God of the Sparrows
All was not as it should have been, oh no. The hands that should have cupped (so tenderly) Your fledgling self till you had learnt to fly Then with a prayer released you to the heavens Have either crushed you, left you broken winged, Or let you slip through careless fingers—fall Before you’d strength to fly. The ground was hard And you’ve been bruised and left to lie alone. But someone sees each fallen, broken sparrow And he has got the tenderest hands of all, So still, still, still those beating wings of yours. You can’t escape, so let yourself be caught And held and healed, until one day you fly And, singing, soar into the welcoming sky.
If God sees every fallen bird, then surely (yes, surely) he sees every man, woman, and child who—in one way or another or perhaps in many ways—have been harmed and hurt by those in positions of authority over them. He knows, he sees, and oh, his tender hands are so willing to heal. Come, let yourself be caught.