Fifth Sparrow
What is the price of five sparrows — two copper coins? Yet God does not
forget a single one of them. 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. (Luke 12:6-7)
Do we matter? We fear we don't. We fear nothingness, insignificance. We fear evaporation. We fear that in the last tabulation we make no contribution to the final sum. We fear coming and going and no one even knowing. That's why it bothers us when a friend forgets to call, or the teacher forgets our name, or a colleague takes credit for something we've done, or the airline loads us like cattle onto the next flight. They’re affirming our deepest trepidation: no one cares, because we aren't worth caring about.
For that reason we crave the attention of our spouse, or the affirmation of our boss. We drop names of important people in conversations, and wear college rings on our fingers. We put silicone in our breasts, flashy hubcaps on our cars, grills on our teeth and silk ties around our necks. Fashion designers tell us, "You'll be somebody if you wear our jeans. Stick our name on your rear end and insignificance will immediately vanish." So we do. Fashion redeems us from the world of littleness and nothingness, and we are something else. Why? Because we just spent half a paycheck on a pair of Italian jeans.
But then, horror of horrors, styles change, the fad passes, the trend shifts from tight to baggy, from faded to dark. And we're left wearing yesterday's jeans, feeling like last month’s news. Maybe we can outsource our insignificance, we think. By coupling our identity with someone's Gulliver-sized achievement, we give our Lilliputian lives some kind of meaning. For instance, how else can you explain our society’s fascination with sports franchises and athletes?
I admit that I’m among the fascinated: an unabashed fan of Padres baseball. When they play baseball, I play baseball. When they score a run, I score a run. When they win, I shout with the fans at Petco Park, "We won!" But how can I make such a statement? Did I attend a single practice? Scout an opposing team? Contribute a coaching tip, or sweat a drop of perspiration? No. I would if they asked, but I'm too insignificant, slow, old and uncoordinated. Still, I hook my wagon to their rising star. Why? Because it separates me from the plebeians. It momentarily elevates me; knights me.
Or sometimes, out of a fear of not mattering, we try to outlive life. When the billionaire realizes that he will run out of years before he runs out of money, he establishes a foundation. No doubt some altruism motivates the move, but so does a hunger to matter.
We have kids for the same reason. Giving birth gives meaning to ourselves. One day, when we die, our descendants will remember "Good ol' Dad," or "Sweet ol' Mom," and we will extend our lives through theirs. And there you have it. Italian jeans. Foundations. Legacies. Forever looking to prove Bertrand Russell wrong – the fatalistic atheist who concluded, "I believe that when I die my bones will rot and nothing shall remain of my ego."
"But he can't be right," we sigh. "He isn't right!" Jesus announces. And in some of the kindest words ever heard, Jesus allays our fears. "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows." (Matt. 10:29-31)
Now, what's more inglorious than hair? Who inventories follicles? We monitor other resources like the amount of money in the bank, gas in the tank or pounds on the scale. But hair on the skin? No one, not even the man with the expanding bald spot, posts tiny number signs adjacent to each strand. We style hair, color hair, cut hair, braid hair . . . but we don't count hair. Well, God does. "The very hairs of your head are all numbered." Just like the sparrows in the field.
In the days of Jesus, like today, a penny was one of the smallest coins in circulation. One such penny would buy two sparrows. In other words, everyone could own a couple of sparrows. But why would they? What purpose did they serve? What goal would they accomplish? In Luke's gospel Jesus goes a tender step further. "What is the price of five sparrows—two copper coins? Yet God does not forget a single one of them." (Luke 12:6) One penny would buy you two sparrows. Two pennies, however, would buy you five. Apparently, the seller threw in the fifth one for free.
Society still has its share of fifth sparrows – indistinct souls who feel dispensable, disposable, worth less than a penny. They drive in carpools and work in cubicles. Some sleep beneath cardboard on the sidewalks, and others beneath comforters in the suburbs. What they share is a feeling of smallness. In fact, you'll find a whole flock of fifth sparrows in a Chinese orphanage for the deaf and mute.
