Are You a Sparrow?
I wrestled with myself for hours that evening. I was raised to believe in a personal God, a spirit without physical form, but who possesses reality and presence and has emotions and intelligence. He’s a personal Deity who communicates with us in non-physical ways, mostly, but who is completely able to convey His omniscient will in physical ways as well. What’s more–at least this was in my childhood indoctrination–He is loving, and caring, and a Friend. And yet . . .
And really, that’s it. And yet . . .
A lot of us are hanging onto faith by our fingernails because of that dreaded, unavoidable “and yet.”
And yet . . . where is He? This absent God, this strangely silent Eye in the Sky? Where was He on that Thursday?
Over the years I’d constructed my own sturdy case for not believing in a God like this one. And yet . . . did I? Still? Even now? If so, why? And if I did, how was I supposed to make sense of this pockmarked journey I was on?
On the other hand, if I didn’t, then why was I still wrestling over this stuff?
My hands went through the motions of preparing supper: a grilled-cheese sandwich and some salad. I ate and my chewing motions were on autopilot while my mind blazed along angrily, determined to sort out this dilemma once and for all. I did the dishes and put them away as the virgin moonlight spilled into my friend’s front yard, and I peered into the silvery lane desperate for answers that might settle my soul.
What was the miracle of the gas that would not run out, the sermon meant only for me, Pastor Roberts’ poignant reminder that I, a broken thrice-divorced man named Bruce, mattered to God–what was that all about?
The providential blessings of Prescott seemed undeniable, but if I mattered so all-fired much, then why did I keep having so much other junk happen to me that screams I don’t matter?
I wondered what it would be like to have a conversation with a physically present God who was also a verified Friend. Two guys in a restaurant booth. Or sharing loge seats at a Dodger game. Me . . . and Him. The sovereign ruler of the universe conversing with me on a shared sailboat ride to Catalina. Holy cow, what would that really be like?
And then, in my mind . . . I felt him. I honestly and truly did, which is the raison d’être of this entire book. My conversation with God the Father.
Okay, maybe I only imagined it. Or maybe it really happened. As far as I’m concerned, yeah, it really happened. I’ll tell the story and let you decide. I’m sure I saw Him. I’m sure I heard Him. If that’s too much for you to accept, then okay by me, feel free to think that the thin mountain air or my own offbeat religious upbringing addled my mind.
He didn’t say a word. I waited for Him to speak. He didn’t. I waited for Him to do something. I don’t know what: hug me, maybe. Or start a Mount Carmel-type fire in the backyard. He didn’t. I got up, stepped outside, sat down on a porch bench in the front yard next to a cedar. He followed me outside and sat down next to me.
I was almost afraid to breathe, because this encounter was so spiritually surreal, but finally I looked at Him and asked, “What’s going on?”
He didn’t look at me. He just sat there, staring straight ahead into the starlit forest. There was a long silence, heavy and cathedral-like, as I waited for Jehovah to make a pronouncement. When He did, it wasn’t anything out of Exodus 20 or the thunder of “This is My beloved Son.” Nothing like that. Instead, a gentle query: “Are you a sparrow?” He asked.
“Am I what?”
“Are you a sparrow?”
Well, no, I’m obviously not a sparrow and was about to say so when He added: “I see every sparrow that falls. Did you know that?”
“Um, I’ve heard as much, yes.”
He went on without a beat. “Yep. Every one of them. That’s a lot to keep track of. Keeps Me pretty busy, actually. But, that’s My job. I’m good at it, too. I’ve seen every sparrow fall since the dawn of time.” He smiled at some inward thought. Not at me. He still looked straight ahead, possibly remembering every sparrow since the dawn of time. And man, that’s a substantial flock of birds. A lot of keeping track.
“That’s what You do, huh?” I was in a decidedly Twilight Zone state of being, sure that this was God Himself while at the same time, processing the idea that the King of kings, Lord of lords had just used the word yep in a conversation with Bruce Younggreen. What kind of casual blue-jeans Supreme Being was this? Was I going mad?
“It pleases Me and, yes, I do as I please. I do what pleases Me.”
So that was my opening, and I seized it without delay. “Do I please you? Enough, anyway, for You to do something for me?”
