Carnivore

Recently, due to dietary issues, I broke my lifelong vegetarianism. It has been no easy task. To think of eating blood, muscle tissue and skin along with blood vessels and other parts of animals was an aesthetic challenge I wasn’t sure I could tackle. Desperation drove me over the edge, however, and, slowly, very slowly, I’m acclimatizing. Starting with chicken nuggets, well done in a George Foreman grill, I’ve tried Jimmy Dean sausage patties (so, so, but lots of fat); sliced roast beef in a sandwich; hot dogs (not my cup of tea); barbecue chicken legs (yuck); buffalo (one of the best); deep-fried alligator (what isn’t good when it’s deep fried?); turkey bacon (it won’t hurt my feelings if I don’t have it again); real bacon (pretty good except having to dispose of all the fat). I know there’s a whole world of other meats, cuts and ways to fix meat which I will eventually explore (well, maybe not sea food like lobsters, crabs and crustaceans-there is still boundary). My vegetarianism began as a religious tenet. I debated issues such as: “If I were starving to death in a desert and a pig happened to stand still in front of me long enough for me to kill it, would I eat it?” This question was posed as a salvation issue as my then-denomination condemned eating pork, shellfish, buzzards and other things Moses laws prohibited. Later, it became a health issue as vegetarianism became recognized as the healthier diet. The first time I ate ham, I was a first-time guest in a home where a small home church group met. The gracious hostess served a delicious split-pea soup with diced ham in it. She, free from the law, gave it to me unknowingly. I ate it purposefully, violating my tradition and showing my rejection of living under the law. It was a moment of triumph for me. Later, when I mentioned it in the group, my hostess was embarrassed, thinking that I had eaten it out of respect for her, which, though true, was the lesser of my reasons. But an even more surprising revelation has come to me. Native Americans, along with many other cultures, give thanks to the spirit of the animal they slay for food, giving thanks for the gift of life they believe the animal has given them. Though I’m not an animist, a strong sense of the life of one being sacrificed for me. A vegetable has no fear of death; no pain in its cutting. An animal suffers. I am in its debt. I find myself thanking the Giver more for my food, recognizing a larger, more painful gift from Him who feels all pain. And, even deeper, an increased recognition of that sacrifice of all sacrifices, the one that absorbed all pains and losses into itself; that encompasses all sin, all sorrow, all suffering and returns peace to us in forgiveness and reconciliation. And the dietary issue? Much better, thanks to the sacrifice of cow and pig and chicken. Perhaps, someday, I may even learn to enjoy that which you have given. 7/26/13