Read: Psalm 84
Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O LORD of hosts, my King and my God. Happy are those who live in your house, ever singing your praise (Psalm 84:3-4, NRSV).
I don’t expect you to notice me, unless as an annoyance. I’m not as pretty as a bluebird or as impressive as an eagle. I can’t even claim to be as useful as a hen, although I’m just as glad not to be bothered by humans who want to steal my eggs or eat my meat!
Maybe that’s why I take such satisfaction in these verses from Psalm 84. I can’t tell you how gratifying it is to be mentioned in this beautiful pilgrimage psalm. True, I have to share the spotlight with the swallow, but I’ll take what I can get. Finally, someone has noticed me!
Truth be told, however, it’s not just my five minutes of fame that I treasure. It’s what’s behind them. The psalmist is calling attention to something we sparrows have known since we sprouted wings: God sees—God knows—and God cares. We may not merit much attention in the grand scheme of things, but God provides a place for us to build our nests in safety. And in this particular instance, I get to build my nest among the stones of the altar itself. No wonder the psalmist is jealous! Pilgrims only get to visit God’s house in Jerusalem. I get to live there all the time, ever singing God’s praise.
It occurs to me that my story may offer considerable comfort to you humans—especially during times of war. So many lives have been lost, and all of them are infinitely precious. But it’s the violent and untimely deaths of children that haunt us the most. Peace will come too late for them. No reparations can bring them back.
I cannot fix this for you. But maybe—in my own small way—I can remind you that God sees. God knows. God cares.
I have seen a great deal from my perch at God’s altars. I saw your friend, Jesus, as he carried his cross. I saw the frightened women hurrying away from his empty tomb. And from where I’m sitting, those events bear witness to the lengths to which God is willing to go to bring those little ones back.
But now I’m going beyond my brief, as you would say. I have a relatively small brain, after all. Still, it’s big enough to remind you of what I know: God sees. God knows. God cares. And based on my experience, I believe that even now God is providing a safe place in the heavenly Temple for those little, lost lives. Even now, they are singing God’s praise.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must fly. My own little ones are calling me.
Ponder: How does the sparrow’s story help you to deal with your own losses? The losses you see chronicled in the news?
Pray: Give us the faith to believe these words:
Children of the heavenly Father safely in his bosom gather;
nestling bird nor star in heaven such a refuge e’er was given.
God his own shall tend and nourish; in his holy courts they flourish.
From all evil powers he spares them; in his mighty arms he bears them.
Neither life nor death shall ever from the Lord his children sever;
for to them his grace revealing, he turns sorrow into healing.
From the hymn, “Children of the Heavenly Father,” words by Carolina Sandell Berg (1832-1903); tr. Ernst W. Olson.
Creature Features Series Introduction
My husband like to call me “St. Francis.” It’s a nod to a knack I have for knowing what creatures are thinking. Some people talk to animals; I speak for them. I don’t know how I do it, and of course, I can’t prove I’m right. But I suspect that I’m right at least part of the time. It’s a gift I seem to have inherited from my father the farmer. All the neighbors knew that Glenn was the go-to guy if you needed an animal interpreter.
In this series I turn my talk-for-the-animals gift toward Scripture. Each of the reflections features a “creature” that appears in a Bible passage. I attempt to speak for that creature—offering some insights for faith and life from a creature’s-eye point of view. I can’t promise I will always be right. But I suspect it will always be fun.
Enjoy!
Carol M. Bechtel