Riding the Coat-Tails of the Snake Crusher
Most Australians live in ambivalent disregard to the fact that we are surrounded by nine of the top ten most venomous snakes in the world; we either just don’t care, or we are morbidly proud of this deadly statistic. Guests to our nation ask in horror, “Is it true?”—and we smile with a wry pride that lingers beneath our understated response, “Yep.”
As our mild Winter slips toward the South, Spring releases a whisper on the wind that our snakes cannot resist. As August folds away, and September finds its stride, untold serpents emerge from their hidden places seeking the sun. Snake season is upon us.
Australia is a big country, filled with unique and unusual animals, some of which are designed with a phenomenal ability to kill you. Tourists look at us aghast as we inform them, “Watch out for snakes, mate, you’ll be dead in 45 minutes if you get bitten by one.” Yet while that may be true, and while our stories of snakes are filled with languid bravado, come snake season, my phone starts to run off the hook.
You see, I’m a bi-vocational pastor. In the morning you’ll find me preaching the gospel (or getting ready to do so), while later in the day, you may find me crawling around under a house, or picking my way through someones shed, or digging around in the manure of a chicken pen. When I’m not pastoring, I’m snake catching. I turned a hobby into a small business, fulfilled the necessary requirements to maintain a license to handle these lethal animals, and have a bit of fun along the way.
We’re a nation that love the reputation of having so many lethal snakes, but we don’t so much love the reality of having those snakes share our living rooms. These animals awaken a primal fear, remind us of our unstable grip on mortality, and leave many shaking with unashamed terror at the thought of facing these silent killers. Even for me, someone who has handled snakes most of my life, am trained to do so, and engage with them on almost a daily basis—the awareness of my own frailty is never far from mind as I’m about to engage with a snake that could easily kill me. A quick glance over the stats my watch offers at the end of the day lets me know just when my heart rate peaked, and it always does so in unison with the times of day I was hanging off the tail-end of an Eastern Brown, or peeling back a sheet of iron to see the all too familiar flash of red and black.
Apart from the fact that I enjoy catching snakes, and it offers a strange outlet for me to work with my hands after a long day of pastoral work—that often has few measurable outcomes—I just enjoy walking into someone’s life and helping to bring order. We all know that we’re surrounded by snakes, we live in Australia after all, but we live in a faux confidence that is quickly undone the moment the danger moves from theory to reality. When the snake out there suddenly (and literally) turns up on our doorstep, many people begin to fall apart. My job is to bring order into a chaotic situation.
I’ve long loved the image presented in Genesis 3, that hint and foreshadow of the Messiah—a saviour who would come through the lineage of Mary, the one who would feel the strike of the serpent, but who would ultimately crush his enemy beneath his bleeding heel. Rightfully we look to Jesus. Rightfully we gaze at the spectre of the Cross; we see Satan pit himself against our Saviour, we see his fury unleashed, we see the horror of the Son taking the stripes we deserve and suffering the death that was our due wage.
The heel was pricked.
But then the hammer of God’s wrath fell in a way Satan had not foreseen. The heel that was bleeding fell in fury on the snake that bared his teeth.
Colossians 2:14–15 (CSB) He erased the certificate of debt, with its obligations, that was against us and opposed to us, and has taken it away by nailing it to the cross. He disarmed the rulers and authorities and disgraced them publicly; he triumphed over them in him.
The snake struck, but the sting of death and grave was disarmed.
But I’m not Jesus. I’m no snake crusher. Yet even as I pastor, and even as I step into the disorder of chaotic lives, even as I listen to the broken, or bring peace to the fearful, I ride the coat-tails of the one who defeated death. I can’t bring life, but I can point to it. Even as I walk into a stranger’s home, hear the fear in their voice, hunt for the slippery invader, in some small way I can echo the ministry of Jesus. He’s asked us all to do this, to be ministers of reconciliation, to reflect the hope and peace he brings, and to step into chaos and be a vessel of order that only Christ can offer.
You don’t need to be a snake-catcher to do this, or even a pastor for that matter, you just need to ride the coat-tails of the snake crusher. You just need to walk where Jesus walked. You just need to love the people around you. You simply have to point people to him.
