“That can’t be safe” were the first words that left my mouth when I saw them.
They weren’t in a cage or behind a fence. They weren’t tied to a post or restrained in any way. After a morning spent walking through beautiful butterfly gardens and a sanctuary of hummingbirds in a nature park in Costa Rica, I was not expecting to turn the corner and see two 2,000 pound oxen.
Sanson and Hercules stood next to their caretaker and under their yoke. Yes, Sanson, not Samson. I’m not sure if this was intentional or lost in translation.
Pulling an oxcart adorned in the traditional Costa Rican design, these oxen stood for pictures as children and tourists moved around them. The hand-painted designs were adored by all. The oxcart is Costa Rica’s national symbol, and both locals and visitors find joy in the bright colors of the country’s history.
But I had already seen an oxcart on display. I had watched the painters meticulously draw their intricate designs two days earlier. There was an oxcart wheel hanging in the apartment I was housed in that I passed by every morning. So I was more concerned with the wild animals than those around me who were entranced by the vibrant colors.
At any moment, they could deny the commands of their trainer and destroy everything in their path. Being yoked together, they would have the force of two oxen instead of one as they crashed into the crowds admiring their power and beauty. I stopped literally in my tracks, not sure whether I should go further or not. And I’m not typically one whose mind focuses on what can go wrong! I love nature, I love zoos, and I love discovering new things and seeing how the world works. From the smallest ant carrying a leaf four times its size to the largest whale breaching the water’s surface. I tend to see the wonder, majesty, and awe of creation, focusing on that first. At least I did, until my eyes fell upon this pair of pointed horns bigger than my arms. Adoration was no longer viable in my mind, replaced by fear and concern.
I watched for a moment before making my way down the hill to get a closer look. People came and went. They waited in lines to take their photos, then dispersed to see the dairy cow or get a cup of coffee at the casita nearby. I watched the oxen be unbothered by the crowds around them. They would lift their heads on command, and pull forward or backward to readjust the oxcart when prompted. They respected their caretaker, and he seemed to respect them even more.
He would ensure their heads were raised under the heavy yoke when a new group of people came to snap a photo. He wanted them to look their best for the onlookers and their photos–proud and strong, powerful and purposeful.
His handling of Sanson drew me in. I became more curious than I was scared. So I came closer.
I didn’t speak the handler’s language, but we made eye contact and he could sense I respected these beasts, too. He invited me to get even closer. Then closer. And he gestured for me to touch Sanson’s horn.
I did.
I was close enough now to see Sanson’s muscle definition, eyelashes, and even his sweat. The power that at first kept me away was drawing me in, and it was now much harder to resist.
I held in my hand something that could easily destroy me. Even as I write about it now, my heart feels like it’s moving both slower and faster simultaneously. How can something so big and stron be so gentle and submissive? How can something with the power to maim so easily resist the urge to do so? These horns were made for a very specific purpose, but it’s not the main purpose of the animal. Oxen are known for carting coffee across the volcanic mountains, sandy beaches, and lush valleys of Costa Rica as they have for centuries. The ox actually very rarely uses its horns even though they are its most identifiable feature.
After a few moments, I let go of Sanson’s horn and moved to the side, making way for more tourists and photos. I watched in admiration with a new appreciation for the power I just held. I meandered on to the next display, some farm animals grazing on hay. My mind was quickly distracted by the other exhibits, and I moved on.
Finishing the farm loop, I came back to where the oxen stood strong, but to my surprise they were no longer there. They had been moved into their enclosure and the yoke was removed. Their yoke and harness were not like a leash and collar separated into two pieces. They were all connected, so when the yoke came off, so did everything else. Sanson and Hercules stood behind their fence naked–truly wild, unruled, and held back by nothing… Not even the fence! From my viewpoint they were enclosed, but moving to the front of it, the gate was open! Two completely unrestrained oxen.
The trainer scratched Sanson’s neck where the ropes had been and the beast closed its eyes and leaned into it, much like a dog. Then he looked up and gestured for me to once again move forward into the enclosure to pet Sanson. We stood side-by-side and rested in the shade together. I patted him as if to say “Good job posing for those tourists” and he let me as if to say, “Thank you.”
The fear that had previously held me back was still present, but in a different way. I felt afraid and safe. I knew Sanson’s power, but I knew his purpose, too. I wasn’t a threat to him, and he wasn’t a threat to me.
It’s easy to be scared of what’s unfamiliar, unknown altogether, or misunderstood. It’s easy to assume the worst when confronted with something we have no history with. Without previous experience or relational equity, trust might not come easily.
But that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t.
Sanson didn’t do anything to deserve my distrust. He didn’t harm me or anyone else in my presence. He just existed as he was supposed to–as he was created to.
How many people, places, and organizations do we fear simply because we don’t know them? There are some things we know are bad without having any personal experience with–poison ivy, for example. But when our default response is judgment or unfounded fear, we more often than not miss out on something incredible, like holding the horn of a 2,000 pound oxen.
I invite you to embrace wonder, in curiosity and in awe, the next time you’re confronted with something new or unknown. In curiosity, we ask questions like “I wonder what this means?” and in awe we behold the wonder of what’s in front of us. Even if you’re feeling afraid, consider your fear might just be due to a lack of information.
Do this and you may gratefully find yourself in an enclosure with an unrestrained ox.
