© Yoon Wan-Hee (Faith Column #23, LA Christian Today, April 1, 2009)

There was an incident in which Rita, a neighbor, tried to send a homeless cat far away for adoption, but failed.

For several years she had noticed a white cat living in her barn. She would feed it and sometimes keep it company, sharing life together in small ways. But as the cat grew, it began catching the birds that gathered nearby, and this became increasingly unpleasant to watch. After much thought, Rita placed an ad in the newspaper: “Looking for someone to adopt a lovely cat.”

A few days later, a call came from a man with an unfamiliar voice: “I am a middle-aged man living alone, and I will raise your cat as if it were my own child.” It was welcome news. Whether human or animal, living outside without family or shelter is a harsh environment. Rita had often felt uneasy on cold or snowy days, thinking of the cat in the barn. But now, with a trustworthy guardian promising to raise it “like a child,” she felt relieved that the cat’s miserable life might finally be left behind.

Yet only days later, a terrified voice came again from that man. Despite the new environment and the love and attention of its new guardian, the cat—hardened by its homeless life—began chewing through every cord in the house, starting with those connected to the computer and TV. With its rough claws, it shredded the leather sofa and furniture. It even used flowerpots as toilets, and when its owner tried to approach kindly, the cat unleashed its wild instincts without restraint. As time passed, the house became a complete disaster. Within three days, the kind man declared he could no longer keep the cat.

In our own home, we also live with two cats indoors, sharing affection. Both were adopted from an animal shelter at only three or four weeks old. At first, we hesitated when advised that indoor cats should have their claws removed. How could we possibly pull out the claws of a living creature? Yet after a few days, we realized that to live together peacefully with these young cats, we had no choice but to entrust the veterinarian with removing their front claws.

Just as harmony between humans and animals is not easy, so too is living together in community among humans. Especially in the church: though it may seem we entered voluntarily, in truth each of us was invited by Jesus’ special call of salvation. Through the church, we must continually train ourselves to meet one another’s thirst for love and to strengthen each other—not by our own judgment, but by Jesus’ way.

And yet, even in such a sacred place, we often fall into confusion and pain. This happens because the “front claws” of our unchanged judgments wound and tear at the church. To drive the church into suffering is ultimately to harm our own lives. Unless our character is transformed by Christ, our souls remain homeless.

The news that Rita’s cat had returned to the barn somehow stirs a deep and lasting ripple in my heart.