Ravens

As we drove up to our old place on Lake Superior, we were greeted by a large raven who had taken dominion over the doorway. Having found something to eat, he wasn’t yielding the ground without coaxing. Tenacious old bird.

And then, this morning, I read these amazing words of Jesus, “Fear not, little flock, for it is the Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32). I’ve always envisioned a rather pastoral scene, with sweetly grazing lambs and a kind, vigilant shepherd. But this morning I looked back at the chapter, only to discover that the only “flock” in sight was a company of ravens (12:24). They are scavengers—they don’t sow or reap or place their seed on deposit to collect interest. And, as my sister points out, they are really loud and obnoxious—endowed with a similar tone of voice to mothers in our less “pastoral” moments.

So apparently the Father’s good pleasure doesn’t simply extend to relaxed, trusting herds of sheep, but to anxiety-prone coveys of ravens. And he not only claims them, but comforts them: what else would be the point of Jesus telling them to “fear not,” if they weren’t afraid?

I am so much more naturally like a raven than a lamb. Whether the goal is food and clothes, the activities I want on a short vacation or the long-term behavior of significant others, I am far more prone to grab and grasp than to release and wait. “Let it be to me according to your word” once came swiftly to the lips of an in-graced maid. May it continue to fight its way to the top of my more raven-prone soul. Apparently the Father delights to give the kingdom to those of us with a propensity to grasp even after we recognize that the truly great things can only be received as gift.