A few years back, my wife, Mari, was driving home from a non-profit fundraising banquet. Just before she pulled into our driveway, she spotted – and smelled – a dead skunk on our side property. Obviously, it had been the victim of a hit-and-run. Who wouldn’t? – run, that is. In addition to informing me, she added this most unwelcome request: “Tomorrow, would you please remove the carcass so our property doesn’t stink?” “Really?!” My natural instink was to make up any excuse I could fabricate to dodge this unenviable task. Bummer! I came up empty. I couldn’t drum up a single, credible escape clause – and not that I didn’t try.
The next morning I had a meeting first thing, so there was no way I was going to risk absorbing some of that odor onto my clothing; I’d wait ‘til I returned home. But when I passed the little stinker, did I see him move ever so slightly? Upon entering our house, I changed into my grubbiest of grubby jeans, then headed straight for the garage. I grabbed a shovel and our wheelbarrow. Then I courageously set out on my quest to save the environment. Sure enough, as I approached our uninvited squatter, he lifted his pretty little head and stared at me as though challenging, “I dare you to take one more step. You do, and I’ll make one big stink.” I didn’t dare. I went back into the house to tell Mari of the unexpected status change. It took all my persuasive skill to deter her from pulling out her 357 Magnum. Instead, we called the police to resolve our problem – and his misery.
So you’re reading this and wondering, “What in the world does a near-dead skunk have anything to do with what I could possible preach on this Sunday morning?” Well I encourage you to come out to find out and hear the sermon I’ve entitled, “Dead AND Alive.”
