
two lost souls found each other and became inseparable. A
favorite activity is swimming. The
orangutan is afraid of the water so needs his friend to help. More
than a friendly shoulder to lean on, together they have found joy and laughter
in life. An orangutan with his arm
around an old dog is a picture that stops all the zoo visitors in their tracks.
Talking to the animals and really listening will
stop us in our tracks. It’s
usually in the interruptions, the unusual behaviors that there may be a message
from God.
We have a dog now. She’s
my third venture with a dog. I think
maybe we’re getting it right this time. I
like to walk for exercise. Teta
needs to walk for exercise. She
evidently, in her former life, had many puppies and has a bit of a weight
problem. I watch men walking with
their rottweilers and shepherds at a brisk pace - sometimes even jogging. Teta
is a cavalier spaniel so is not a big dog. But
when she’s at full speed, she can set a good pace. But
she’s rarely at full speed for very long. Teta
walks with her nose; she has to stop to sniff intensely every scent she catches.
I’ve tried to pull her along, but
for 25 pounds, she can really dig in. So
I’m learning Balaam’s lesson, trying to discover what it is that I should
see, hear, sense along the path.
The deer by the side of the road, the rabbit in our
back yard, the squirrel scurrying up the maple tree, a bird flying low across
our path, our dog that greets us when we return home, our cat the ignores us
when we leave, all catch our attention but too often just for a moment, then we
brush it aside. They easily become
the norm.
But maybe it’s the song of the cardinal that
plucks us out of stressing over the beginning of the day. Maybe
it’s the cat that lies with us when we are sick and need comfort. Maybe
it’s the squirrel that plays hide and seek with us around the tree trunk when
we are far too somber about who we are and what we’re doing. Maybe
it’s the dog that is unconditionally our friend when we feel lost and alone.
Maybe it isn’t only Balaam’s donkey that can
speak the human language. If we
leave our ego at the beginning of the trail through this whole realm of nature,
give the attention to talk, and listen, especially listen, we may discover the
language of God.
Amen.
Copyright
© First Presbyterian Church 2010