After much thought and prayer, I have decided that what needs to happen for my home to be liberated from the pandemic is a return to the Old Testament rite of blood sacrifice.
Before flying into a bladder-voiding rage, please understand that I am not referring to the sacrifice of humans. I haven’t been out much lately because the world is so messed up, but I’m pretty sure that’s still illegal.
But as a churchgoer (back when we could attend services in person) who sometimes actually stays awake, I have been taught that the Judeo-Christian God once required sacrifices of blood — doves, lambs, the first of flocks, even a kid.
Note: The child wasn’t actually sacrificed because even though his father, Abraham, was willing to follow through with the murder of an innocent, an angel reportedly appeared and stopped him.
In truth, I’ve never understood the logic of sacrificing perfectly useful things. It just seems like a waste. Only a Bronze Age brain would think up such idiocy.
Never mind. A more modern scene has been set. If blood sacrifice is to be reintroduced, it should make sense.
Last week, I filled a 50-gallon garbage can with water and soap in my backyard. It is fruit canning season, and the inside of the can was gooey from leftover peels. In fact, there’s more fruit rotting on the ground than we’ll ever be able to can.
Long story short, when I tipped over the garbage can, the water flooded across the yard. It was like the grass suddenly grew mice. A dozen or so popped up and scurried everywhere. When I tried to pick up one, the little varmint bit me.
That’s when I realized the important and spiritual nature of blood sacrifice. Not my own, mind you. The mice. Other than food for cats and raptors, what good are they? (Yes, I know they probably fill some grand purpose in the ecosystem, but I frankly don’t have the energy or interest to get into it here.)
So it occurred to me — mice are the perfect blood sacrifice. Who will miss them? I’m sure as hell not going to sacrifice a pet or a grandchild.
I set 30 mouse traps in the backyard. In the morning, we’ll see what kind of proper sacrifice I’ll be able to offer.
Scoff if you must. But, as a churchgoer, I know how this is supposed to work. If I say the right prayers and keep my attention focused on the Lord, maybe the sacrifice will include the one that bit me and therefore be acceptable.
Even better, maybe it will encourage blessings from on high regarding the illness currently upon the land.
If nothing else, maybe God will see what’s going on and decide to call off the pandemic before things get any crazier.
Robert Kirby is The Salt Lake Tribune’s humor columnist. Follow Kirby on Facebook.
