Turtles and the Question of Good and Evil

It's no secret that I take a dim view of human nature in general. Most of the time I think people are no damn good (readers of this blog excepted, of course!) and I greatly prefer the company of animals to that of humans.

Every so often, however, something happens that makes me reconsider. Yesterday afternoon I was driving down Bryan Boulevard at rush hour and noticed a couple of cars parked on the shoulder, and a large brown thing in the middle of the road. As I passed the object, I realized it was a large turtle trying to cross two lanes of heavy 55mph traffic, and that the people getting out of the cars were trying to figure out how to help the animal without getting themselves killed.

I pulled off the highway and began backing up in the breakdown lane, all the while watching the turtle. I knew that it would meet its death because of some idiot jabbering on a cell phone, or worse, because of some evil bastard (and I use the word "evil" in its fullest theological sense) who would hit the turtle on purpose. (Note--if you ever hear that someone was murdered after they deliberately harmed an animal, please tell the cops that I was at your house all day. I'll need the alibi.)

Miraculously, one driver after another, including one in a semi, swerved to miss the creature. Then, a red pickup cut across two lanes of traffic and braked to a stop. A man got out and hesitated only an instant before stepping into the nearest lane of traffic, and signaled authoritatively for cars to keep to the left lane. Having created a break in the traffic, the man dashed across the freeway, scooped up the turtle, and hauled it safely out of the road as it waved its stubby legs in the air.

The rest of the day I wondered what to conclude about humans. As a species, we are obviously capable of great evil, but what is it that made four people set aside convenience and safety to save the life of one animal? There seems to be something else at work here...

Animals and the Afterlife

Coincidentally (or perhaps not?) our minister's sermon this morning was on animals and the afterlife. (Planned well before Andy's death, in case you're wondering.) You can click here to read the sermon in its entirety, and I recommend it to you even if you are the kind of person who wouldn't be caught dead reading a sermon on the Internet.

I do want to share with you this story from Michael's sermon...

A man and his dog were walking along a road. The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead. He remembered dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years. He wondered where the road was leading them. After a while, they came to a high, white stonewall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight.

When he was standing before it he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side. When he was close enough, he called out, "Excuse me, where are we?”

"This is Heaven, sir," the man answered.

"Wow! Would you happen to have some water?" the man asked.

"Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up." The man gestured, and the gate began to open.

"Can my friend," gesturing toward his dog, "come in, too?" the traveler asked.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept pets." The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog.

After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence. As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book. "Excuse me!" he called to the man. "Do you have any water?"

"Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there, come on in."

"How about my friend here?" the traveler gestured to the dog.

"There should be a bowl by the pump.” They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it. The traveler filled the water bowl and took a long drink himself, then he gave some to the dog.

When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree. "What do you call this place?" the traveler asked.

"This is Heaven," he answered.

"Well, that's confusing," the traveler said. "The man down the road said that was Heaven, too."

"Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That's the other place."

"Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your name like that?"

"No, we're just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave their best friends behind."

Why I Pray About Rain

I have a lot of opinions, especially about religion and politics, but I don't write about them here. I think my garden blog ought to be about plants and birds and dirt and compost. God does make it into my blog from time to time, because, despite all evidence to the contrary, I think that God does exist and is, at this moment, working in the world. (I have numerous suggestions for how God might run things more effectively, but for some reason, he has not yet asked my opinion. )

I am going to break my rule today and write about an event down in Atlanta, where the governor convened an interfaith public prayer for rain to alleviate the drought. I don't know a thing about the governor, don't know whether he's a statesman or a demagogue or something in between, I don't even know if he's a Republican or a Democrat. (I'm neither, and wish a pox on both their houses, but, like I said, I don't write about politics here.)

I do know about the drought, however, and I do a lot of praying, so I think I'm qualified to write on this subject. (Granted, my prayers often involve screaming at God, or praying that I can get through the day without choking the life out of some jackass who richly deserves it, but anyway...) As soon as I saw this story, I predicted three responses.

Militant atheists would criticize the governor for using a public forum to promote religion.
Militant Christians would make him a hero for the home team (at least until they realized that he invited Jewish, Muslim, and Hindu clergy to participate as well).
A lot of people would say, "Whatever," and go back to watching television.

I'd like to offer what I hope is a thoughtful Christian perspective on the whole subject of praying for rain. Thoughtful comments, whether you agree or dissent, are welcome. If you're not interested, check back tomorrow. I promise my next post will be about gardening.

The first question, of course, is whether or not God exists. That can't be proven one way or the other; there's a lot of evidence against God's existence, but there is a fair amount of evidence in favor as well. I would refer the reader to Mere Christianity by CS Lewis, Simply Christian by NT Wright, and Why Religion Matters by Huston Smith. (The first two are limited to Christianity, while Smith discusses all of the major religions.) All three writers are intelligent, well-educated, and open minded--none of this "The Bible says it, so that settles it" certainty that passes for religious discourse these days.

