Ok, let’s just start with the immediate. Ukraine and Russia are still at bloody war. Israel and Hamas are at war yet again, civilians caught in the middle, babies and children among them. White supremacists are boldly spreading their toxicity all over our country. Congo and Somalia are a mess, and it’s not even getting into the news because there’s no room for it with all the other messes on the radar. There are entire states banning books like “To Kill A Mockingbird” and “Fahrenheit 451.” People are afraid to read stuff I did book reports on, for heaven’s sake. Congregations across the country are weaponizing faith with their “God and Guns” rhetoric. Our governing officials are more interested in being at each other’s throats than addressing the needs of the nation. Polarity is the norm.
And it’s only Tuesday.
When I take this to God in prayer, I start the list of wrongs with a “Please help…” I feel afraid, on edge, small and vulnerable and impotent to make any meaningful change. I find myself wanting to pull the covers over my head and roll over back into the pillows.
But having covers and pillows is a reminder to me of the millions who don’t have that luxury, and then guilt and embarrassment is added to the list of feelings.
I read Isaiah 55:12… “You shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the fields shall clap their hands.”
For a moment, I say, “Yeah, right. In your dreams.That was then, this is now. And we’ve still learned nothing at all.”
Then my attention is caught by the sparrows outside my window, fussing around the feeder. Another passage comes to mind. “Don’t be afraid. You are worth more than many sparrows.” (Matt. 10:31)
That passage always made me smile, both because of its poetry and because, really, it’s such a low bar. Jesus doesn’t say the disciples are worth more than temple gold, or a bag of money or a stable of war horses or the jewels of the king. He says they are worth more than sparrows. Kinda like saying you mean more to me than this slice of cheese pizza.
Well, thank you, Mr. Jesus. I feel so much better.
I keep watching the sparrows to see what they are going to teach me today. And that’s when I notice…
They constantly bicker and shoo each other away from the feeder, yet they all manage to get something to eat. They stay in a flock, and I see that there is always at least one looking out for danger; after all, almost everything bigger than them eats them, except for us. They chatter constantly, who knows what they are saying, (probably cussing each other out) and it sounds cheerful and pleasing. They are plain, mostly brown and white, which makes them safely hidden in bushes and trees for the most part. They all look virtually alike until you really look close; then you see a smattering of speckles on this one, a blotch of chocolate brown on that one, a wonky feather on that one’s head. They are all unique after all. Sometimes there is a dead one that died crashing into a window, or succumbing to the neighbor’s cat, and the sight always makes me sad because in that stillness of death I see the little amber jewels they really are. They are common, quarrelsome, messy, noisy, selfish, and quietly beautiful. I really enjoy the glamor of a stellar jay or a flicker at the feeder, but I rely on the sparrows to let me know the seed is still good and hasn’t rotted in the rain.
I need that community of sparrows to remind me that the world is hard and mean and cruel, and also beautiful and spacious and bountiful. I need them to remind me that death is everywhere, but so is the whole wide sky to leap into with stubby wings. I need the sparrows to remind me that I won’t understand why there is still war and pain and evil and why, why, somehow, I am spared almost all of it, at no merit of my own. I don’t begrudge them their night perches and the quiet intimacy of their sleep. I want them all to be forever safe, well fed and happy, and I know I can’t possibly make that happen for them, or for anyone. They, like all of us, must die.
But I can put out a feeder. I can learn from their community. I can observe how they are with each other in the flock, and wonder what I can do in my own flock, my own small place in the world. I can take comfort in their occasional clumsy fluttering, because if these tiny masters of the sky can flounder, I certainly can expect myself to do far worse without the world coming to an end.
And if it does come to an end, as all things do eventually, I look to the sparrows for their clear, animal insight.
Stay with the others, do what I can. Return to what nourishes as often and as soon as possible. Listen always, life depends on it. Be watchful without panicking. Know the difference between a squabble and an assault. Forgive the occasional insult, because we all need to be at the feeder to survive. Even if grudgingly, make room. Keep an eye out for hawks. Know where safety is found. Let the present moment inform my actions. I do not live in the future, only in the now. Never think of myself as an eagle, because that’s just ridiculous. Don’t pose to be what I clearly am not. And don’t forget the value of what I really am. Recognize that I am small, but not unimportant. And neither is any other sparrow or soul.
The world is huge and often terrifying. My place in it is miniscule, and my understanding even more so. The wars will rage. Evil persists. Perhaps someday I will find myself on the front line of a war. Hopefully I will do more than hide, that the lessons learned now will make me more bravely human then. But until then, I watch the “sparrows” of this world for wisdom given out freely, and pray that I am awake enough to learn from them.
“You shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song, and all the trees of the fields shall clap their hands.” I wonder how much that song from the hills will be sparrows singing. Us, all of us little sparrows, finally at peace, one flock singing. I’ve got to let myself believe that this is not an empty hope, but a truth that is yet to come. An open sky yet to be seen, ready for flight. Tiny perches waiting for us, all around the throne.
You, after all, are worth more than the sparrows, many sparrows. We all are.
We must not forget our song.
Training Wheels 2.0 