The Minister's Daughter

This morning, I grabbed my Grandpa's poetry book and it fell open to this poem which was written in 1880 by the Quaker poet, John Greenleaf Whittier.

It reminded me of a conversation I had with Dad when I rejected the notion of a hell of eternal torment and had begun to learn what I was to lose by that choice. I call it a choice for lack of a better term...because you don't really choose what you believe you just believe what you believe... and you either own it, or you live a lie....  He said, "Well, you never heard me preach about hell."   And I said, "but the threat of hell is foundational in the teachings of the church....it is the "given" that is the undercurrent of everything."  

I guess, I admired Dad for expressing what he did to me...but I was a bit disillusioned too...that he would just remain quiet about what he believed...when it makes such a difference in our perception of who God is.  "WHO GOD IS" is very important and profoundly effects our relationship to Him.  It's why Jesus came...to reconcile us to God...to show us who He really is. (think, "If you have seen Me you have seen the Father.)

I think the false image creates a destructive dissonance and is often the reason that people walk away from "religion."  Atheist humorist George Carlin likes to say,

“Religion has actually convinced people that there's an invisible man living in the sky who watches everything you do, every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a special list of ten things he does not want you to do. And if you do any of these ten things, he has a special place, full of fire and smoke and burning and torture and anguish, where he will send you to live and suffer and burn and choke and scream and cry forever and ever 'til the end of time!

But He loves you. He loves you, and He needs money! He always needs money! He's all-powerful, all-perfect, all-knowing, and all-wise, somehow just can't handle money!”

People find this funny.  Why?  because it does resonate with what "religion" has taught and it shows up as a rediculous caricature the "god" of "religion." 

Anyhow... I really can't say more... although I have much more to say... Here is the poem... I particularly like the 15th stanza...because a false image of God is, as the poet has expressed...quite simply...an idol...
    
The Minister's Daughter

In the minister's morning sermon
He had told of the primal fall,
And how thenceforth the wrath of God
Rested on each and all.

And how of His will and pleasure,
All souls, save a chosen few,
Were doomed to the quenchless burning,
And held in the way thereto.

Yet never by faith's unreason
A saintlier soul was tried,
And never the harsh old lesson
A tenderer heart belied.

And, after the painful service
On that pleasant Sabbath day,
He walked with his little daughter
Through the apple-bloom of May.

Sweet in the fresh green meadows
Sparrow and blackbird sung;
Above him their tinted petals
The blossoming orchards hung.

Around on the wonderful glory
The minister looked and smiled;
"How good is the Lord who gives us
These gifts from His hand, my child.

"Behold in the bloom of apples
And the violets in the sward
A hint of the old, lost beauty
Of the Garden of the Lord!"

Then up spake the little maiden,
Treading on snow and pink
"O father! these pretty blossoms
Are very wicked, I think.

"Had there been no Garden of Eden
There never had been a fall;
And if never a tree had blossomed
God would have loved us all."

"Hush, child!" the father answered,
"By His decree man fell;
His ways are in clouds and darkness,
But He doeth all things well.

"And whether by His ordaining
To us cometh good or ill,
Joy or pain, or light or shadow,
We must fear and love Him still."

"Oh, I fear Him!" said the daughter,
"And I try to love Him, too;
But I wish He was good and gentle,
Kind and loving as you."

The minister groaned in spirit
As the tremulous lips of pain
And wide, wet eyes uplifted
Questioned his own in vain.

Bowing his head he pondered
The words of the little one;
Had he erred in his life-long teaching?
Had he wrong to his Master done?

To what grim and dreadful idol
Had he lent the holiest name?
Did his own heart, loving and human,
The God of his worship shame?

And lo! from the bloom and greenness,
From the tender skies above,
And the face of his little daughter,
He read a lesson of love.

No more as the cloudy terror
Of Sinai's mount of law,
But as Christ in the Syrian lilies
The vision of God he saw.

And, as when, in the clefts of Horeb,
Of old was His presence known,
The dread Ineffable Glory
Was Infinite Goodness alone.

Thereafter his hearers noted
In his prayers a tenderer strain,
And never the gospel of hatred
Burned on his lips again.

And the scoffing tongue was prayerful,
And the blinded eyes found sight,
And hearts, as flint aforetime,
Grew soft in his warmth and light.

This is a painting  by the wonderful Victoria watercolorist, Leslie Redhead. http://www.leslieredhead.com/  I hope that Leslie won't mind if I put this charming picture here. Admittedly...these are wrens and they are not sparrows and they are in a maple tree...not a Victoria Lilac....even so...

I have a little bird house, charmingly painted and decorated by a grandchild and wedged into a crook in the branches of the Victoria lilac tree.  It has held a nest of little sparrows once or twice in past years.  I looked for it today, and found that it had been moved.  It must have fallen down and been replaced by the neighbor children. So it was somewhat askew and I took it down to examine the interior by lifting up the hinged roof.  Inside was a nest…in a state of disuse and broken a bit by it’s tumble from the tree.  The nest was made up of grass, moss, bits of fluff and what have you…but woven in amongst the other materials was a surprising amount of hair.  Human hair.  Obviously (to me)….MY OWN  hair…a lot of it. I wondered how a little bird could have gathered so much of my hair to build her nest.  As I have worked around the yard, flicking my hair out of my eyes…taking my hat off and on…I never noticed the loss of a few hairs here and there caught by the wind.  But the birds must have a sharp eye for such materials when they are doing the important work of building their nests.   My mind went to the words of Jesus in Luke 12: 6&7

Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, 

and not one of them is forgotten before God?

But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.

Fear not therefore: 

ye are of more value than many sparrows.

Sometimes our losses are heartbreaking and sometimes they are of very little concern to us. But great or small…they are never to no purpose.  We have a loving father who is watching out for the sparrows (and the wrens) and at the same time noticing and caring about everything concerning us...right down to the hairs of our head.