So assuming there is a God, why pray for rain? Is God unaware of the drought? Is God going to alter the track of a low pressure system at the behest of a Georgia governor or a Greensboro gardener?

The real problem here is a view of prayer that sees God as a cosmic butler (albeit much more capricious than any actual butler who values his job). It's not quite as simple as asking for something and, if you've been good enough or you've asked in the right way or if you follow the right religion, you get it. Prayer is not manipulating supernatural powers to do your bidding--that's magic.

I think the reason for praying is to allow God to begin the work of transforming the person doing the praying. We all need to be transformed from our self-centered, fearful, angry, arrogant, greedy selves into something different and beautiful. Prayer should begin the work of putting a person in a right relationship with both God and the world.

That's a big topic, being in a right relationship with the world, and whole books have been written on that subject. This is a blog post, not a book, and it's about rain, so let me go right to that subject.

The right way, in my view, to pray about rain, is not just asking for rain when we are in the middle of a drought, but saying a quiet "Thank you" for the rain whenever it comes and treating water (and for that matter, the whole earth) as a gift, and handling it as such. The amazing thing that happens is that you start to be more careful with water, to tread more lightly on the earth as a whole, to consider how your actions affect other people, the animals, and the plants. (Of course, one does not need to be religious to live this way. Christians have been notoriously unconcerned about environmental issues and have been put to shame on this front by people who do not profess any faith but live, as well as they can, in a right relationship with the earth. There are encouraging signs that this may be changing.)

When you are living in such a relationship with God and the created order, then of course, when a drought comes, you ask for rain and trust in God to send it as he sees fit. You pray as though everything depends on God, and you conserve as though everything depends on you.

If God does send rain in a timely manner, enough even to fill the lakes to overflowing, what do we do then? Go back to wasting water like we own the clouds? Or make permanent changes in the way we live, the way we relate to the water and the air and the land. That is the acid test of any person's religious faith: does it have the power to change that person for the better?

Garden Bloggers' Muse Day

Some keep the Sabbath going to church;
I keep it staying home,
With a bobolink for a chorister,
And an orchard for a dome.

Some keep the sabbath in surplice;
I just wear my wings,
And instead of tolling the bell for church,
Our little sexton sings.

God preaches--a noted clergyman--
And the sermon is never long;
So instead of getting to Heaven at last,
I'm going all along!

--Emily Dickinson

I love Emily Dickinson's poetry, and this is probably my favorite, even though I do put in an appearance in church from time to time. I've always felt closest to the Divine Presence, whatever it is, when I'm outside among the wild things.



Visit all the "August Muses" at Sweet Home and Garden Chicago, written by a 'Bama native living in the City of Broad Shoulders.

The Birds of the Air

There are people, I suppose, who can look at a bird without any sense of awe. I probably don't want to spend a lot of time in such company. Birds bring wonder and delight to the garden, and the wise gardener will take thought of how he can welcome them to his plot of land.

I love my birds. They watch me as I hew out a garden in what was, until very recently, a dismally monotonous spread of chemically-enhanced suburban lawn. I think they like the improvements I've made, and if they possess a capacity for gratitude, (and who is to say they don't?) they appreciate it. The towhees and brown thrashers scratch about in the mulched beds in search of insects; goldfinches cling to the coneflower stalks in fall to eat the seeds, and just this morning, I watched a robin building her nest in the branches of a dogwood. The baths and feeders, of course, are the prime attraction. Some therapist is going without a sailboat because I have birdfeeders.

Sometimes I wish I didn't love my birds quite so much. Like Sunday, when we heard a sickening thud against the living room window, and I went out to find a mourning dove lying on the pavement. She quivered once, then closed her eyes and died as I knelt beside her. And last year, when I came home to find that our cat had caught and killed a hummingbird, just a few days before she would have left to winter in the tropics. I buried them both in the garden, their graves marked with white quartz stones that I found in my digging.

Jesus said, "Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten in God's sight." It is worth reflecting on that line...not one of them is forgotten in God's sight. I'm always disgusted by pious people who claim to love God yet do not respect God's creatures.


Joel Gillespie, a thoughtful evangelical Christian blogger (and how refreshing it is to put those three adjectives together) writes:

All life created by God is worthy of a certain reverence. Even if we are allowed to eat of the meat of other creatures, it should not be done callously, and the beasts should not be treated contrary to their nature and good just to bring us marbled meat to grill on a fire. How we treat our fellow creatures matters.

I have known few people mean to animals who were not also mean to people.

It does not lessen us to look more highly upon our fellow creatures. They are smarter, more sensitive, and more amazing than we have yet to realize. One day we will feel great sorrow over how we have desecrated and disrespected these wonderful fellow creatures. We can start changing attitudes now. I hope that we do. (Read the full article)

For some superb bird photography, check out Greensboro Birds. Iris updates her blog almost every day with photos of birds taken around Lincoln Green Apartments and the Battleground. And if you wonder what kind of birds she's going to find at an apartment complex and a park, then you really need to take a look!