The God of Fallen Sparrows
What Makes Friday Good?
It has been a lonely week.
It began with the news that I had lost a friend. A woman from my own country,1 who went to my school and has, for the last few years, been a part of the fabric of my life in Los Angeles.
She was tall and funny, and had gigantic hair like an ‘80’s movie star. Her world was filled with pain. A few people knew the extent of it. Most did not.
Last night I sat in the Church and watched the old priests perform the stations of the Cross and I asked God to save my friend’s soul.
I have had occasion in recent years to question which God it is to whom I am asking such questions, and why the hell anyone calls this particular Friday “Good.”
Perhaps its Good because a Jewish man in Palestine was willing to die for what he believed on a Friday 2,000 years ago. Perhaps it was Good because what that Man believed was that He was the Son of God, or God himself, or rather both.
What did Saint Athanasius of Alexandria mean when he declared that "God became man so that man might become God?”
Was it a mistake? A momentary heretical lapse, perhaps? Unlikely from Athanasius, that great doctor of the Church, who wielded the torch of Trinitarianism through the early councils thus to brand Arianism forever with the mark of heresy.
Of course, Arius was a heretic.
He believed that Jesus was created by God and thus distinct from God. Anyone who has lost their footing when circling the void of religious mysticism knows why this is a heresy: not because Jesus cannot be distinct from God, but because nothing can.
The ultimate assertion of monotheism remains that all gods are One, but the primary contention of mysticism is that all Ones are, in fact, God.
So was that Friday “Good” because Jesus of Nazareth died to prove He was God, or because He died to prove we all were?
And what does it mean for God to kill Himself?
A Sparrow Falls to the Ground
I am a lousy gardener, but at least I try.
Last year I was a victim of my own early success. After a year of restoring the soil in my yard, it was finally ready for planting. I restored the dilapidated raised beds in my garden, planting artichokes, cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers, and a collection of herbs.
The plants flourished, but so did the pests. My garden became a home for a host of beautiful pollinators. It also became a refuge for squirrels, and increasingly, birds. Among the latter was an increasingly frequent visitor, the North American Song Sparrow (Melospiza melodia).
