By Peter Versteeg –
This year, as Christmas approached, I felt a strong urge to visit a church. An advertisement in a vegan deli shop caught my eye: a “Peace Liturgy for Animals.” Perfect for my long-eared mind and soul, I decided.
The church was nestled along a canal in the older west side of the city. Inside, the room was filled with people. Stalls offering sweets, vegan products, and information from activist groups lined the space. At the front, on the pulpit, an obituary was displayed. It read: “We are deeply shocked by the untimely death of 163,000 goats and sheep, 170,000 cows, 386,000 turkeys and pheasants…” The list continued, totaling over 105 million animals killed for meat each year in this country. Even I, a relatively well-informed long-eared companion, was shocked by the sheer number.
An elderly man, who bore an uncanny resemblance to a Protestant minister, started the service with a solemn tone. He spoke of commemorating the animals—the slaughtered, the suffering, the dying—victims of a massive extinction industry driven by human greed. He lamented the lack of peace on earth for animals and questioned our compassion at the Christmas dinner table. He urged us to see animals as beings with their own rights and existence, worthy of themselves. However, he said, the service was not just about mourning, but also about dreaming of peace on earth for all living beings.
A reading followed—a parable from a lesser-known human Bible: When God created a heaven for animals, he was dissatisfied because they didn’t understand the harmony of the place. They just ate and procreated without questioning their reality. Bored by this lack of admiration and praise, God decided to turn the animals into humans. But the animals found humans terrible creatures and they resisted God’s decision. Thus they captured God and drowned him. In this utopian animal heaven, neither God nor humans existed—a reminder that utopias often involve some form of exclusionary violence.
Several human animal activists gave talks throughout the service. One presented a vision of a future where animals were included in society: no longer seen as products but as beings in and of themselves. Others shared testimonies of small initiatives, such as support for city pigeons and a project for saving and adopting laying hens that were “no longer productive.”
As the organizers explained, since this wasn’t a religious service, there were no prayers for the animals. Instead, intentions were expressed, encouraging compassion, perseverance in the struggle for animals, and consolation for those whose empathy with suffering creatures made them sad. A pianist played contemplative music, and there was a moment of silence to reflect on animals in agony.
Concluding the event, the old “minister” posed profound questions: What kind of human do we want to be? How far does our humanity extend? Can we show compassion and respect that will include animals in our horizon of understanding? He suggested that we become more-than-humanitarian—creaturitarian—by connecting with animals as family and kin. We don’t eat our family; we cherish them. This growing recognition could lead to an intimate dialogue between humans and animals.
As I left the church, we greeted each other—some humans seemed too embarrassed to look me in the eyes, others were surprised. Walking along the canal, I pondered my earlier question: What is sacred to this audience of human beings? I realized it must be the animal itself as it stood in the center of the service, whilst the celebrants continuously stressed that we had to see animals in their animalness. The ultimate taboo is to consume or exploit the animal as this denies its essence and turns it into an object.
To engage with this sacred, humans must discover their common creatureliness with the animal and take responsibility for liberating the latter. Just like a lamb led to slaughter, the sacred is first recognized in its vulnerability as a victim before being elevated to its true state as a creature with its own being and understanding. Human redemption lies in understanding human responsibility in this victimhood, which makes it possible to liberate these vulnerable beings and recognize their animal essence beyond their objectification. Human sins are not washed away by the sacrifice of the animal but through humans becoming aware of their active partaking in it and eventually, having become aware, saving the sacrificial animal.
The moral imperative is a more-than-human ethics of life—creaturitarianism—which brought these humans together and made them into a Church. “Let animals be animals” is their foundational commandment—a rule I felt I had to break to share it with you, dear reader. May you remember this plea when you slice whatever is on your plate.
Peter Versteeg teaches Cultural Anthropology.