Chickens and God

So I was sitting next to my chickens the other day, trying to get them to not freak out every time I come near them and it got me thinking that the way our chicks view us may be how we view God sometimes.  

As a little back story, Alec convinced me that we needed chickens in our life and after promising that he would take care of them, getting a coop for free from friends down the street and because he was so excited about it, I caved.  And because they will live outside and really are pretty low maintenance, my investment is fairly small if they get taken by a coyote tomorrow.  The slightly ridiculous thing is that since we got them at about a week old, when they were real little and cute, even though now they are awkward teenager chickens, I’m kind of attached to the silly things.  Alec says this is how kids must work too…

Anyway, so I’m sitting in the garage on a bale of the chickens’ bedding, because they aren’t big enough to live outside yet, reading my book to get them used to me and my mind starts to make this larger connection to my relationship to God.  Obviously, it’s not a perfect analogy, but indulge me for a few minutes.  And I suppose all of this could actually be similar to a parent/child relationship, but since we don’t have kids, chickens will have to do. The chicks don’t know anything other than their instinct and what they’ve learned— some basic classical conditioning, if you will.  So if I come bursting through the garage door, throw my arm over the wall of their pen and try to grab one from above, their little hearts might just stop beating.  And if they don’t, I’m sure not going to be a welcome sight in the future; our relationship will be one based on surprise, fear and distrust.  Now imagine my interaction with them goes more this: I come over to their cage, timidly stick my trembling arm down, flinch and shriek anytime any of them come near it.  Our relationship is still one of fear and distrust, this time my fear of them.  So what if sometimes I come in brash and swooping and sometimes I’m scared they will peck my freckles off?  That may be worst of all because now we are introducing a sense of uncertainty and distrust that they don’t know how I will respond to any given situation. What if instead, as soon as I come out the garage door, before they can even see me, I start talking to them, “Hi chickadees, it’s ok, it’s me. I’m here to just be with you for a bit.” You get the picture.  And all the time I’m talking, I’m calmly coming over to their cage, slowly move the walls aside so it’s just about 8 inch wall, instead of a 4 foot one, and sit down on the bale of bedding.  Maybe I don’t reach my hand in just yet, just get them used to my voice and presence so they can begin to trust I really am not there to hurt them.  After a while, I do stick my hand in, slowly, palm up and let them come to me, not reaching out to grab them.  I’ll pet their chest, let them roost on my hand for several minutes and slowly put them back to go about their business.  As the days and weeks go by, the chickens will come to see me as a comforting, familiar presence bringing them clean water and meal worm treats and I’ll grow to enjoy the silly way they all chase after the same bug or roll around in the dirt or settle on my hand to roost.  And we’ll have as positive of a relationship that a human and a chicken can have.

So as the chickens in this scenario, do we view God as the swooper, hell-fire and brimstone judgement of fury kind of God? And build our relationship with him on a foundation of fear and avoidance of pain? Or do we see him as the hands-off, “I’ve-done-my-part” God that maybe isn’t afraid of us, but for sure can’t be bothered to bother about us kind of God?  My faith has led me to an understanding of God more like the last scenario with my chickens, though.  A God who even before I knew him or can see him, is calling out, “Hi chickadee, it’s ok, it’s me. I’m here to just be with you for a bit.” His constant wooing is not a pressure for us to have to be with him, but an invitation to be with him.  Wesleyan to my core, I can freely choose to be with him or go my own way; nothing has been decided for me.  And as the days and weeks go by, I can come to rely on God to provide peace that passes all understanding, rest when I’m weary and heavy-burdened, and ultimate salvation from this sinful nature.  I can trust God’s word that says we are his beloved children, worth sacrificing everything for.  And I know my relationship with God will be one of bone-weary wrestling and unspeakable joy.  Dark nights of the soul juxtaposed with grace beyond measure.  Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow alongside faith like a child.  Much more than eggs and Instagram pictures.