Bill and I both heard this story told many years ago but forget the who or the where. Bill retells it here. It speaks to the "why" of God becoming a Man.You can read the entire study
here.
The story is set in the Midwestern United States during the onset of a Christmas Eve blizzard. A man, a decent man, who was both a loving father and a good husband, could no longer play the hypocrite in regard to celebrating the birth of a Person in which he had never really believed. He could not, in all honesty, overcome the absurdity of the thought that God, if He existed at all, would become a Man. Previous to this, he had tried, for the sake of his wife and two children, to overcome his disbelief and join in the Christian rituals, but it was becoming an increasing strain. Finally, during this Christmas, he could support the facade no longer.
Gently, he explained to his family why he would not be joining them at the church service that evening. Though sad, they respected his integrity and promised to pray for him, that God would give him some substantive sign that would overcome his doubts. He thanked them and kissed them good-bye, and afterwards watched the family car disappear down the road toward the church several miles away. Sighing, he went back inside the warm house, rebuilt the fire in the family room hearth, and settled down for a melancholy evening watching the news.
The weather report warned of a sudden and severe snow storm approaching over the Great Lakes, gathering fierce intensity as it barreled in their direction. His first impulse was to pray for his family's safety, but he shook his head in self-deprecation at the reflexive action. Pray to Whom? A Being he did not believe existed, or cared? Instead he comforted himself with the reminder that his wife was a skilled driver, that the church was a sensible and caring group of people who would ensure the safety of its members, and he sat back down in his favorite chair by the hearth and began to read a beloved book.
His peace was disrupted minutes later by a sudden loud crack against the front picture window. Although the curtain was open, he could not see outside because of the reading lamp, so he got up from his seat, and switched off the light.
Outside it was beginning to snow, and he was surprised to see that the blizzard had already begun. A beautiful shimmering white blanket was quickly coating the world within view, and he would have been utterly content had his wife a children been safely inside. As it was, he was only mildly concerned, yet still fascinated with the sudden shift in the weather as he gazed like a little child at the cascade of white flakes reflected in the street lamp by the street.
Thwack!
He literally jumped away from the glass at the noise. It sounded like a rock had been thrown at some force at the window. He caught a flash of something striking the glass but then it dropped from sight.
He approached again cautiously, grateful no cracks had appeared.
Thwack!
He was better prepared this time and actually saw a bird fling itself full force at the window.
"What the…?" he said to himself out loud.
Then it happened again.
"Stupid bird! What are you thinking?"
Then a fourth sally at the glass, but this time the disoriented creature hit the brick windowsill on the way down and seemed to drop quickly, rather than fly out of sight.
Compassion filled the man and he quickly went to the hall closet for boots, coat and gloves, and ventured outdoors.
It was shockingly cold with a strong frigid wind that cut through his outer garments.
He fought against the wind to the place where the bird had fallen, and there it lay, almost completely covered in snow by now, apparently lifeless.
Pity filled the man, and he bent down in an attempt to rescue the hapless, uncomprehending creature. Perhaps, it was not dead and he could bring it inside to the warmth and light, and save it from certain death.
But as he came close, the bird revived and, in panic, attempted to fly into the night.
It flapped pathetically across the ground, unable to gain altitude, tumbling finally into the snow in a tangle of wings and feathers, its head trembling visibly in terror; its whole frame shaking in apoplectic fright.
The man cursed in frustration under his breath, concluding that if he tried to intervene so directly again, rather than saving it, he would scare the bird to death.
An idea came to him, so he went up to his front door, opened it to the wind and snow, and quickly circled back behind the bird, thinking to scare it into the light emanating through the door from the warm fire.
Misinterpreting this rescue attempt again as an attack, the bird flapped its wings frantically and took off away from the house into the swirling snow and killing cold.
It did not get far before it collapsed again under the streetlight.
Strangely, the man found himself near tears. All he wanted was to save the stupid creature from itself. It was smart enough to try to fly into the light of the window, but not smart enough to be shown the way through the door, the only safe entrance.
He stood helpless in the cold, cursing the cruel senselessness of life, frantically trying to come up with some kind of solution, all the while wondering why he even bothered or cared.
If only I could become a bird, he thought to himself finally, and show it the way into the light and warmth of the house, then it would live.
The man's mind and heart leapt at the thought.
Of course! Then it struck him like a winter thunderbolt. The only way the bird could know and trust his good intentions is if he somehow communicated to it at a level and in a way it could comprehend; as a bird, to a bird.
An hour later, his wife found him sitting in front of the fire with a towel bundled on his lap.
He turned to face her as she came through the door, stamping the snow from her boots. The two children were still outside, romping in the pure, gleaming, snow-blanketed front yard.
There were tears in his eyes.
"Honey!" she said in alarm. "What's wrong?"
Gently, he gathered the towel from his lap, unfolded a corner and lifted it up so she could see. Inside, was a bright-eyed, bedraggled young sparrow, looking alertly around and blinking at the sudden onslaught of light.
He covered it again quickly and set it equally gently on the floor.
She went to him then, and knelt carefully beside him on by the chair, marveling at the tears reflected in his eyes.
"Are you OK?" she asked brushing her thumb against his face.
"I am sorry," he managed to rasp from an emotion-laden throat. "Sorry I was so stupid all these years not to see what was right in front of my face."
"See what, sweetheart? What do you mean?"
She had never seen him in such a state before, and was beginning to become frightened.
"I know why Christ became a Man," he replied in a ragged whisper. "I was just too stupid and frightened to see… until tonight."
