Read: Psalm 104

The high mountains are for the wild goats; the rocks are a refuge for the coneys. O Lord, how manifold are your works! In wisdom you have made them all; the earth is full of your creatures (Psalm 104:18 & 24, NRSV).

Carol: Thank you so much for agreeing to an interview. I believe you wanted to make an opening statement.

Coney: That’s right. I’d like to state for the record that I AM NOT A RABBIT.

Carol: I’m sure our readers will appreciate that clarification.

Coney: Well, I don’t know about that. So many people insist on calling me a rabbit. But seriously. Look at my ears. Do I look like a rabbit?

Carol: You do not. But am I correct that a “coney” is sometimes called a “rock hyrax.”

Coney: Yes! It’s so nice to meet someone who has done their homework. And really, if you saw where I live, you’d understand the reference to rocks.

Carol: I wanted to ask you about that. Psalm 104 talks about the rocks being “a refuge for the coneys….”

Coney: Oh! We love that psalm!

Carol: Really? Please elaborate.

Coney: Well, obviously we appreciate the shout-out. But beyond that, we love the way Psalm 104 celebrates the beautiful diversity of creation.

Carol: I love that, too! But I must say, you are a very wise and well-read coney.

Coney: Hidden depths. And not the kind of thing you’d expect from a rabbit, by the way.

Carol: Be that as it may—is there anything specific you’d like to say to our readers? We don’t often get to hear from such an articulate coney.

Coney: As a matter of fact, I’ve been wanting to send humans a message for some time.

Carol: Please!

Coney: It has to do with that beautiful diversity I mentioned a moment ago. Humans act like your species is the only one that matters. It’s as if the rest of us are only there for decoration—or dinner!

Carol: I wish I could say I didn’t know that you’re talking about.

Coney: God delights in ALL of creation. Read Psalm 104! I can’t imagine that the Creator is pleased by the way you humans are wrecking the planet. Why, just the other day I was reading in the New York Times that “Earth is hotter today than it’s been in at least 1000 years and probably longer,” and that human activity is largely responsible for this. All of the creatures in Psalm 104 have adapted to live in hot, dry places—but this is ridiculous!

Carol: Wait. You read the New York Times?

Coney: Well, only on Sundays. We share a subscription with the mountain goats. But don’t try to change the subject. This is serious.

Carol: I understand. I’ll spread the word to all the humans I know—and some of the ones I don’t!

Coney: See that you do. And while you’re at it, make sure you tell them that I’m not a rabbit. My ears are much less ridiculous, and I can climb trees. Show me a rabbit that can climb trees!

Carol: We humans obviously have a lot to learn. Thanks for your time. You’re a credit to your species.

Ponder: Some of the details of this interview are fanciful, but some of them are not. Which bits are true, and why do they matter so much?

Pray: Creator God, you rejoice in all your works. Show us how to be more responsible creatures.

Read: Luke 13:31-35

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” (Luke 13:34, NRSV).

The following reflection is part of a series called, “Creature Features.” It speaks from the perspective of the mother hen.

Some would say I am just a metaphor.

First, I would like to take issue with that word, “just.” Metaphors allow us to say what we mean—only more so. Think of the saying, “A picture paints a thousand words.” A metaphor paints a picture, and Jesus is painting a powerful picture with his words in this passage. He could have spent paragraphs trying to explain his feelings for the people of Jerusalem. Instead, he says it all by suggesting this image of me sheltering my chicks.

Second, metaphors are not tied to a particular time and place. I find this freeing. In fact, that’s what liberates me to say some things about how this image of me with my chicks may speak to your situation.

I understand there has been a series of terrible shootings in recent weeks. Not one, but several. I am sorry. The one at the elementary school in Texas hit me especially hard. As a mother—whose every instinct is to protect her chicks—I can’t even begin to imagine the agony, the desperation, and the anger of those families. So many young lives lost. So many more lives shattered.

It makes me wonder what Jesus might say to the citizens of your country. I suspect it would be some version of what he said in Luke 13:34. And since metaphors are allowed some extra latitude, I hope you’ll allow me to suggest this paraphrase:

Oh, United States of America, the country that shoots its own children and rejects those who plead for gun control, how often have I longed to gather you as a hen gathers her chicks?

I’m sure this paraphrase will offend some of you. But what can I say? I’m a mother hen. My first obligation is to protect my little ones. I’m not sure why you don’t see that as a higher priority.

I am deeply honored by Jesus’ choice of me as a metaphor. If there is any comfort in your situation it is that Jesus still longs to gather you under his wings—flawed as you are. And of course, there is incomparable comfort in the fact that, even now, he is gathering every one of those precious lost lives under the shelter of his wings.

That really is a picture that paints a thousand words.

