Hook and Bullet

Some religions are philosophical and others are physical. Catholicism falls into both categories but compared to much of modern Christianity is decidedly physical. A faith tradition built on the blood and suffering not only of Christ but the Martyrs of the last two millennia. To be Catholic is to engage in the pain and joys of the world.

No more clearly can this be experienced than in Creation. Now many will argue that the experience of hikers, cyclists, birders, and beach goers is true immersion in nature. I say that’s only partially true. While the first two most certainly entertain a degree of suffering and potential for death, that death is not a certain nor even probable outcome. In contrast, death is a core aspect of the hook and bullet sports. To willingly and enthusiastically seek to either injure or kill a treasured part of God’s Creation is perhaps hypocritical. To deny this is simply dishonest. But even so, millions seek out ducks, fish, deer and squirrels to impose their God given rights on them. A Catholic is called to be a steward of Creation and with that, death is a given. No manager of any natural resource can assure there is no death, but we are called to ensure their deaths are for the greater glory of God.

Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam. With this Jesuit motto in mind, the Catholic sportsman goes afield with the desire to bring an honorable death to his quarry. The duck hunter sets out hours before sunrise with dozens of decoys, perhaps a dog and boat. Thousands of dollars invested in the killing of a migratory bird passes through for a few short weeks each autumn. He may be hunting the marshes, slogging his way through knee deep muck or setting sail on the wicked and angry waters that have taken down 700-foot freighters. He humbly sets himself against nature and lays his own life on the line. He seeks to fool the ever wary and wily birds that have only the desire to survive. They have traveled hundreds if not thousands of miles and survived countless predators, human and otherwise along the way. He seeks to imitate a scene of sanctuary and prosperity. Ideally, they never know he is there until the fateful moment of his trigger pull. How much more does this hunter know and love the mallard or the scaup than the bird watcher who is content just to see the birds passing through? Does the bird watcher bring any glory or honor to these great migrators? The answer is no. To engage with and offer your suffering in exchange for the life of your quarry is the honor bestowed by the hunter upon his prey. Maybe that’s what love is. In a familial sense, as a father I love my children by sacrificing for them. By shedding the proverbial blood, sweat and tears. But of course they also are my greatest source of joy and awe. God so loved the world that he sent His only begotten son to suffer and die for us. No doubt he is also given joy by the many ways in which we honor Him both formal and informal. And so it is that the hunter loves and honors his prey; through his sacrifices of sleep, money, safety and comfort, but also through the joy and exhilaration of the trigger pull and the satisfaction of the most delectable meal.

I find it suitable that blood and love are so intertwined. Of course the heart is the common linkage between the two. The literal engine that drives the blood and the metaphorical if not literal center of love. Why is it that for millennia we as humans have centered the heart as the source of love? Why is it called heartbreak? Why does one’s heart go out in case of tragedy or why do we put our heart into something when giving full effort? I believe it is due to the ordained connection given to us by God. It is why we love those that we share blood with the most. J.D. Vance this past week caused quite the stir with his use of Ordo Amoris when speaking on illegal immigration and foreign aid. He is quite obviously correct in his usage and assessment of this teaching as not only is it enshrined in Catholic teaching but as it comes from Natural Law. Blood binds us to our families in a way that our friends, neighbors, and countrymen never will experience, not to mention foreigners. The blood that binds also can become true of those we shed blood with. For centuries, if not all of human existence, warriors who have fought and suffered together have shared a common bond that is far stronger than can be described by those that haven’t been in that situation. It is in shedding the blood of game that a hunter is bound to his quarry. The love of another is so closely tied to the shedding of blood that I believe it is the key to that love. Hunters know this implicitly if not explicitly. I’d venture to guess that most hunters if surveyed wouldn’t say that the reason they love a particular game animal is because they have killed some number of them. Likely, they’d say they admire the physical beauty, the elusiveness, or the challenge of the hunt. Still others may opine about the quality or quantity of food provided for their family by a deer or duck. I’d argue that deeper than all of this is the blood connection that is made when a life is taken. Shedding the blood of a duck or deer or turkey is the key to love. Without that we may like these animals or admire them, but true love of them is only attained once we have entered into the most deadly of relationships.

To love is to sacrifice. We must not lose sight of this in our modern age of “love is love” messaging. I believe that the surest reminder we have available to us is the role in which blood plays. We must remember this at all times and be willing to spill our own in defense of those things we do love.

St. Hubert and St. Andrew, Ora Pro Nobis.