Sparrows and Staying Put
Big Grief and Little Grief and Wanting to Save the World
Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God. Why, even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not; you are of more value than many sparrows. - Luke 12:6-7
Yesterday evening, I came home from my church’s prayer service for the Hill Country flooding and there was a single solitary sparrow sitting in front of my door. That not being normal sparrow behavior, I took a closer look. It was alive, breathing, but not moving very well. Its feathers were all ruffled so the soft downy ones underneath were visible. It didn’t even flinch when I drew near to it. And then, I swear that bird looked me straight in the eye. If birds could do puppy-dog eyes, he nailed it. Immediately I made up my mind to save it. I very carefully stepped around it and went inside to google wildlife rescues. The closest one that was still open and that accepted birds was a good hour north of where I live. And just to illustrate how determined I was to save that tiny sparrow, I considered it. I stepped outside again to check on it and realized instantly that in those few minutes of me scurrying around trying to strategize and plan, it had died. And I burst into tears which continued for much longer than I would have expected for a dead sparrow. But it wasn’t just a dead sparrow.
All day long (and the day before as well) I had, like most people I know, been reading endless news reports, checking weather radars, checking Instagram, praying, texting for updates and checking in with those I knew in the path of the crushing wall of water that swept away centuries-old structures and countless lives in an instant. I was saturated with the feeling of utter helplessness in the face of so much loss.
The bird though… surely I can save a bird. Maybe it was sent as a sign, a minuscule instance of redemption in a series of dark days. But no, my helplessness extended even to the bird. I had not shed a tear all day but watching that quiet, slow passage from life to death was just enough to crack me open entirely.
As I sat there afterwards thinking all the thoughts and feeling all the feels, I remembered Jesus’ words: “Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God. Why, even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not; you are of more value than many sparrows.”
There is no piece in all of creation too small or too large for God. He knew when that sparrow fell as surely as he knew each day of the lives of each person swept away in the flood waters and each person still waiting to be rescued. That is how big our God is. Jesus’ command in Luke is not “weep not” or “do not be sad” or “do not cry out to God.” His command is “fear not.” Fear not because God is so much bigger than you can ever fathom and yet so much closer to you than you will ever realize. Fear not because he has already overcome death. Fear not because he sees you in your grief and in your helplessness. Fear not because he loves you.
As a last note, on the feeling of helplessness so achingly common in us in this day and age. We have the capability today of watching every horrifying second of footage from a crisis, getting updates from every corner of the globe whenever we want them. It has the capacity to very quickly paralyze us. I listened to a sermon today from a friend on the lectionary gospel passage from Luke 10 in which Jesus sends out the 72 to the towns and villages. Jesus does not tell these 72 to visit as many houses as possible, to keep a tally of how many converts they get or how helpful they are. He tells them when they get to a city, find a house and stay. Just stay. Stay and speak peace. Speak Christ’s peace in whatever house you are in. I cannot save the world. I cannot save the flood victims. I can’t even save the sparrow on my doorstep. But I can stay. I can stay and speak peace to all those in the house where I find myself.
Peace to you this night, my friends. Peace to those in the eye of the storm, both physically (as I listen to yet more rain pounding on my windows), and spiritually as we watch and wait and weep with those who weep.