Martin Luther best observed that in each of us dwells a saint and sinner. Our soul is in a constant struggle and sometimes those two sides meet. Mine did so the night before Thanksgiving.
We had gone to the pre-Thanksgiving church service and I was enjoying the annual post-pre-Thanksgiving church service pie fest, when my middle child, 7-year-old Sam, approached me with great excitement. “Dad, there is something really gross that you will want to take a picture of. Come with me, quick.”
Hesitant, but intrigued, and against my better judgment, I followed Sam. Looking back, I should have asked a few questions. I should have given it some thought, but instead I followed. Curious, just like a cat, but instead I saw a bat.
Yes, up a flight of stairs, a brown bat was perched against a wall. Passing the dozen or so onlookers, I knew what had to be done. Three years ago, we had some bats enter our home, so I knew the adversary and I knew how to defeat him. I was not looking forward to the moment, but rather I knew I could get the job done. The bat would need to be stunned and removed from the building. Upon its exit, it would be up to the bat’s survival skills and chance to determine its fate. One thing was for sure, no one wanted that bat to stay put and start a family.
Hurrying into the church kitchen, I grabbed a grocery sack. Between the sack and my size 11½ dress shoe, I had all I needed. With Sam following close behind, I ascended the stairs to meet the bat. Then I remembered Sam’s request for a photo and this is where the worlds collided. Rather than simply take a picture of the bat, I positioned myself into the picture. A sort of Batman in the literal sense selfie. This my regret. This my sin. My sinful goofy nature prompted me to yuck it up. Rather than just get the job done, I reveled in the moment. I had become a nuisance ridding jerk. A sort of Orkin Army wanna be comedian. A pitiful shell of humanity versus a creature that had stumbled into the wrong place.
Stowing my camera and before the crowd of onlookers, I swatted Churchy McBat with my shoe. Falling to the ground, I hit him a few more times to ensure he was adequately stunned. Scooping him into the bag, with a sanitary style developed through countless doggie cleanup calls in the backyard, I secured him and headed for the exit.
Overall I had done the right thing (Saint), since very few people want a bat flying over their head during church, but instead of a flawless execution, I hammed it up (Sinner) and brought myself down in the process. I was not Batman and I certainly did not deserve a cape and cowl. Humility is desirable in the face of confrontation, even if you happen to be taking on a winged creature of the night. Saint tarnished by sinner. Bat confronted by man.
Next time, stow the camera at home, Big Game Hunter.