Yesterday, I was in the middle of my annual untangling and testing of Christmas lights when I heard a panicked cry from my daughter, Amy. Dad, come help! Something is wrong with Tsunami!
Over the next couple hours, I learned more than I ever thought I would need to about the anatomy and reproductive nature of parakeets. Amy's little bird was suffering from something called an egg binding and a prolapse. At this point, the vet was closed for the weekend and I was unaware if there even existed the equivalent of a pet ER. And so we resorted to internet searches and calls to family and others much more knowledgeable about pet birds than I to see what we could do for this little bird that was clearly suffering and in trauma.
We did the best we could to gently help Tsunami pass the trapped egg and to correct the prolapse. But as we did, I felt very little hope for this poor little bird as I thought about the likelihood of infections from our less than sterile and less than professional attempts at treatment and the possibility of Tsunami laying additional eggs in the coming days and re-aggravating her condition. At one point, I even found myself researching humane methods of euthanasia for the little bird.
At the end of the day, I was clearly sad for the distressed and suffering bird. But I was even more sad and concerned about my little girl, who was just as distressed and suffering in her own way over her beloved pet. The logical economist in me had been crunching numbers and dollar signs since my first search for a local vet. At $20 each at the pet store, a $200 emergency bill could equal ten replacement birds. After the major trauma had passed and the little bird was wrapped in a warm towel and her breathing had slowed to a more normal rate, Amy and I sat talking about her bird and the risks that she might not survive. If her bird made it through the coming day, Amy asked me if we could take her bird in to the vet on Monday morning. And as I began to delicately share my thoughts on the economies of pets and potential medical care and the risks of professional treatment not helping, one look at my little girl stopped me in my tracks. Dad, she said, I would spend all of my savings if it could help save Tsunami! 
I held my little girl close as we both cried, and I thought long and hard about what Amy had said. What was the worth of this little bird? Had we been talking about my little girl or one of my other children, there would have been no sum of money too high or no odds too unlikely for me to sell my soul for that child's well being. And for Amy, this was no different. As a "mother" in her own right to this little bird, Amy was ready to take a hammer to her piggy bank and to do all in her power to save Tsunami. And with these thoughts came to mind a powerful teaching from Christ to his disciples in the Gospels.
Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your father? Not one of them is forgotten before God? But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.
Sadly, the hairs of my head are more able to be numbered than they once were, as my children love to remind me. My kind wife has gently suggested multiple times that the opportunity for investing in Minoxidil will soon pass if I don't take action soon. But what beauty this teaching of our elder brother conveys when we think about how a tiny little sparrow cannot fall to the ground without the notice of our Father in Heaven, the creator of all. He knows each and every one of His creations. And the sanctity of life is something He has shown through His commandments that He holds dear. He has stressed the sacred nature of the procreative power that He has allowed us possess, to share with Him in the miracle of creation. And He has condemned the careless and malicious taking of life. And yet, although life is something that He holds so very dear, He allows death to be a necessary part of the cycle of life. Sometimes it occurs prematurely due to accidents and illness. Sometimes it follows a long and fruitful life. For Tsunami, death came more quickly than anticipated, and I was left to try to comfort a grief-stricken daughter.
But the teaching is clear. Even God, the creator of innumerable stars and galaxies and the creator of the most minute of atoms and cells, is aware of that little bird's passing. And in a similar vein, he is aware of me. He knows my struggles and weaknesses. He knows my joys and successes. He hears and answers my meandering prayers. He has a plan for me if I will look to Him for guidance and direction. No matter how lonely, how afraid, how defeated, or how depressed I might feel at any time, I have a loving Father watching over me and standing ready to enfold me in his loving arms. He may know and love those sparrows and those parakeets. But He truly loves me in a way that dwarfs that worth that he places upon those winged creations--just as I, as a father, place infinitely more worth in my children over a beloved pet bird.
However, the purpose in this sermon that has been wrestling around in my heart since Tsunami's passing is not one about the worth that God places in the souls of His children. The sermon that is pounding the pulpit in my heart is one on the worth of sparrows. We know that the worth of souls is great in the sight of God. And it is easy for me to share with my Father in Heaven in recognizing the infinite worth of the souls of my brothers and sisters, my friends, my eternal companion and helpmate, and my beautiful children. But what about the worth of those sparrows?
Ultimately, Tsunami's worth struggled to surpass a monetary value worthy of an expensive veterinarian bill. Yes, I loved that little bird. But I placed a finite worth on that bird based upon certain qualities and judgments that I, as an imperfect man, felt to place upon that little animal. What worth do I place upon my fellow man? Who is a sparrow? And who is of more value than many sparrows?
I think it is all too natural for us as humans to gravitate towards others who are like us. Those who share similar beliefs as us. Those who look like us. Those who grew up near us or in a similar way. Those who went to the same school we did. Those who share a similar lifestyle and level in the social class systems that we consciously or subconsciously adopt. As a result of this innate nature we have to group ourselves in this way, we find rampant accusations of racism, sexism, prejudice, stereotypes, and bigotry. And more often than not, those accusations are probably spot on.
Although even God acknowledges that He places different worth upon His creations, His sparrows and His children, and though it is natural and human for us to do the same, we should ultimately recognize the significant and divine worth of all of God's creations, be those sparrows or be those fans of a rival sports team. Though we may place lesser worth on one of these sparrows, there is a little girl named Amy out there, or a mother, a brother or sister, or a best friend of that sparrow who would take a hammer to his or her own piggy bank and sacrifice everything for the welfare of that sparrow. And when we ourselves come to recognize that worth, then we can join our Father in Heaven in loving and looking out for those sparrows.
God Bless!