Ponder this powerful hymn, “There is a Place.” It was written by John L. Bell in response to a shooting at a primary school in Dunblane Scotland on March 13, 1996. This recording was posted in response to the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut on Dec. 14, 2012.

Pray: We have no words. Gather us—and all those whose lives have been touched by tragedy—under the shelter of your wings.

Read: Esther 6:1-11

Then the king said to Haman, “Quickly, take the robes and the horse, as you have said, and do so to the Jew Mordecai who sits at the king’s gate. Leave out nothing that you have mentioned.” So Haman took the robes and the horse and robed Mordecai and led him riding through the open square of the city, proclaiming, “Thus shall it be done for the man whom the king wishes to honor” (Esther 6:10-11, NRSV).

I won’t lie. There are certain perks to being the king’s horse. Before you envy me, however, please take into account the character of the king. My particular king—Ahasuerus—is tedious on a good day. The weight of his ego alone is enough to drive me to my knees.

I pride myself on having a certain amount of “horse sense.” (Sorry—couldn’t resist.) I knew from the moment I met him that he was a piece of work. Don’t even get me started on the 180-day drinking bash he held for the entire Persian army. I ask you. Who was minding the empire during that little frat party? You see what I mean. Not to put too fine a point on it, he’s not the brightest light in the harbor.

I suppose I should watch what I say. He’s been known to make people disappear for a lot less. I rather liked Queen Vashti. She always had an apple or a carrot for me. But I haven’t seen her since the drinking party. So, it just goes to show that no one is safe around His Royal Pomposity.

Imagine my surprise, then, when he actually made a couple of wise decisions. First, he chose Esther as replacement queen. (Sorry, Vashti—I hope you don’t think me disloyal.) But then the other day he made a decision that practically shocked my horseshoes off. Granted, I think he sort of blundered into it, but I’ll take it in any case. Here’s what happened.

There I was, munching premium hay in the royal stables, when the king’s right-hand man, Haman, storms in and starts to saddle me up. This made me very nervous. Haman is not a nice person. His ego eclipses even that of Ahasuerus. (The word “megalomaniac” comes to mind.) But anyway, Haman starts slamming on my royal regalia, swearing a blue streak.

My first thought was, “It’s a coup!” After all, nobody but the king is allowed to ride the royal steed. But just when I thought Haman was going to mount up, he leads me into the courtyard. There, wearing the king’s own robes is Esther’s cousin, Mordecai. (To be honest, he looked a little embarrassed by all the attention.) Then Haman knelt down (still swearing under his breath), and Mordecai mounted from Haman’s own back.

Well, I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing—but quickly covered it by pretending it was a neigh. Then Haman led me and Mordecai through the square of the city, proclaiming, “Thus shall it be done for the man whom the king wishes to honor.”

It. Was. Sweet.

Well, thanks for listening to my story. I’m not sure what the moral is, but maybe it’s something along the lines of: “How are the mighty megalomaniacs fallen.” It’s a cheering thought since those types never seem to go out of style.

Ponder: What can the average person do when unchecked egos get into power? What are the risks of doing nothing? What are the risks of doing too much?

Pray: From power-hungry megalomaniacs, good Lord, deliver us.

Read: Luke 15:1-7

So he told them this parable: “Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it” (Luke 15:3-4, NRSV).

It’s not like I got up in the morning and thought, “I think I’ll get lost today!” One doesn’t plan to get lost—it just happens. One minute you’re grazing happily with the gang, and the next minute you’re all alone on an unfamiliar hillside.

One bite at a time, that’s how it happens. And frankly, it’s embarrassing. I’ll probably never live it down. Oh, the flock was glad enough to see me when the shepherd brought me back. (Not half as glad as I was to see them!) But soon enough the celebration turned to teasing: “Earth to Lambchop! Planning on any side-trips today? Don’t forget your GPS!”

Ugh. Everybody’s a comedian. But I just shrug and laugh it off. A little teasing is a small price to pay for being back with the flock.

But do you know what’s really funny? I mean, not funny “Ha-Ha,” but funny strange? I’m sort of glad it happened. Not that it was fun. Not that I wasn’t scared. Not that I like getting teased. But I can’t help being grateful for certain aspects of the experience. Here’s what I mean.

I’ll never forget what it felt like when I saw the Shepherd coming over the hill. “BAAAAA!” I blurted as I ran toward him. I was never so glad to see anyone in my life. At first I assumed he’d be mad. And frankly, I would have understood. But here’s the best part: he wasn’t mad. He acted like I was the best thing that had ever happened to him! And before I knew it, he scooped me up and slung me over his shoulder. We sang all the way home. And when we got there, he invited all his friends over for a party. “Rejoice with me!” he said. “For I have found my sheep that was lost.”

Everybody came running—my friends, too. It was the best moment of my life.

