Sunday, August 2, 2009
One of Them There Pastoral Metaphors
Visa, that's the name of my calico cat, Visa, I said as she sat on my lap while I sipped my first morning latte, you sure do smell funky. Have you tangled with a skunk? Did you sleep under the house last night?
Finally, I said, Visa why don't you get down so as to let me drink my morning's caffeine in olfactory peace? So she left, but the funk remained.
Then I had an epiphany. My wife has been gone for about five days so the level of debris around my easy chair has grown as it is wont to do. So sure enough there in the pile right in the middle of a clean dirty paper plate was a dead mouse in the middle stages of ripe. It was obvious a sacrifice and gift from Visa to me as homage or just in case I got hungry.
As I pondered this, it occurred to me that our little sacrifices to the Lord must sometimes seem to Him like that ripe little mouse. I recall that such was said in the Bible somewhere, maybe in the OT, that "their" sacrifices were as a stench in the nostrils of God.
I don't remember what God did about that, but I threw out the sacrifice, poured out my coffee, and aired out the temple.