A sparrow just hopped by. It picked up a quick crumb from the deck
before it seemed to dash off for fear of being noticed. I’m not sure anyone noticed. The Bible tells us that God notices. A little spider is crawling across a tile
just more than an arm’s length away. I
don’t think that it knows that its location is very fortunate as it, for the
moment, ensures its survival. I’ve
already killed at least three little intruders which have daned to cross my
table or run under the cover of my journal as if it might somehow read the
private thoughts on the pages. They
don’t seem so awfully significant because they are small. I am small to God and yet the Bible tells me
how significant I am.
In the book on Celtic prayer I’ve
been reading I’m reminded of the extraordinary juxtaposition of the
centuries. We’ve tended to think about
people who live such fragile lives as different, distant, God-forgive-us, less
than our more highly “developed” “self-important” contemporary existence. They
now strike me as quite brave and strong and wise. I wouldn’t last five minutes in their
ruthless environment (which actually is part of my heritage and ancestry). All of the sudden I, again, feel quite
small.
Another sparrow has just hopped
onto the base of the table next to me.
I see him. God sees us both.
“But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground with you father
knowing it. And the very hairs on your
head are all numbered. So don’t be
afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows” Matt. 10:
29b-31
