R is for RIFLE

I couldn't sleep. It had been one of those nights when your mind is racing and the last thought in your head is always there. A quick glance at the alarm clock revealed that three o'clock is a very dark place to be so I got up, made a cup of tea and settled down in the living room, hoping that sleep would drift into my head and clear everything else out. I switched on the television, hoping for something soothing to view while the rest of my body contemplated closing down but discovered that most of the channels had already done that, save for a few phone-in quiz programmes where, I'm reliably informed from recent media coverage, only the organisers seem to win. But then, by chance, I came across a little short film that, for some reason, caused me to pause and reflect. I hope you are as intrigued as I was.

He was peering out of the trench through the sights of his rifle, carefully scanning the snowy scene for signs of the enemy. Yes, it was winter time, somewhere in Europe, some time in the Second World War and lying in front of him was 'no man's land' and beyond, the trenches dug by German soldiers. Then suddenly, into his sights appeared a small black cat, somewhat ruffled in appearance with a straggly piece of string around its neck like a substitute lead and leaving a small trail in the snow. He watched it carefully as it picked its way careful through the deep snow, stopping occasionally to glance behind. That intrigued him and as he scanned in the direction of the cat's staring eyes, a soldier appeared in his view, easily identifiable by his helmet as the opposition. He was crawling in the snow on all fours and after a few feet, he would stop and call to the feline ahead, beckoning with his hand for it to return. Yet it paid no heed to its recent master and continued its laboured journey through the white velvet, always stopping to check behind.He watched his enemy for ages, knowing that at any time he could have ended his life but instead chose to enjoy the moment that clearly brought some light relief amidst the tedium and tension. The soldier continued to crawl as did the disobedient cat, both in the same direction, neither black figure camouflaged in the pure white scene.

Then, without warning, which is probably the norm in war, a huge explosion broke the silence and stray pieces of shrapnel, snow and nature's offerings showered the trench. He clambered down to the safety of his makeshift home until the commotion died and then emerged, rifle still in hand to survey the damage. Through his sights, he could still the cat on the left of the stage, looking back, but on the extreme right of his view lay a crumpled heap. He trained his rifle on the body, disturbed that the one who had provided his entertainment for the previous few minutes was lying motionless. Then he noticed a movement, and then another and slowly the body came to life, untouched and unhurt. He was glad, even though his enemy lay before him that this one way relationship had not been ended. But his joy was short lived, for within seconds, they dragged his own best mate along the trench to where he knelt, his own comrade in the last throws of life, mortally wounded by the recent explosion. Within seconds, the last breath had gone and the realities of war quickly returned. In a brief moment, his anger overwhelmed him and his rifle became fixed on the snowy scene. Within seconds, he had pulled the trigger as all his frustration came pouring out in the direction of the man in the scene. Slowly, the white snow became diffused with red as the helpless soldier collapsed in the soft carpet. The cat suddenly stopped, turned around and walked towards the dying master. With a last stroke of his hand on his pet's head, he breathed no more and lay unmoving in his wintry bed. Now, however the cat, turned his glare on the assassin and began a slow walk towards from where the death bullet had been fired, stopping only a few feet from his new enemy.The soldier, once again intrigued by its appearance, beckoned it to come closer but it refused, constantly fixing its eyes on his but never budging. Inch by inch he emerged from the trench, coaxing and encouraging a possible new pet to join him but there was no response. In one last desperate attempt to win favour, he emerged from the trench and began crawling the few feet towards the creature. Suddenly a sharp crack broke the silence and he fell backwards into the trench, motionless for evermore. The cat, having completed its mission, turned away and made its silent departure, satisfied that justice had been done.

It was a strange, silent story but I couldn't forget it. I was still no closer to sleep but a good deal clearer about a lot of things. I had learnt how in war, sometimes there are no rules and most times we never see the human side of the story. I had learnt that we all have feelings and need to keep them under control. But mostly I learnt that we should pay attention to the mistakes that others make and not make the same errors ourselves. The Psalmist tells me 'though he stumble, he will not fall, for the LORD upholds him with his hand' and also 'my eyes are fixed on you, O Sovereign LORD; in you I take refuge.' I know that the only way to avoid the pitfalls is to keep my eyes fixed on Jesus, the author and finisher of my faith and not to follow the example of anyone else. Keep Him in your sights.