China's one-child policy has a way of weeding out the weak. Males are selected over females. Healthy babies outrank the impaired. Chinese children who cannot speak or hear stand little chance of a healthy, productive life. Every message tells them, "You don't matter." So when someone says otherwise, they melt. Chinese missionary, John Bentley, witnessed such a moment.
Deaf orphans in the Henan province were given a Mandarin translation of a children's book entitled, You Are Special. The story describes Punchinello, a wooden person in a village of wooden people. The villagers had a practice of sticking stars on the achievers and dots on the strugglers. Punchinello had so many dots that people gave him more dots just because. But then he met Eli, his maker. Eli affirmed him, telling him to disregard the opinions of others. "I made you," he explained. "I don't make mistakes." Punchinello had never heard such words. And when he did, his dots began to fall off. And when the children in the Chinese orphanage heard these words, their worlds began to change.
John explained, “When they first distributed these books to the children and staff of the deaf school, the most bizarre thing happened. At a certain point everyone started crying. I couldn’t understand this reaction. . . . Americans are somewhat used to the idea of positive reinforcement. . . . Not so in China, and particularly not for these children who are virtually abandoned and considered valueless by their natural parents because they were born ‘broken.’ When the idea came through in the reading that they are special simply because they were made by a loving creator . . . everyone started crying – including their teachers!” Do you need such a reminder? Any chance that these words are falling on the ears of a fifth sparrow? If so, it's time to deal with the fear of not mattering.
The fear that you are one big zero can become a self-fulfilling prophecy. It works like this. You're slugging away at a menial job that pays poorly and saps your energy. The salary covers the bills but not much else. Your God-given abilities languish like un-watered roses. But then you read about a job opening that capitalizes on your skills and maximizes your abilities. So in a moment of uncharacteristic courage, you submit your application. The employer invites you in for an interview. "I'll never impress them," you moan. "I'll look stupid in the interview. They'll ask questions I can't answer. I'll never get the job." A mouse in a lions' den has better odds of success. So, you flop miserably and descend yet another level into the basement of self-defeat.
Or consider the girl who’s asked out on a date by a good-looking guy. So good-looking that she wonders what he sees in her. He's completely out of her league. Once he gets to know her, he'll drop her. Why, she may not even be able to maintain his interest for more than an evening. So, insecurity drives her to use the only tool she trusts – her body. She sleeps with him on the first date for fear that there won't be a second. She ends up feeling like the disposable woman she didn't want to become. Fear of insignificance creates the result it dreads, arrives at the destination it tries to avoid and facilitates the very scenario it disdains.
If a baseball player
stands in the batter’s box repeating, "I just know I’m going to strike
out; I’ll never get my bat on the ball, much less get a hit,” guess what? He'll
never get to first base. If you pass your days mumbling, "I'll never make
a difference; I'm not worth anything," guess what? You’ll be sentencing
yourself to a life of gloom without parole. Even more, you’re disagreeing with
God. Questioning his judgment. Second-guessing his taste. According to him you
were "skillfully wrought." (Ps. 139:15) You were "fearfully and
wonderfully made." (Ps. 139:14) He can't stop thinking about you. If you
could count his thoughts about you, "they would be more in number than grains
of sand." (Ps. 139:18) Why does he love you so much? The same reason the artist loves his
paintings, or the boat builder loves his vessel. You are his idea. And God has
only good ideas. "For we are God's masterpiece. He has created us anew in
Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago."
(Eph. 2:10)
In the movie Hook, Peter Pan had grown up, become old and overweight, and looked nothing like the Peter that the lost boys knew. In the midst of the boys shouting that this was NOT Peter, one of the smallest boys took him by the hand and pulled him down to his level. He then placed his hands on Peter's face and proceeded to move the skin around, reshaping his face. And then the boy looked into Peter's eyes and said, "There you are, Peter!"
Sound familiar? God is saying the same words to you. Finding the beauty that the years bury, the sparkle that time tries to take. Seeing you and loving the you that he sees. "There you are,” he says. And isn’t that enough? It is – even for a fifth sparrow like me.
Grace,
Randy
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