Blood

The time was 8:00 AM in the morning. I had been sitting on the edge of those familiar woods since 6:00 AM grateful for the extra layer of warm clothing I had chosen to wear. I watched the stars fade from the sky and the horizon grow light with the usual anticipation of the hunt. Then I sat for over an hour of full daylight with the same field of view that hadn’t changed a bit since it was first revealed in the full light of day. My eyes would sweep left and then right across the rolling pasture, stare at the sky or occasional bird, and then be tempted to close in a temporary doze. Anticipation was giving way to resignation that perhaps that morning would be like many others I had known; full of stillness and barren of action.

I chose that early morning hour to break the boredom with a cup of hot chocolate from the thermos. It felt good but was a pale substitute for a live target. I finished and put the thermos away, saving the rest for later. At that moment my emotions experienced a rapid shift as a pair of twitching ears caught my attention. Action! Stage right! Range: 50 yds! Here they come! One deer, then two, and finally four come over the hill slowly and suspiciously picking their way along. The lead one was looking straight at me, and I dared not move. She stooped to graze, and I swiveled to face them. Another look and I froze. We played this game for a major minute until I was able to raise my gun on target. By then the last one stepped out and presented a perfect profile, standing erect and looking straight in my direction. It was all I could do to calm my nerves and slowly squeeze off the one perfect shot that a muzzle-loader will allow.

By now, I had learned to just leave the gun, grab a knife and run. You have to chase after them to see which way they run just to be able to find your kill, if indeed you made one. This one had not run far before she fell in a skid between some logs. I looked at this good-sized doe and experienced the same rush of emotion I had felt occasionally before. There was the thrill of a successful hunt, and the exultation that all the patient waiting and preparation had paid off. But there was also a good deal of sadness as well, to see this beautiful creature who was once gracefully running free now brought down and slain by my own hand. And blood. She left a trail that would have been easy to follow.

Taking the knife out, I knew that there was more blood to follow as the field dressing now commenced. It is never my favorite part but all essential to the whole process. I felt a keen sense of the price of life itself. This one must die so that I might live. Without the spilling of blood, there is no meat on the table: no venison, no beef, no chicken, no pork, no fish. It may sound a bit strange, but I felt genuine sorrow for this animal who I had killed and was now yielding its body to me. Its very heart had been pierced by my bullet; a clean and quick kill. I was glad for its sake.

At the same time I felt the harsh price tag for my physical life, I sensed again the price of the spiritual life I possess in Christ. There, too, the cost was high. There is no remission of sin except for the shedding of blood. That verse was echoing, yea, pounding through my soul out there in the corner of that field that morning as my hands were fully stained. It is one thing to read that verse sitting in my Sunday best in the light of a beautiful multicolored glass window streaming forth a crucifixion scene. It was quite another to see actual blood upon my hands, my shoes, my truck. I rose up thankful anew that the deaths of innocent animals were no long necessary to atone for my sins; but even more thankful for the Lamb of God, poured out for the sin of the world, one time, for all. Nevertheless, blood is the price of my folly …and yours.