(c)2010 Don Detrick
“Opossum Resuscitation”—there it was, on page two of today’s Seattle Times. I don’t know about you, but a title like that gets my attention. The story told of a Brookville, Pennsylvania man who was charged with public drunkenness after he was seen trying to resuscitate a long-dead opossum along a highway about 65 miles northeast of Pittsburgh. Sparse details for such a teasing title. Something about the human imagination cries out for more information. I’d love to know the rest of the story. Then again, maybe not.
I have lived long enough to observe countless aberrant behaviors of inebriated souls. Nevertheless, it is difficult to imagine the degree of intoxication that would drive a grown man to attempt CPR or worse yet, mouth to mouth resuscitation on a long-dead possum. What was he thinking? Oh, yes, he probably was not thinking. And what would you think if you were driving along and suddenly came upon a smashed man by the side of the road trying to blow air into an equally smashed possum? You must admit, there is a certain tragic irony and humor in the story.
Growing up on a farm, I had the opportunity to observe countless possums, as they are usually called by those accustomed to less-formal nomenclature. Even though they have the distinction of being the only North American marsupial with a prehensile tail, they simply do not generate warm and fuzzy feelings for me. Raccoons or chipmunks seem cute and snuggly--possums, not so much.
I have had close encounters with them both dead and alive. In neither state are they particularly appealing. When threatened, a live possum will bare his teeth in an ugly display that is enough to frighten off most human opponents. He certainly has the capability to defeat and kill a smaller creature. One of the most heartbreaking stories of our family involves the tragic night when a killer possum clutched our children’s beloved “Miss Kitty” from the patio. By the time we heard the kitten’s cries for help it was too late, as we watched the possum’s jaws of death crush our family’s beloved pet and drag her into the woods for a late night snack.
As a boy I often observed our dogs corner a possum. The same flash of teeth and ferocious snarl was quickly followed by the possum’s best defense—playing dead, or as we called it, “playing possum.” King was a hunting dog and I never saw him back down from a fight with any creature. But a possum could fool him every time. As soon as the body went limp, with all appearance of life gone—breathing and heartbeat barely discernable—King simply walked away. As far as he was concerned, the game was over. The possum fooled him every time. We’d walk away, and once the threat of danger was absent, the possum would make his escape. For these reasons, I’ve never trusted a possum.
Possums appear especially despicable as road kill because both the sight and smell sicken the senses. A person normally feels repelled by the sight of carrion, getting close or touching it seems out of the question. That is, unless you are drunk enough to believe that you have the power to resurrect one—because intelligent and logical people know that it is a biological impossibility to raise any once-living creature from the dead. I suppose that is why I ask, what was the drunken man thinking? Is there some latent desire in all of us to be able to obtain or grant immortality—if only to a dead possum?
In the natural world, death is final and the image of a man trying to revive a dead possum seems ridiculous, because it is. But within every human being is that latent desire for immortality, questions about eternal life, a longing to answer the nagging question, “Is this life all there is?” Thankfully, there is an answer.
Like possums, human beings can behave in despicable ways. Our inebriated possum-reviving friend provides a good example. Like possums, we have a tendency to bare our fangs and act duplicitously whenever it is convenient for us to do so. Frankly, I have observed depths of human depravity that would nearly rival the appearance of a dead possum. But in spite of this, God reached down to us and Jesus came to provide eternal life. When our chances of resurrection seemed as hopeless as a drunken man trying to resurrect a dead possum, Jesus came and gave his life. He rose from the dead so that we might live. These verses offer hope:
“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8 NIV)
“For I will live again, and you will, too. When I am raised to life again, you will know that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you.” (John 14:19-20 NLT)
"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.” (John 3:16-17 NIV)
Honestly, I have no idea what the drunken man was thinking when he tried to revive the long-dead possum. Whatever it was, I doubt the answer would make much sense, nor would it make any difference. But to know what God was thinking when he sent Jesus, and what that means to me—that makes all the difference both now and forever.
So the next time you see a dead possum by the side of the road, rather than your typical response of, “yuck,” maybe this story will serve as a reminder that there is hope of eternal life through Jesus Christ. And if I were you, I’d just keep on going and leave the possum alone.
