Around 30 a.d., the Galilean roads churned with frantic foot traffic. Thousands of sandaled feet kicked up a suffocating cloud of white dust, crushing wild mustard plants into the soil and filling the hot air with a sharp, peppery scent. People pressed together so tightly they trampled one another to get closer. In the nearby market stalls, vendors hawked the cheapest meat available to the poor. Five roasted sparrows traded hands for two small copper coins, an amount worth merely a fraction of a laborer's daily wage. The noise of bargaining voices and bleating animals formed a deafening backdrop to the day.

Jesus stood entirely unbothered by the crushing weight of the crowd. He directed their attention away from the suffocating anxiety of the marketplace and toward the sky above them. Dark-feathered ravens rode the thermal currents overhead, crying out in harsh bursts. The Lord pointed out that these scavenging birds planted no wheat, harvested no barley, and kept no stone storehouses. God fed them anyway. He drew their eyes back down to the cheap sparrows strung on the merchant's wooden skewers. Not a single one of those insignificant birds fell to the dirt without His Father knowing it. He spoke with the quiet certainty of a Creator who intimately tracks every loose hair falling from a human head.

The rough edge of a low-value copper coin feels the same in a pocket today. We grip our own small securities, rubbing the metal until it grows warm against our skin. We draft intricate plans for larger barns, sketching out blueprints to stockpile our harvests and insulate ourselves from future lack. The rich landowner in the story tore down his wooden sheds to build massive stone silos, breathing in the scent of aged cedar and fresh grain, convinced his soul was finally safe. The heavy wooden doors slammed shut, locking the wealth inside.

The sharp thud of a heavy door echoing through an overstuffed storehouse drowns out the rustle of wings in the open sky. Barns designed to keep hunger out also wall off the wind and the light. We sit surrounded by neatly stacked grain, clutching our copper coins in the dark. The ravens continue to fly outside the walls, thriving on the scattered seeds left behind in the dirt.

A tightly closed hand cannot catch the rain.