The other day, I was sitting in the park, reading and eating my lunch. In the spirit of being healthy, I’d made a salad. In the spirit of being able to eat it, I’d added bacon, almond slivers, feta cheese and copious amounts of dressing. It’s a balance, right? G.K. Chesterton’s essays had managed to keep ahold of my antsy attention while I crammed leafy greens down my throat.
It wasn’t until about halfway through my salad that I realized the park had been besieged by ravens. I hadn’t noticed earlier, but about equidistant between a trashcan and myself rested a paper Burger King sack. Fries littered the grass around it and the birds were feasting on them. Further, my lunch, picnic table and I had been enveloped by several who seemed to have some sort of attraction to my food. It must have been the ranch dressing, because nothing makes a bird as happy as a french fry. Normally, I wouldn’t be uneasy about their presence, but these birds were too interested in what was on the table and frankly, I wasn’t willing to share. A grown man requires much salad, if that’s the only thing on the menu.
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Elijah had just informed the evil king Ahab and his infamous wife Jezebel that the land wouldn’t see any rain in the coming years, unless the prophet himself commanded it. 1 Kings 17 doesn’t really explain why, but the previous chapter elaborates on how scandalous the King of Israel was. And everybody knows about Jezebel- she’s still got a reputation.
Activities like threatening pagan kings and their kingdoms aren’t particularly safe. So, God told the prophet that he needed to bounce. And stay on the down-low. Probably not in that language. The Almighty sent His man to hide in the Kerith Ravine, away from where he’d been stirring up trouble. (Can it be considered trouble if God initiates it? I mostly think so.) God also informed Elijah that ravens had been directed to feed him. And they did. The ebony-colored birds brought the man meat and bread every morning and evening during his leave of absence in the ravine.
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The bird wasn’t hard to miss. It was large and black. I walked my ten year-old self up to it and began studying the deceased creature. The whole thing was inky black. I grabbed a twig and began poking at it, trying to turn it over. I jumped back and dropped the tiny piece of maple when I realized that tiny ebony bugs were swarming from the fowl onto it. Apparently, the parasitic beings had no reason to cling to their host, now that he’d made an exit from the land of the living.
It was in this context that I first red 1 Kings 17. I imagined filthy birds and their unwelcome bloodsuckers flying over the man of God, dropping salami and Wonder Bread on him, not wholly different from how they might drop something else. I forced myself to adjust that image. In His omnipotence, The Almighty cleansed the ravens of their freeloaders as a blessing for their polite service. You see, God also made the birds land and set the bread and meat down in an orderly manner.
Ever since, my mind has thought about God using man and animal together to accomplish his will. Would He ever have to feed me after I proclaim some horrendous disaster over an unrepentant ruler? If so, I’d prefer that he use the majestic elk. One could deliver steaks that had somehow been skewered onto his horns. Also, if God uses dirty animals and potentially cleans them up for whatever task happens to be at hand, how much more could He use me, with my opposable thumbs and ability to communicate using clear words, in one and one-eighth languages, no less! Of course, if God had to spit polish me for the occasion, we all know that parasites wouldn’t be the issue, but some form of necessary human sanctification would have to take place. I’d say, “Have at it God, there’s plenty to clean up here.”
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I fell out of my reverie. I’d eaten my salad. The birds must have noticed, but lingered anyway. They probably expected this human to drop something consumable, just like so many of the rest of us do. A few flew when I stood to my feet and began the course to the trashcan. Along the way, I grabbed the Burger King bag between my thumb and forefinger, touching as little of it as possible. I crammed that and my own garbage in and began the walk back to my office. The birds flocked in to look for scraps.
You know, I’ve never thought about how God would have needed to clean up the birds in order to use them to bring Elijah his food. Powerful point. And if He could and did clean up some ravens, how much more does he clean us up in order to use us for his kingdom? Great thoughts, Jake!
You make me laugh, Jake! Clever, God-revealing thoughts from everyday life.
Kirsten! Thanks for the comment. It means you read! I have something for you from Rwanda. Just so you know.
A few years ago my friends started a band. They decided to name themselves Sent By Ravens. The idea behind this name was that the Raven was considered unclean in the culture. It still is considered bad luck to some of the more superstitious among us. They wanted to be used by God even though many would consider them unclean with their tattoos and piercings and cigarettes and occasional swear words. I dunno. Character counts for something I’m sure, but I feel like God cares more for our intentions.
I think our intentions are largely tied to our character. The more sanctified we become, the more our intentions (actions) will glorify God. I genuinely believe there are certain things that we can’t do without a certain level of character (read First and Second Timothy, for example). It’s a difficult game to play
Just read my first G. K Chesterton essay today on chalk. I was suspecting I’d been missing out; now I know.
It’s so hard to imagine birds bringing us food instead of the other way around. With God all things truly are possible.
Lisa, that’s fantastic! That was the first thing I read by him as well. I think he’s crazy. And I love it.
Forgot how much I appreciate your style… Yup. If He can clean and use ravens, we should be able to live up to our calling as well… which doesn’t always require thumbs… To venture into these parts of the world you gotta have your mind in gear… Thanks, Jake!
Thanks Floyd. Yep, this one was obvious. But kind of fun to write.