So, what am I saying? I guess I should be clear that I’m not recommending that you go out and get lost. But if one bite leads to another, and you ever find yourself scared and alone on an unfamiliar hillside—remember my story. The Shepherd won’t hold it against you. He’ll find you, wherever you are. He’ll scoop you up in his arms and carry you all the way home. And he’ll act like you’re the best thing that ever happened to him.

Of course, you may have to put up with a little teasing from the rest of the flock. But they mean well, and it’s worth it. It’s TOTALLY worth it.

Ponder: Have you ever felt lost? What parts of the lost sheep’s story can you relate to?

Pray: I once was lost, but now I’m found—was blind, but now I see. Thank you.

Read: Luke 22:31-34; 54-62

Then about an hour later still another kept insisting, “Surely this man also was with him; for he is a Galilean.” But Peter said, “Man, I do not know what you are talking about!” At that moment, while he was still speaking, the cock crowed. The Lord turned and looked at Peter. Then Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said to him, “Before the cock crows today, you will deny me three times. And he went out and wept bitterly (Luke 22:59-62, NRSV).

I’m not one to brag, but… Wait, what am I saying? I’m a rooster. It’s my job to brag. The first thing I do in the morning is to wake up to the happy reality of my own magnificence. Then I wake everyone else up to tell them about my magnificence. What? It’s not arrogance; it’s just the truth. Is it my fault if people don’t always appreciate the obvious?

Oddly, however, people do not always respond well to my morning announcements. The hens roll their eyes and go back to sleep. Sometimes the high priest throws his shoes at me. The other day the kitchen maid threatened to put me in a stew.

But this brings me to the story I’d like to share. In all my years of crowing at the crack of dawn, I’ve never seen anyone react the way that poor Galilean fisherman reacted. The look on his face when I crowed was, well—you’d have thought I had just announced that he was going to be put in a stew. But let’s back up so I can tell the story properly.

The first thing that was unusual about that morning was that I was the last one to wake up. I remember hearing voices in the courtyard, and when I brought my head out from under my wing, it was getting light. “Oh, no!” I thought. “I’ve overslept!” So, I blurted out an especially ambitious crow to make up for being late.

It was only then that I realized it wasn’t even morning yet. The light in the courtyard was firelight. Several people were milling around. Some of them seemed to be ganging up on that Galilean fisherman I mentioned. Another man—he looked to be some sort of prisoner—was standing in the firelight looking at the fisherman. I’ll never forget that look. Everyone else in that courtyard was glaring at the fisherman. But the prisoner’s look was full of love.

Was it the sound of my voice or that look of love that made the universe collapse for that poor fisherman? I guess I’ll never know. Part of me want to take “credit,” but I’m not sure I want that much power. Even a rooster’s ego has some limits, after all.

Ponder: The Bible does not describe the expression on Jesus’ face when he looked at Peter. What do you think is expression was? If you were Peter, would it be harder for you to see anger, disappointment, or love in Jesus’ face?

Pray: Nothing about our betrayals surprises you, gracious Lord, and yet you love us. Thank you.

Read: Jonah 3 & 4

The LORD God appointed a bush, and made it come up over Jonah, to give shade over his head, to save him from his discomfort; so Jonah was very happy about the bush. But when dawn came up the next day, God appointed a worm that attacked the bush, so that it withered. (Jonah 4:6-7, NRSV).

Everybody deserves their fifteen minutes of fame. Mine came at sunrise on a hill just east of Nineveh.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s possible you don’t know the story of Jonah the pouting prophet. My own story intersects with his at a crucial moment, and if I do say so myself, I come out looking a lot better than he does.

Nobody likes a whiner. And that was my first impression of Jonah. I’d seen him stomping out of the city, sputtering about God’s refusal to rain fire and brimstone on the people of Nineveh. Now I’ll grant you, Ninevites have something of a reputation, and these particular Ninevites had brought down a lot of destruction on Jonah’s people. (I’m a very well-informed worm, as you can tell.) Still, from what I’d heard, the people had repented. Heck, even their cattle had repented—lowing to high heaven and staggering around in sackcloth. Of course, I’d “cry mightily to God” too if I had to go without water, but that’s beside the point. God was impressed and called off the fire and brimstone.

I’ve always felt that fire and brimstone were over-rated anyway, but God has never asked my opinion on the matter.

Now, I’d have thought Jonah might be pleased about this reprieve. What preacher wouldn’t be ecstatic at that kind of a response to a sermon? From what I hear, it wasn’t even much of a sermon. My cousin—a bookworm that lives in the library at Nineveh—told me it was a one-sentence wonder delivered with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. But go figure. All Nineveh repented, and God decided to give them a break.

