Like the Sparrow

Image: A close-up of my in-progress "Beatitudes", an image of a sparrow, representing the poor in spirit. I've modeled this sparrow after the Dead Sea sparrow, which is the species that would have probably been most familiar to Christ.

This week, I carried Introduction to the Devout Life into Adoration, determined to read it and to get something out of it. This time, one brief statement in the second or third chapter stood out to me:

"The ostrich never flies, the common fowl flies but seldom, and then heavily and near the ground; but the swallow, the dove, and the eagle are ever on the wing, they fly far and easily."

St. Francis de Sales speaks of the soul’s ability to rise in devotion—some never lift their hearts to God, some struggle to do so (I think I'm in this camp, like many of us probably are), but others live in constant flight.

I understand that swallows and sparrows are quite different birds, but sparrows still fly and I couldn’t help thinking of my own work this week, painting the sparrow for the first of the Beatitudes: Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. I found myself praying something like this:

Lord, make me truly devout, to fly like the sparrow; make me poor in spirit, relying on You to provide for all my needs.

And yet, this prayer comes alongside another one I’ve been praying lately. As I step back into a full-time job with a steady paycheck - something I've not done for a few years now - I still hope and long for the days when this work will provide for my family. I find myself praying for prosperity, for security in uncertain times.

It feels like a contradiction. How can I pray for poverty of spirit while also praying for financial stability? In some ways, I suppose that the second prayers shows that I still need to pray the first. But as we move through Lent, there's another answer.

Lent is a season of detachment—not from the good things of the world, but from an anxious grasping at them. To be poor in spirit is not necessarily to reject material provision, but to entrust all things to God. It is to work diligently, to seek the good of my family, but to do so with open hands, knowing that all things come from Him and return to Him.

May this Lent teach us how to fly—not weighed down by worry, nor content to never take flight, but lifted by faith, like the sparrow under God’s care.