The Housecat and the Resurrection

My parent’s cat, 11-year-old Freddy Astaire went missing. He walked out onto the front porch and never returned.

Day by day, we lost hope. We offered a hundred dollar reward and scouted the neighborhood for him — or his body. Gradually it sank in that never again would we stroke his handsome coat or hear his ruffled baby meow, so sweet and endearing in such a dignified cat.

Two weeks after he disappeared we agreed he was dead.

Early the next morning my mother phoned, “Do you believe in miracles?” Freddy Astaire had slipped into the house through the cat door.

Phone in hand, I became dizzy. Freddy was dead. I had walked the neighborhood searching. I had felt the emptiness in my parents’ house. As I talked to my mother, a need rose within me to see the cat before the day was over, a need so shaking and primitive that it must have been pure instinct, a magic belief that to see him would gather him into the world and make his return secure. The joy came later when I saw him and held his thin and hungry body in my arms and smelled the woods deep in his fur.

And yes, a house cat’s return showed me something about the Resurrection.

For you see, a little later I thought that my sense of dislocation and shock at facts violated – my stunned reluctance to allow myself to grasp joy because the grief had been so severe – these might have been the feelings of people who heard that Jesus was risen. They, like me, may have thought it too great a piece of good news to accept. Perhaps they, too, were overwhelmed by what seemed impossible.

For us Easter is pure joy because we know the story.

This year I will think of the feelings of those who lived it – how it must have been to experience it without a script. The breaking of expectation, of natural law, of all that had come before — to hear without preparation the great news – that Jesus was risen – alive and among his people — teaching the new truth.

Advertisements

About thebooksonmyshelf

Welcome to my blog. There's always a revolution going on in my home -- between art, writing, thinking, and three boy cats, there's rarely a moment without something hopping. I have lived in three major cities and now am in a small wonderful rural town. The proud author of the world's longest first-draft cowboy novel, I am now plowing into the realm of the cozy mystery. Come along and see how my journey through the woods of inexperience turns out.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s