“I don’t know. Are you a sparrow?”
I shook my head, trying to clear it. I honestly wasn’t sure where I was. Maybe I was in bed and this was a dream. Huh? It seemed like I was outside on the stone bench beside the cedar. Bruce, man, get a grip. This is important! I was decently sure I was awake, outside, stone bench, cedar, this God-Man just inches away. NOT A DREAM. Okay.
I tried to process this Damascus-road conversation. “So, what are You trying to tell me? That I matter only when I’m dead?”
“No, that’s not what I’m trying to tell you.” For the first time He looked directly at me. His brow wrinkled. “Who are you again?”
“What?! I’m Bruce. Your friend. You sent me a message that I matter to You, remember?”
“No, you’re not My friend.”
He looked at me. Well, not really. He looked through me. Apparently He saw that I was lost so He added in a matter-of-fact voice: “I’m your Friend. That’s how it works. You need My friendship. I befriend you. You benefit. It doesn’t benefit Me if you are My friend or not. In fact, it doesn’t benefit Me if you worship Me or not. Those things don’t matter to Me. You matter to Me. That’s why I’m your Friend.”
“So if You’re such a good friend, why am I still unemployed?”
“You mean that job interview yesterday? That stupid, high-paced, stressful job with . . . what was it? Kaiser? You mean, you didn’t get that job?”
Even in my trance-like state a wave of indignation washed over me until I almost shook. I wouldn’t deign to call it righteous indignation considering my conversational partner on that stone bench was pure Righteousness Himself. But was this all-knowing King of the universe unaware of how that dratted interview had gone? Doesn’t God know all things? Huh? Does this God-Guy keep track of all the sparrows but forget to check His log-book and see that I just got a rejection email from Kaiser?
“No, I didn’t get that job, thanks a lot. And You didn’t do much to help me, did You! You have to ask if I got the job? You know I didn’t get it!”
“I don’t do what pleases you,” He calmly explained. “I do what pleases Me. And that job didn’t please Me.”
“So I’m still unemployed, still homeless, still penniless. That pleases You?”
He rubbed the bridge of His nose, then took an abrupt detour. “Did you know that lilies don’t toil?”
“Sure. Learned it in Sabbath School.”
“They live for a day, then they are burned by the sun. But oh, do they dress well. Now that pleases Me.”
“That they dress well?”
“No! That they live for a day without toiling even though they are destined to be burned by the sun.”
“Why in the world does that please You?”
“Their smoke is a sweet savor to Me. They give their all, which is nothing, just to be near Me. They trust Me to dress them well.” He drew in a deep breath, apparently savoring some burning lily somewhere.
“So what are You telling me? That I need to burn up for You?”
“Oh, you’re not burned. Not yet, anyway. But, oh! do I have plans for you!”
“You do? What are they?”
“Can’t say.”
In my dreamlike state I couldn’t be sure if I was managing my own half of this God/Job conversation or if my lips and tongue were simply scrolling through a preordained script. “You can’t say? Aren’t they Your plans?”
“Don’t know the details yet.”
“What?! You don’t know the details? Aren’t You God? Don’t You know everything? How can You possibly not know the details?”
“‘I Am That I Am.’”
Well, that’s sure “Old Testament” of You. I never really got that one, God.
“I do know My plans, including the details.”
And there was the kind of pause, I swear to you, where a restaurant pal mentally teases out a line before he shares it. But there was a ghost of a smile when God offered me this cosmic aside: “The Devil’s in the details, you know.”
The irony of His observation eluded me until much later. So I rejoindered: “So, in big, broad strokes, what is the plan for me?”
“Won’t say. It’s none of your business. I’ll take care of it. In My own time, in My own way. When it pleases Me. Because . . .”
“Yeah, I get it,” I interrupted. “Because You do only what pleases You.’
“Right! You’re catching on!” He glanced at His watch, which I hadn’t noticed up to now. Imagine that! God wears a watch! “Oh, look at the time! I’ve got to be going. Things to do, places to be. Falling sparrows to watch, you know!” He stood and began walking down the slope, away from the cabin, fading to translucence, becoming transparent, then He vanished.