Of Cats and Christ

Last Saturday was cat bath day. Cat baths mean I will be bleeding at some point because our cats hate baths. Our very beautiful and very furry Lilly has had a persistent problem with fleas for years, despite numerous treatments and no evidence of fleas anywhere in our home. You are supposed to bathe your cat everytime you find fleas but she hates it so much, and destroys my forearms, that we have avoided bathing her.

Well when we discovered yet again that there were fleas, and had even transferred them to our other much less hairy cat Josie, we knew it was bath day. So that meant clipping their claws as much as possible. I have thick gloves to help with this but it was still awful and required my wife’s help. What we realized later was that we should have given them both kitty melotonin first.

In any case after an hour both cats were clean and had been given new anti flea treatments, but my arms were a mess. So bad I considered not going to liturgy the next day because I was afraid people might think I had been cutting myself. One gash in particular looked exactly like that. Our cats do not like baths! They fight till the end.

The next day I did go to church, because it was Easter, hoping no one would notice. At the altar waiting to receive the Eucharist, I saw how beaten up my wrists were and couldn’t help but think about Christ’s wounds.

I am currently going through the worst thing I have ever experienced. I can’t talk about it publicly yet, but someday I will. And every day I question God, in total utter confusion, over what He has put me and my family through. And not just what’s happening now, but things that have gone on for years. Infertility, divorce, cancer, death, pulmonary embolism, spiritual abuse from pastors, fired from multiple jobs. On top of that years of searching for a real career and coming up empty, repeatedly. I never envisioned needing a lawyer for anything in life, and now I’ve had to acquire one three times in less than ten years, always for a different reason. My life has not been easy.

And I just wrack my brain trying to understand. Do I deserve all this suffering? What good is happening because of all this garbage that keeps getting poured over me? And not just me but my parents, my new wife, and my friends. Even the broader community in my life has been impacted by multiple parts of my own suffering, it just feels like my life is a continual disaster and I can’t understand why God has allowed any of this, let alone all of it.

I found part of the answer I was looking for at the altar rail. Obviously the real answer is what you receive at the rail, kneeling before the altar, since that is how we receive Christ, who is the answer to all the questions, even if we don’t understand how. But looking at the wounds my cats had inflicted on me made me realize that was why I had inflicted similar, much more severe wounds, on Christ. My cats can’t understand why I have to clip their claws and bathe them. They’re very stupid, even for cats. But they are cats afterall. They just know they don’t like it. The next day they’re always in a better mood, because it is good for them, and hopefully we can finally cure them of these darned fleas. But they simply don’t understand what is going on.

The difference between me and my cats is not nearly as large as the gulf between God and even the smartest, most magnificent human that has ever lived. That gulf is infinite. This is why we killed God, this is why God had to become us and die, because we are much MUCH worse than cats in need of a bath. We simply can’t understand the work God needs to do in us, and that work is bloody and painful. We lashed out at Him when he came, and continue to lash and slash like scared cats in need of a bath. Our creator is patient and kind towards us in ways that go far beyond getting rid of some fleas, and He lovingly endures our abuse and confusion at the work He has to do in our lives.

I get frustrated with my cats during this process even though I know they can’t understand. I just wish they would be patient and trust me. I am somewhat capable of understanding more than a cat and yet I still crucified the Lord of Glory with my sins. And I still struggle to trust in the midst of what feels like never ending suffering.

I am a cat in need of a bath. I am a fool in need of God. Thankfully he’s much better at caring for me than I am at caring for my cats.