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part two of a reflection on W. Phillip Keller's A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23 ...
We looked at the juxtaposition of Keller's compassionate and biblical animal husbandry to modern industrial animal farming in the last post. This time, I'd like to point to another contrast Keller raises between his own model of tending sheep and other far more careless methods he came in contact with personally.
When I was about 13 and with my parents on the mission field in Holland, a youth-led service was organized for the American Air Force chapel service we attended Sunday evenings, which my father assisted and later chaplained. I volunteered to give the 'sermon,' which though it was from the heart, essentially ended up being a book review of W. Philip Keller's A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23 (Zondervan, org. published in '70).
But I could hardly have picked a better book to sermonize from, and was reminded of this fact when I read through the book again in recent months. Not only is the book based on one of the most meaningful and beloved passages in Scripture, but Keller's insight into the unique and nuanced dynamics of tending sheep as a longtime shepherd himself, unfamiliar to most of us today but certainly not lost on David, is unfathomably deep. I can't emphasize enough how much more meaning the psalm takes on through reading it alongside Keller's personal experience and faithful commentary.
Today being Palm Sunday, it's natural to think of the young donkey which Jesus rode in His triumphal entry into Jerusalem (Matthew 21:1-11). Though the manner of the donkey's requisition seems a bit unorthodox to modern sensibility, it's clear that Jesus knew which colt He wanted and why He needed him. Zechariah had prophesied after all, in Matthew's words:
"Say to Daughter Zion, 'See, your king comes to you, gentle and riding on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.'" (21:5)
thanks to Dean Ohlman of The Wonder of Creation for this poignant reminder of our calling to join God's creatures in worshiping our mutual Creator ...
I’m not sure how many churches today still incorporate in their worship the traditional “Doxology” sung to the tune of the “Old Hundredth.” It was so common in the past and familiar enough now that in almost any crowd gathered anywhere in the English-speaking world, if you started singing it, you’d likely be joined by the majority—much like the singing of “Amazing Grace.” I’ve always loved it:
Not long ago our friend Anna Clark introduced me to Christian author and poet M. Kent Travis. Kent's blog is worth following in general, but his recent post "Even the Animals Knew" especially grabbed my attention. Kent acknowledges he's not the biggest "animal person," but his insight is perhaps even more valuable as a result. I'm grateful to be able to share it here at the beginning of Lent when many Christians are honoring Christ's 40 days in the wilderness ...
Yesterday was a particularly difficult day for my second daughter. She was being snippy and unkind to everyone else in the family, even after we explained to her what she was doing. It was if she couldn't stop herself or didn't even know that she was doing it.
With Lent beginning this Wednesday or next Monday for many Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Christians, an ever growing number of Protestants and Evangelicals are also looking to honor in some way the ancient Christian period of fasting leading up to Easter. See, for example, an informative and encouraging review of the practice by Rev. Ken Collins.
The first two traditions have typically included abstaining from meat in their fasting, though in some cases seafood is permitted, while in other forms of fasting even non-flesh animal products are avoided as well. But I wonder if many of us who are descendants of the Reformation consider fasting from meat or other animal products in any capacity as a legitimate, even vibrant, way of honoring Lent?
The week before Christmas our chuch choir performed a beautiful Advent cantata which I had the privilege of participating in as a reader. I was struck by a few passages from Isaiah which were featured in the arrangement and how much application the book has, not only to us as followers of a Messiah who came as a humble baby in a manger, but also to God's creatures and the hope He has in store for them.
It's becoming a bit of a Christmas Eve tradition to share this reflection from Nancy Janisch of Conversation in Faith, a heartfelt and hopeful complement for 'the night before' ...
When you were young, did anyone ever tell you that animals can talk at midnight on Christmas? I don’t remember who told me, but I do remember looking expectantly at our family Dachshund for several years on Christmas Eve. For the record, he never said anything. At least not in a human language.
I was vacuuming one of the children's rooms at church last weekend and noticed on one of the tables a copy of The Animals' Christmas Eve, a Little Golden Book which charmingly weaves together the stories of modern-day farm animals with those who surrounded Jesus at His birth:
In the barn on Christmas Eve,
After all the people leave,
The animals, in voices low,
Remember Christmas long ago ...
Written by Gale Wiersum, The Animals' Christmas Eve was originally published in 1977 (Western Publishing, see cover). The original illustrations, though a bit dated and occasionally somewhat Anglo-Saxon, are quaintly attractive and remind me of Sunday School illustrations of a generation or two back. An updated version of the book was released a few years ago, with more contemporary illustrations as you can see here.
Continuing Jenny Sue Hane's thought-provoking and biblically grounded post "Does Wildlife Need Our Management?" ...
There are already signs that “management” by humans might not be all it’s cracked up to be. Unlike natural predators, we are not limited in our choice of prey by our strength and speed. So although hunters might describe their work as “culling,” in reality they often take the highest quality animals they can find. Traits that once improved animals’ ability to survive are now working against them by making them desirable targets for hunters, so reproductive selection begins to reduce or eliminate those traits. Elephants without tusks have increased, kangaroos are getting smaller, and bighorn sheep are developing less impressive headgear. Our attempts to control nature may actually reduce the genetic strength and diversity of animal populations. Is this a sign of responsible stewardship in action? Is this what we wanted? (See for instance Newsweek's "It's Survival of the Weak and Scrawny.")
April 16, 2012