I didn't expect to encounter a “casualty” when I stepped off the
front porch that day. Right below a large window lay a little bird. I picked it
up and touched it, hoping to discern if it was breathing. But there was no
reaction. Apparently a collision with the sky-reflecting window took the little
bird's life.
I guessed it was a
sparrow—I'm not a bird expert but certainly know crows from robins!--and
thought of how common sparrows were in Bible times, too. They built nests in
the temple precincts. They could be purchased cheaply for temple sacrifices. In
Jesus' time, a penny bought two. Yet, despite their “cheapness,” Jesus
remarked, “Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's
care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be
afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows” (Matthew 10:29-31).
Elsewhere, the Lord
admonished His followers not to worry about everyday life and the need for
nourishment and clothing. Life is more than that, He said. Then He added (and I
wonder if His hand swept across the sky): “Look at the birds. They don't plant
or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren't
you more valuable to him than they are? Can all your worries add a single
moment to your life?” (Matthew 6:25-27).
It's a bit of a jump from
common birds to lambs, but I thought of lines penned by English poet William
Blake (1757-1827). Writing as if a child talking to a lamb about its Creator,
his poem begins:
Little lamb, who made
thee?
Dost thou know who made
thee,
Gave thee life, and bid
thee feed...?
It had been years (a
college English lit class) since I first read those words. But as I scooped up
the little bird and decided where to bury it, the lines returned, but with
adjustment: “Little bird, who made thee?....Gave thee life, and bid thee feed?”
As I dug a hole under a
nearby azalea, it was a sad but holy moment for me. Dust to dust we all return,
people and creatures—except for those still alive when Jesus returns to earth
again. But in my minutes-long bird-burying role, I answered Blake's poem. Do I
know Who made me? Absolutely! Gave me food, clothing, voice. Blake's poem ends
with a reference to Christ as the “lamb of God.”
He calls Himself a Lamb.
He is meek, and He is
mild,
He became a little child
I a child, and thou a
lamb,
We are called by His name.
Little lamb, God bless
Thee!
Little lamb, God bless
thee!
And little bird, now
blanketed by soil under the azalea, you mattered to your Creator. Hard to
comprehend in this big world, but true.
