On A Sparrow And People

 During the earlier aforementioned Cold Snap, The Ravishing Mrs. TB came in from chasing Poppy The Brave around the backyard.  "There is a bird on the ground outside she found" she said.

I got my shoes on and went outside, pushing Poppy back in the house.  The morning was bracing and sunny 23 F/-5 C before wind chill (14 F/-10 C) and thanks to our recent bout of sunny good weather, the grass was full and hard to see anything other than grass and leaves.  Finally The Ravishing Mrs. TB knocked on the window and started directing me via hand signals to where I was supposed to go.

There is was.  A little sparrow on the ground, breathing heavily.

Of course I brought it inside and put it into box with food and water in the garage.

There is no sensible reason for this of course; most wildlife that is injured and lets one pick it up is going to die.  But there I am out there, making sure that birds and small rodents are somehow out of the sun/wind/heat/cold in their last moments.

Occasionally I "win", of course - I have found turtles crossing the road that I have been able to move to a stream or pond and the stunned bird from hitting the glass that comes to and flies away, or the squirrel that Poppy almost gets (but not quite) and makes it out.  But most of the time, it ends the way the natural world ends - as it did this time:  The bird got out of the box and into the garage (so it could fly, which was a good thing).  I captured it (imagining trying to explain how there was a bird loose in the garage) and relocated into different container with food and water; it expired sometime after that.

I buried it around the house, which has become a sort of animal graveyard with the number of pets and other animals that have been interred here:  beyond our own rabbits and guinea pigs and quail, there are squirrels and rabbits and mice and birds and the cat I found during the time A could not be found and I thought the cat on the side of road was him.

I was pondering all of this as I was - again - digging a grave on the side of the house - and found myself asking the question "Why do I care so much more about animals than I do about people?"

I say "caring about people" in the most fundamental sense, as Scripture in this case is both clear on both sides of the issue.  On the one hand, the prophets, Christ, and the apostles were pretty clear on the fact that part of charity was indeed caring for the poor (clothing the naked, feeding the hungry, etc.).  At the same time, there is also an expectation from the prophets, Christ, and the apostles that everyone - or at least every Christian, so perhaps that is a difference - is responsible in so much as they are able, to provide for their own food, clothing, and shelter.

This is not meant to be a mediation on homelessness, its causes, or its resolutions - which are far beyond the scope of this thought exercise. It is meant to be a mediation on how I reflect differently on the care of animals and people that suddenly cross my path in need.

If I consider it deeply, what I find is that - at least in my own mind - the animals simply have no-one else:  no-one else to make sure that in some way they do not die completely alone or uncared for, that their last moments are at least peaceful as much as possible.  They can do nothing other than be.

People have a choice, I tell myself (although in some ways due to circumstances, "choice" is perhaps not the best word - mental illness and addiction are real things).  But even their choice does not change what the commands of Scripture are to me; ultimately I will be judged on what I did with the Word of God, not what others did.

Or perhaps it is simply that caring for animal in its last moments or afterwards is a short term commitment: I am not contributing to a longer term solution, but neither am I potentially enabling behavior that needs not to be enabled.   I am doing what needs to be done in the moment.

I finished burying the bird and went back to go about my day, resolving nothing in my mind at all other than noting what seemed to be a rather large discrepancy in how I viewed two sets of beings, one related to me by species and one related to me not at all.  

I wonder - and here I am on shaky ground perhaps - if "caring" for one group versus the other is really just another form of spiritual gift?  Yes, we are all commanded to be charitable, but we are also all commanded to pray and fast and evangelize; some of us have the heart and gift and others of us just stumble through our prayers and give where we can.  But if there is a  real heart for prayer or charity, could there not also be a heart for the natural world around us and those that live in it?

Francis of Assisi, it is said, preached to the birds.  That I am aware of, no-one considered him uncharitable to men or beasts.

(St. Francis Preaching to the Birds; Master of Saint Francis circa 1250-1280 A.D.)