Mouse under car

There is an image that floated around the internet for a little while. It’s of a mouse that crawled over some sort of electrical control panel, his little body spanning positive and negative connections, killing him instantly and horrifically.  This image is often accompanied by text: living his life to the best of his ability, he was obliterated through no mistake of his own by forced far beyond anything he could conceive of: you are more like him than you are not.

I think about that mouse a lot.

I think about that mouse when I watch Archie complain about getting in the car.

I think about that mouse when I get a headache from using the internet too much.

I think about that mouse when I get distracted by my phone instead of singing songs with Roby.

I think about that mouse when I over eat.

I think about that mouse when I’m mean to people.

Fundamentally my religious faith is constructed around the simple idea that I am that mouse, and Jesus and the gospel were somehow miraculously not. That God, a divine being with True insight and True context has, in His mercy, provided me, a mouse, with a flashing red sign directing me away from things like breaker boxes.

I do not need to understand electricity in order to benefit from avoiding direct contact with it. The emergent properties of what the church names sin are as outside our ability to understand as electrocution is to a mouse.

We oughta just listen.