Having lived in my new neighborhood for a year now, I can say with certainty that it is a superb place to be. Quiet is generally the order of the day. Neighbors are unfailingly friendly. Additionally, being on the way to nowhere in particular, one must have a compelling reason to travel down our road. This means that I am more likely to encounter someone on foot enjoying a stroll than a noisy interloper driving a car. In fact, the area is sufficiently serene and close to nature that the number of deer I see some days easily outnumbers the tally of automobiles.
And therein lies a problem—a problem I know many of you face and can easily empathize with me over: The deer have eaten my hostas.
For the uninitiated, hostas are flowering plants of substantial foliage and beauty that happen to adorn many of the yards in my neighborhood paradise. My particular patch of hostas had only just begun to bloom when to my dismay, I came out one morning to find that all—not one, not five, but all of the freshly unfurled hosta leaves were gone. Stripped clean, as though cut with a jagged knife, sap stains still marring their pathetically truncated stems.
The culprits? A marauding band of the aforementioned deer, and they had clearly declared war against my yard’s floral grandeur (other neighbors have since suffered similar intrusions). This naturally has brought disquieting existential questions to my mind: When will the deer attack next? What garden delight will soon meet the denuding scourge of the deer’s cud? O, how quickly the heavenly pleasures of American suburbia can be thrust into the hellish realities of horticultural war!
Okay, full disclosure: I wasn’t actually that upset. Neither my wife nor I will be taking guard duty shifts in the flower beds any time soon, nor will we be mounting a counterinsurgency against the roving herds of deer. But it is nonetheless disappointing to see chomped hostas in this otherwise bucolic setting.
And…isn’t this one of the blessings that many of us enjoy on this planet? We can afford to be irked at chomped hostas, precisely because the scale of real persecution we face is blessedly low.
Have the blessings of modernity and successful international diplomacy made us soft?
Sobering reality
This is not everyone’s reality. Recently, while traveling overseas, I had the sobering privilege of hearing the stories of a small group of Adventist church leaders from a genuinely war-torn part of the earth. Dying soldiers, the smoke of razed buildings, flying missiles and deadly bullets—all are part of their near-daily lives. They had managed to leave their country to be at the same meetings I was, but were required to return in only a few days. The joy on their faces at being even temporarily in a physically safe place was palpable. Yet their testimony of God’s provision was clear: War had challenged their faith, but by no means broken it. On the contrary, they still trusted in God, still believed in God’s Word, and were returning soon, bullets or not, to minister where God had called them to be. At the end of their presentation, they received a solemn, heartfelt standing ovation. Mine were not the only eyes that were damp. It was deeply stirring. I was honored to be among them.
All of which makes mangled hostas seem imminently manageable, doesn’t it?
We, of course, must be careful not to portray comfortable suburbanites as incorrigibly shallow. Capable warriors for Christ live in idealic enclaves as well as in war zones. But stories of Adventists in less peaceful climes nonetheless call us to reflect. Have the blessings of modernity and successful international diplomacy made us soft? How dear, really, do we hold our faith in Christ, our belief in the gospel, in the three angels’ messages? Would we risk life and limb for their propagation? Or are leafless hostas sufficient to bring our comfort-addled souls to despair—or at least perpetual distraction?
If I read Revelation 13 correctly, war in some form will be coming to all of us sooner or later, whether in the U.S. or abroad. Deer and hostas will be the least of our concerns then. May those who contend with flying bullets now continue to be steadfast in their faith. And may those who face far lesser threats be diligent in growing an immovable allegiance to Christ, as well.
