Sparrows
What is the price of two sparrows—one copper
coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your 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. 10:29-31)
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 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 vanish." So we do. Fashion redeems us from the
world of littleness and nothingness, and we are something else. Why? Because we
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, faded to dark. And we're left wearing yesterday's jeans, feeling like
yesterday'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 Aztecs basketball. When they play
basketball, I play basketball. When they score a basket, I score a basket. When
they win, I shout with the 12,414 at Viejas Arena, "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.
He was 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, he 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:
the amount of money in the bank, gas in the tank, 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 . . .
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. "Are
not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before
God." (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 opinion
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
such 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 of 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 one 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 basketball
player stands at the foul line repeating, "I'll never make the shot, I'll
never make the shot," guess what? He'll never make the shot. 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 the 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. 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 that’s enough, isn’t it?
Grace,
Randy
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