Why do you contend against him,
saying, “He will answer none of man’s words’?
For God speaks in one way,
and in two, though man does not perceive it.
-Job 33:13-14 (and if you read this, please read through verse 28, at least)
Oh Job, Job.
Two Saturdays ago I biked into town to spend some time Sabbath-ing by the Reedy River. As I turned off the Swamp Rabbit and onto the road, I noticed a young bird, all fluffed and spread out, hopping into traffic. I spent a good ten minutes attempting to convince yon sparrow of the comparative benefits of the sidewalk. It didn’t seem to recognize my superior understanding of the dangers of fossil-fueled automobiles; I chased it around several times before it finally hopped away from the road instead of towards it. Eventually I left for the park, hoping the bird would find its own way
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Last Monday we Timotheans went out to Sabbath for a couple hours. We paired off to practice what it means to walk in the Spirit. Josh and I wandered all over, not seeing much to do. It was nice to chill downtown, to talk through life, to try to pay attention to God. Sometime along the way we sat at a bench on Main, and a little wren soared in and began hopping around our feet. Josh promptly named her Susan, and she seemed to be breakfasting in the cracks of the sidewalk. We put our hands out in something like a giant’s invitation to play, but she wasn’t interested. Instead, she wanted my feet. She approached my sandals, craned her neck, and pecked my big toe. And I mean she went at it, peck peck peck peck. It sure surprised me. I thought she might break the skin, but she wasn’t quite strong enough. She was just pecking. I’m not sure what she thought it was, but she was quite persistent. I couldn’t help but feel that something was trying to get my attention.
Eventually she flew away, and we watched her go, only to see her stop at the next clump of Timotheans talking on the street. We had taken a liking to her at this point, so we followed her over. It was while we were still attempting to win her trust that an Australian couple, fresh off the AT, wandered up to ask about restaurants. We ended up going out to lunch with them at Grille 33 (under the Channel [so good]). We talked of God, wombats, Tazmanian politics and gun control. It was really fun, and encouraging. [Sidenote: their recession isn’t as bad as ours. The mining sector has seen tremendous job growth, and even cities are now see shortages of workers. If you ever wanted to go (which I have), now’s the time. I actually kind of want to go. They offered me room and board in Tazmania at an off-the-grid self-sustaining wooden farmhouse in Tazmania. in the wilderness. On a cliff. Over the ocean. I’m serious. And I might just go.]
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I woke up far too early yesterday morning to meet a friend to pray on the top of a parking garage. His idea, and he gave me a free muffin from Liquid Highway afterwards, so I’m not complaining. And beating the traffic out always encourages me. A cool, softly-lit road with quiet shops; even the stop-lights offer rest. My mind also turns a little slower, a little clearer in the mornings.
We took the elevator up and spent an hour in near silence, watching the already rising sun begin to warm the roofs of Greenville. I was thinking about the way Jesus speaks of a relationship with God, one that other religions never really get around to. I really do want intimacy with the Creator- something seems very clean about that, seems cool and softly-lit and right, particularly in the early morning, before man has spoken his part. Jesus says that eternal life is to know the Father, and I think I believe Him. There would be eternal life in but a minute of knowing and being known by such eternal glory. It’s the only faith of which I know in which the scorned Creator comes to the scoffers. It’s certainly the only in which God dies for the sake of relationship with them. In Jeremiah 13:11, the LORD says that he made the whole house of Israel to be for him a name. A name. The LORD names his people, which in-and-of itself is quite intimate, but then he takes us on as a name. That is condescension to the highest degree (well, maybe lowest, what with ‘condescending’ and all). That is marriage, and that is intimacy, folks. I have spent hours begging for an intimacy with God that I could perceive. It usually isn’t apparent to me, and that’s part of why the past year has been so frustrating and hard. It’s why often I doubt my faith, the love of God, the Spirit’s presence in me. Shouldn’t I see something more? Shouldn’t I feel something, hear something, be confident in something? The sheep know the shepherds voice- but what if I seem deaf? I quickly spiral downwards in questions like these, ‘catastrophic thoughts’ lending themselves quickly to despair. This territory seems so new, this emptiness, loneliness, forsakenness so real. Pensive, doubting, fearful heart, why can’t you hear what Christ the Savior says?
We sat on the stairs, near the northern-most elevator in the Spring Street Garage, and looked out over the steeples and shingles. A hawk sat still on the arm of a cross several blocks away. And across the garage I noticed a bird. It was a juvenile cardinal, trapped in the stairwell. The top two levels of stairs, for some reason, are glassed in, with only a door in and out. He must have flown in the bottom and climbed up, until he was in a glass room, with a ceiling, and no way out but down. Unfortunately, most birds fly up when panicked, and thus, this one was stuck. He was smart enough to know that windows were not escape routes- he would fly up to them, veer away at the last second, and return to his handrail. We walked across and waved him to and fro until we forced him down a level, then another, until the glass walls stopped. He flew into the garage, and I walked behind him, out through the dark to the open air on the other side.
We returned to our perch on the roof and sat again, listening and watching. Ten minutes later a new bird was trapped, this time a female purple bunting. She was not as smart as the cardinal, and was actually colliding with the windows. We re-assumed our positions as bird-whisperers, but she was less convinced of our benevolence as well. She fought hard against our coaxing- we had to chase her to the ground level of the stairwell before she flew into the garage itself, and then out into freedom. She’s the one pictured above.
I can’t help but notice the birds. I can’t help but listen to them. They are just too well placed, and I am just too like them. I have found myself in a new place, by no apparent fault of my own, trapped by what I feel and think and by what I don’t know. Sometimes I know what I cannot escape through, and sometimes I find out only when I collide with it. Now pay attention here. What the birds in the stairwell most feared, when they felt most threatened and most alienated, here was actually the birds’ only hope for freedom. The big intimidating giants fresh off the beanstalk, waving their hands and snapping pictures- here was love.
I am, in many ways, still trapped on the sixth story of a parking garage in downtown Greenville. And I am still often fearful, and often untrusting. But maybe, just a little, I’m beginning to see the giant for what He truly is doing. Saving my life.
Twas love that caused my heart to fear, and love my fears relieved. This is my hope.
A little bird told me.
