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| White-throated sparrow, George Tallman, 2014, Exton Park |
Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
(from Sometimes, Mary Oliver, Red Bird, 2008)
This is the time of year when every day brings something new.
The crocuses beneath my dogwood are fading.
The daffodils
along the driveway are swelling into bloom.
White-throated sparrows sing their
farewells from beneath my bedroom window, while a pair of glossy crows patrols
the back yard, examining bits of fluff to line a hidden nest nearby..
Barbara Taylor Brown, in An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith, suggests that by consigning faith to church and overtly religious practices, we miss much of what God is doing in the world around us. As she says, “In a world where faith is often construed as a way of thinking, bodily practices remind the willing that faith is a way of life.”
One of the practices Taylor Brown offers is “the practice of paying attention.” For Taylor Brown, attention is closely linked to reverence: an awareness that we are not all there is. We’re not the center of the universe. We aren’t God. We’re part of God’s creation.
Annie Dillard, a strong practioner of paying attention, caught my own attention when I was a sophomore in college. I picked up Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, her Pultizer Prize winning account of a year spent stalking muskrat, beauty, and God Himself in the hills and woods around Tinker Creek, inVirginia ’s Blue Ridge mountains .
I was intrigued by her attention to detail, her willingness to wait and watch,
to look beyond the disturbance on the water’s surface to see what was happening
beneath.
Barbara Taylor Brown, in An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith, suggests that by consigning faith to church and overtly religious practices, we miss much of what God is doing in the world around us. As she says, “In a world where faith is often construed as a way of thinking, bodily practices remind the willing that faith is a way of life.”
One of the practices Taylor Brown offers is “the practice of paying attention.” For Taylor Brown, attention is closely linked to reverence: an awareness that we are not all there is. We’re not the center of the universe. We aren’t God. We’re part of God’s creation.
Annie Dillard, a strong practioner of paying attention, caught my own attention when I was a sophomore in college. I picked up Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, her Pultizer Prize winning account of a year spent stalking muskrat, beauty, and God Himself in the hills and woods around Tinker Creek, in
I remember being entranced with Dillard’s desire to see God
at work in his creation, to know his character through the reality of nature’s
complexity and abundance. Trees, leaves, bugs, shells were all clues for her of
an invisible, powerful hand at work, through intricate processes, unexplained
purposes. After pages describing textures of bird feathers, tree bark, various
kinds of rocks, she paused to wonder:
What do I make of all this texture? What does it mean about the kind of world in which I have been set down? The texture of the world, its filigree and scrollwork, means that there is the possibility for beauty here, a beauty inexhaustible in its complexity, which opens to my knock, which answers in me a call I do not remember calling, and which trains me to the wild and extravagant nature of the spirit I seek.But seeing takes time, more than an hour or two on Sunday. Even reading about seeing takes time. Taylor Brown laments this:
No one has time for this, of course. No one has time to lie on the deck watching stars, or to wonder how one’s hand came to be, or to see the soul of a stranger walking by. Small wonder we are short on reverence. The artist Georgia O’Keeffe, who became famous for her sensuous paintings of flowers, explained her success by saying ‘In a way, nobody sees a flower, really, it is so small, we haven’t time – and to see takes time . . . ‘It takes time to see how a flower is constructed, how a bird builds its nest, what a friend might be thinking.
It also takes time to see where God might be working, to understand where he might be leading.
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| White-crowned sparrow, George Tallman, Exton Park, 2014 |
It’s interesting to me how much of scripture assumes an
understanding of nature: descriptions of trees planted by rivers of water,
psalms describing sun, moon, stars, weather, a vast array of living creatures,
and what they tell us about God’s glory and power, prophecies suggesting that
the health of creation is a reflection of our obedience or disobedience to
God’s priorities and plan, Jesus’ parables of wheat, vines, birds, flowers.
Is it possible to really hear God speak when we’re moving so fast we can’t even hear each other?
Is it possible to really hear God speak when we’re moving so fast we can’t even hear each other?
Is it possible to understand what he’s doing when we’re moving
too fast to see his hand in creation?
Jesus said “Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds!
He also said “Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.”
I went to Strong’s lexicon to see what I could find out about that word “consider.” The Greek word, katanoeo, (κατανοησατε), means “to perceive, remark, observe, understand, to consider attentively, fix one's eyes or mind upon."
Jesus said “Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds!
He also said “Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.”
I went to Strong’s lexicon to see what I could find out about that word “consider.” The Greek word, katanoeo, (κατανοησατε), means “to perceive, remark, observe, understand, to consider attentively, fix one's eyes or mind upon."
When Jesus said “consider,” he didn’t mean “grab my point
and move on fast.” He meant “slow down, examine, study, then follow the example
of” things dear to him, parts of his creation that reflect his values, his
care. That list includes ravens. Wild flowers.
Even sparrows.
Jesus said “Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God.”
Jesus said “Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God.”
As a birdwatcher, I’ve discovered that sparrows are among
the most difficult to identify, the most time-consuming of birds. If you want
to get to know sparrows, you’re going to have to hunker down somewhere and
wait. Many birders write them off as “LBJ”s, little brown jobs, the least
interesting, least important, hardest to identify. I’m still struggling to
learn them.
Yet Jesus says even sparrows are of interest to God:
Yet Jesus says even sparrows are of interest to God:
"Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one
of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care."
As we pay attention, we find ourselves drawn closer to God, his provision beyond imagining, the grandeur of his vision, and the amazing reality that the God of the universe pays attention to our needs. Our own intentions are set in perspective; his plan for us gains focus and clarity.
As we pay attention, we find ourselves drawn closer to God, his provision beyond imagining, the grandeur of his vision, and the amazing reality that the God of the universe pays attention to our needs. Our own intentions are set in perspective; his plan for us gains focus and clarity.
Lent is a time to slow down and pay attention. To consider
the sparrows, the ravens, the fleeting beauty of lilies.
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| Swamp Sparrow, George Tallman, 2013, Exton Park |
It takes time, yet just the change of focus can make it time
well spent, an avenue into closer fellowship with God, and an occasion for
deeper, more honest praise and prayer.
It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
(Praying, Mary Oliver,
from Thirst, 2006)
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