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On the first Sunday of Lent, 2012, Freedom died. And it was the violent and sickening death of Freedom that showed me the beauty of Peace, Love and Humanity.
Freedom, a nine year old registered thoroughbred gelding with impeccable confirmation, beauty and temperament, was the victim of inhumanity to the utmost measure. Standing 16.1 hands tall, with what horse owners fondly refer to as a “soft eye”, Freedom was my dream horse. And his only sin was being owned by a man who didn’t care.
Horses, especially thoroughbreds, are prone to abscesses of the hoof in winter time. Debris, nails, broken glass, rocks and other items can puncture the bottom of the hoof and cause a painful infection, which if left untreated can enter the blood, infect the bone, and cause unimaginable pain. I watched Freedom suffer three abscesses in the months I lived on the ranch. I also watched his owner, my landlord, shrug his shoulders and do nothing for the horse. So, in my compassion for all living creatures, I took Freedom under my wing. I hired and paid for a ferrier to come out to the ranch and trim Freedom’s hoofs, drain the abscess and take away the pain. I fed and watered him, stalled him, and tried to help him. But on a tight budget, I couldn’t afford the pain killers, or the other supplies to knock the abscess out.
As a compromise, I asked the owner if I could search for a new home for Freedom, where he could have a job, and a family to love him. Freedom was trained impeccably, and had been a winner in the fox hunting circle before falling into the hands of the owner of the ranch. I found the perfect match for Freedom, a 14 year old hunter jumper named Taylor. The moment she met Freedom, she saw what I saw – a diamond in the rough.
She and her mom took Freedom to the vet to get his feet looked at, and sadly the X-rays told a woeful story. Freedom’s abscess and lack of care had been going on far longer than the few months I had been helping him. Years. His hoof wall was filled with debree due to no one taking the time to soak his infected feed. There was swelling and scar tissue. The outcome was that Freedom could get better, but would have cronic problems, and would need constant monitoring of the feet. He did have a good outlook however, if someone would take the time to let him heal.
Unfortunately, Taylor and her mom didn’t feel that they were in a financial position to give Freedom what he deserved, or to take the gamble to undo what his owner had done to him. They brought him back to the ranch in tears.
I met them at the barn and helped unload Freedom. We all cried, and in our anger, expressed how shameful it was for his owner to treat his horses so poorly. Choice words were said, and unfortunately overheard by the landowners 15 year old step daughter. The stepdaughter in turn used our words as ammunition that evening, as she agreed that his cruelty to animals was wrong, and fought with the owner.
At around ten that evening I got a phone call from the owner. His voice was angry, and he told me how his step daughter was lecturing him about his lack of care toward the horse, and he didn’t appreciate that I had poisoned her with these thoughts. He then announced that Freedom would be put down the following day, and that I was to remove my horses from his property as soon as possible or suffer the consequences.
The following day, I rounded up my two horses and put them in a safe pasture where I could monitor them. I found Freedom happy in the back pasture, albeit in pain. He greeted me and softly nuzzled me, let me scratch his head and neck. I didn’t know it would be the last time I saw Freedom.
At three in the afternoon, I heard a shot. I ran to the big window of my cottage and looked toward the sound. The land owner had brought all the horses to the pasture directly in front of my house, deliberately bringing them into view of my window. He had shot Freedom, but in his anger and haste had failed to put the magnificent animal down. Freedom’s eyes were wild, his head tossing in agony, blood spurting from his face and neck. He struggled to get away from his owner, unable to find the strength to run. The dogs ran away from the scene in fear, and the rest of the heard smelled the blood and began to pace and snort . I ran onto the porch and started sobbing, the only words that could escape my mouth were, “Dear Jesus, no. You sick son of a bitch, how could you do this?”
Then the owner stabbed Freedom. Freedom began to bleed out, and his head hung low. The owner tied a rope around Freedoms head and staked it down, and one more shot later, the most beautiful horse I had ever seen crumpled under his own weight. The shot rang out in my ears and I sobbed into my hands.
As if he had just won a victory, the land owner left, coming back with a long strap which he tied around the animal’s body, and he drug the horse behind his station wagon, over a gravel road and dumped it into a pit, bruising the flesh and leaving a trail of blood.
My anger boiled, and my sadness at his inhumanity overwhelmed me. I could not understand why or how any human being could do such a thing. The most common synonyms for the word “humanity” are sympathy, tenderness, and goodwill. And yet I had just witnessed a human act out of vindictiveness and hate, deliberately killing a creature for no other reason than power and punishment, and deliberately positioning the killing in front of me so I would suffer. He had not put Freedom down out of tenderness or sympathy to keep him from suffering. And he had not done so swiftly and painlessly. It was a true act of Inhumanity.
I fled the property, the image of Freedom’s crumpled body fresh in my mind. I went to mass, where I screamed up at the crucifix, “How can you allow these terrible things to happen?”
And God answered me. Freedom paid for the sins of his owner today. He was innocent, perfect, beautiful. Think now how I paid for the sins of all humanity. Think of the Roman soldiers, and their vindictive hateful torture of me. Imagine the pain you felt watching that beautiful creature fall, and magnify it by my twelve disciples and my mother as they watched me get dragged to my death, beaten and bleeding, defeated by this “humanity” that I love so greatly. You must understand the true meaning of what was done to me. You must understand the hate, the motivation behind my death, and yet I still chose to die. Your tears for Freedom are real. Your emotion is real. Your love is real. You are fighting all this hate with love.
At the end of mass, the priest spoke the familiar words, “go in peace and love…” I wondered how one person going out into the world in peace and love could ever make a difference. How many more Freedom’s must die? How many more people must live not as humans, but as inhumans. I thought of the disciples hiding together in a locked room, mourning the loss of their beloved friend. They were afraid to go into the world in love and peace at first. They were afraid of the evil, the hate, the vindictive nature of the ones who despised God so much they would torture and kill him.
And in that moment, God gave me the strength to lean on his death. As Jesus plead for all humanity saying, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do (Luke 23:34)” I know now that going in peace and love truly means loving all humanity, in its humanity and in its inhumanity, as Jesus did. What greater price to pay is there, than death? And what greater way is there to conquer this than by loving and fostering peace?
Even in his death Freedom was beautiful, showing me what it means to love. Even in His death, Jesus conquered hate, torture, anger, and inhumanity. What more is there for us as Christians to do then truly go in peace and love?
Freedom, you are truly free now. I will miss you, and I love you.
