cat

“For against its will the universe itself has had to endure the empty futility resulting from the consequences of human sin. But now, with eager expectation, all creation longs for freedom from its slavery to decay and to experience with us the wonderful freedom coming to God’s children.” Romans 8:20, 21 (TPT)

I recently attended a one-day retreat at a local monastery, and I decided to arrive one day early so I could bask in some quiet solitude before the retreat began. I had been reading through the book titled Discernment by Henri Nouwen, and I took the book with me for more reading and reflection. As I pondered chapter 4, entitled Read the Book of Nature, I began to perceive Romans 8:20, 21 in a new way. I had understood that all of creation is “groaning” as it waits for Christ’s return and the renewal of all things, but I had never really considered nature’s experience of this. I read this verse in several Bible translations and I was struck by how The Passion Translation expressed its meaning. Phrases like “against its will” and “consequences” and “slavery” grabbed my attention and imagination. I know from my own life experience that it’s hard enough to suffer consequences as a result of your own poor choices, but to suffer the consequences of others’ poor choices really sucks big time—and this is what all of creation has been experiencing throughout time: consequences resulting from the choices of others. I have always loved and enjoyed nature, but this epiphany led me to a new and deeper empathy for nature.

I suddenly had a desire to walk among the grove of trees on the monastery grounds so I went outside for a stroll. As I walked through the trees, I began to wonder which ones where my age and which ones were older than I. I came to one tree whose trunk was too immense for me to reach around, and I knew that this tree was certainly my elder. I took a very good, long look at this tree. Winter had removed all of its leaves and I was able to notice its shape, places of scars and brokenness as well as the smaller branches of the previous summer’s growth. I saw the tree as a being, not a thing, and my heart broke. I found myself apologizing, out loud, to the tree for the consequences that it has experienced as a result of my choices and those of the rest of humankind. I asked for the tree’s forgiveness. As I stood with the tree, I felt a sense of inner peace, and I took that to mean that I had been forgiven. I felt very thankful for the solemn and sacred moment that we had shared.

I walked on through more of the trees, sitting under a few as I soaked up the thin warmth of the winter sun. I felt an amiable companionship between us all. As I walked back toward the building where I was staying, I passed an old building where the sisters make pottery. The door to the building had a small “cat door” in the bottom and I noticed a cat sitting just outside the door, soaking up the warmth of the late afternoon sun. At first she didn’t seem to notice my presence, but then her eyes opened. She looked directly at me, a look of stereotypical feline aloofness. I smiled and nodded in return. We gazed at each other for a few moments and then I spoke to her, out loud, as I had to the tree. I apologized for disturbing her peaceful enjoyment of the sun. She just looked at me, expressing nothing, as cats often do. Then I asked for her forgiveness, as I had done with the tree. For a moment or two, she continued to just look at me. Then she closed her eyes and slowly nodded her head up and down three times. She opened her eyes, gazing at me as she had done before, and then she turned and disappeared through the cat door into the pottery building. I was dumbfounded and amazed, but I felt no doubt that she also had forgiven me . . . just like the tree. I have no idea what the cat’s name is, but I have chosen to remember her as Grace. I felt humbled by the kindness of the tree and the cat, and the generous hospitality of all of nature to share its home with me. I have never felt more one with all of creation than at that moment! I intend to continue to ask nature, and all of creation, for forgiveness. To do so is the way of reconciliation and peace.