Not Jonah, though. Oh, no. Jonah was having none of it. The man even had the temerity to complain about God being “gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but those qualities are usually considered to be good things—especially in the Lord of the Universe. But Jonah really wanted God to let Nineveh have it, so he sat down in a sulk and begged God to kill him.

I was munching on a near-by leaf at the time, and I remember thinking to myself, “Gee, Jonah—you were perfectly happy when God was gracious to YOU. Why is it so hard to see someone else catch a break?” But I kept my opinion to myself and got on with my meal.

But now we’re coming to my fifteen minutes of fame. The next day, God appointed a big, beautiful cucumber vine to spring up over Jonah to provide shade. (More grace, I would point out.) And just when Jonah was starting to celebrate, God called me over and gave me my orders. I was more than happy to comply. That cucumber vine was the tastiest meal I’ve ever had. And it was all the sweeter because it was served with a generous helping of obedience on the side.

I have to admit, I also enjoyed overhearing God give Jonah a little “talking-to” after the gourd died. Jonah didn’t say a word, so I have no idea if he ever learned the lesson of God’s grace. From what I hear—and again, I am a very well-informed worm—lots of people need to learn that lesson. What is with you religious types, anyway? You’re so happy to be on the receiving end of God’s grace, but so stingy about extending it to anyone else.

Well, I’ll never understand you. So, it’s back to munching cucumber vines for me. Good luck. You’ll need it.

Ponder: Why is it so easy for us to accept God’s grace, and so difficult to see God extend it to people who make us uncomfortable?

Pray: Make us as gracious to others as you have been to us.

Read: Jonah 1 & 2

But the Lord provided a large fish to swallow up Jonah; and Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights…Then the Lord spoke to the fish, and it spewed Jonah out upon the dry land. (Jonah 1:17 and 2:10, NRSV).

I’ve been waiting a long time for someone to ask me for my side of this story.

First, let me address the least important detail. WAS IT A FISH OR WAS IT A WHALE? I start with this because if I don’t, you’ll just obsess about it and get distracted. So, let’s get it out of the way, shall we?

The Bible calls me a “big fish.” Most people jump to the conclusion that I’m a whale since that’s the biggest “fish” anyone can call to mind. Technically, of course, a whale is a mammal not a fish, but no one seems to let that interfere with their assumptions. I would like to suggest that IT DOESN’T MATTER. In fact, the entire debate is a RED HERRING. (Sorry—I couldn’t resist!) My point is that it makes not a bit of difference to the story if I’m a whale or a fish, so I wish you’d all just move on. As I say, it’s a distraction.

Which brings me to my second point—also a distraction. I’m talking about all the fuss people make over whether a human being could survive for three days in the belly of a big fish. Now, far be it from me to doubt the miraculous powers of the Creator. I have full confidence that the Almighty could make this happen in a heartbeat. But must I remind you that IT’S A STORY? Honestly, just roll with it already. See where it takes you.

It takes me to my third point. (Finally, one I care about.) I WAS THE BEST THING THAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED TO JONAH WHEN HE GOT THROWN OVERBOARD. Nobody seems to recognize this. Now, I’ll grant you, being swallowed alive by a big fish is not what most people would consider to be a good thing. But in Jonah’s case, it was. It certainly beat the alternative. If I had not been instantly obedient to God’s command, Jonah would have been fish food. Oh…well, I guess he still was, but you know what I mean.

Which leads me to my next point—and another opportunity to use all caps. (What? You’re surprised that a big fish likes to write in all caps?) I WAS WAY MORE OBEDIENT TO GOD THAN JONAH WAS! In fact, everyone and everything in this story was more obedient that this sorry prophet was. Think about it: the sailors, the people of Nineveh, the cattle, the vine, and even the worm. (More on the worm next week. I understand she’s been dying to tell her side of this story, too.)

So, what’s the most important thing I want to say about this story? Just this: SOMETIMES GRACE SHOWS UP IN DISGUISE. Some bad things can turn out to be good things—or at least, less bad than we thought. Jonah seemed to understand that. I mean, he wasn’t the brightest light in the harbor, but even he had the sense to pray a prayer of thanksgiving when he found himself in my stomach. Some people may have thought that prayer was a bit premature, but I gave him a lot of credit for it. Anybody who can pray a prayer OF THANKSGIVING while swimming in my digestive juices deserves some respect.

Of course, like many religious types, he went on and on. So, it was something of a relief when God told me to vomit him up on shore. Remember that the next time someone invites you to pray. LONG-WINDED PRAYERS INDUCE INDIGESTION. You heard it here first.

Thanks for listening.

Ponder: Have you ever experienced grace in disguise? How? When? Why might we want to be careful about trying to comfort someone else by suggesting that God may be using their painful experience as a means of grace?

Pray: Thank you for your grace, O God, in whatever form it takes.

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