Owls and Crows

Quickly, without really thinking about it, call up a mental image of someone who embodies the word “smart.” Got it? Now, just as spontaneously, get a mental picture of someone who epitomizes the word “wisdom.” Hold that thought.

Now I’m willing to bet that you didn’t bring up two identical images to fit with those two different words. In a survey of folks who participated in this exercise, more often than not the “smart” person wore large glasses and was attired in an expensive but conservatively styled business suit. This “smart” person had all the most traditional earmarks of power – white, male, fortyish, tall, slender. Because he was “smart,” this guy also exuded an aura of “successful” – he had money, a good job, a nice car, sharp clothes. The “smart”-image man looked both impressive and intimidating.

But the word “wisdom” brought up an entirely different persona for most people. The smart and savvy guy disappeared. In its place was a creased and worn face, lined with a road map of wrinkles. The hair was gray and had that “Einstein-is-my-hairdresser” look. There was a decidedly rumpled and even weary quality to this “wise” one, who also clearly would have qualified for the “senior citizen” rate at the movies. Instead of the telltale marks of “success,” there was a suggestion of satisfaction. A sense of peace and contentment seemed to hang about this human image of “wisdom.”

Your own images, of course, may be quite different. But for all of us, being “smart” and being “wise” inhabit two different places in our culturally determined cognitive mappings. Which image, the “smart” one or the “wise” one, is more appealing? The choice appears to be between being rich, successful and well-groomed or being old, wrinkled and having a perpetually bad-hair day.

Our mental images are predetermined by cultural biases and prejudices hard-wired into our brains. Being “smart” is a quality highly valued in our society. That’s why the images we dream up are of those most highly valued, our versions of the “ruling elite” – the rich and powerful. Being “wise” is a quality that doesn’t easily fit into our consumer-oriented culture. To paraphrase Julius Caesar, “Veni, Vidi, VISA” (“I came, I saw, I charged”).

It’s not easy to see what “wisdom” can do for us. At best, we credit “wisdom” with being a virtue we may possibly have the luxury of developing in our retirement years.

It is false flattery for our culture to claim that wisdom is achieved in old age, or that we respect and honor our elders for the wisdom they possess. The truth is, we foist the title of “being wise” upon the “Third Age” (60-90) because we are too busy doing the “really important” things of life, too busy trying to be “smart” to be bothered with such an intangible, uncashable quality as “wisdom.”

But Wisdom is not a peripheral quality of life and faith. In ancient Israel, wisdom was a normative, integral part of a compassionate person’s mind and spirit. Strangely, Jewish wisdom books are often dismissed by us in our search for more ethereal, spiritual insights. The Book of Proverbs, for example, seems far too concerned with mundane things to appeal to our lofty spiritual aims. Jewish wisdom, after all, stressed realism. It asked point-blank, as does James in today’s Epistle, “How can we live so as not to displease God but continue in God’s favor?”

The advice of Jewish wisdom was not any mumbo-jumbo chanting of cryptic sayings, or some secret gnosis. It was suggestions on how to run an effective household, how to work with others, how to get along in this world.

Wisdom is not the sage, sanctimonious sayings of old folk. It is the informed, inspired, yet humble movement of God’s Spirit and insight within the human heart and mind.

When James urges Christians to act wisely in their community of faith, he is differentiating between those who know more and those who know better. Owls are our classic symbols of wisdom. Perhaps it is their quiet ways, their wide-eyed, taking-it-all-in stare or the fact that they can swivel their necks 180 degrees and so keep as sharp a lookout behind them as they can in front of them, that gives them this reputation for “wisdom.”

Crows and ravens, on the other hand, are known to be very smart birds. Like parrots, they can be taught to talk and can figure out fairly complex logistical problems. However, crows and ravens are also compulsive collectors. They will fill their nests with odd bits of shiny metal, gleaming buttons, and bright string. Anything glitzy and gaudy that catches their eye is dragged home.

In today’s Epistle, James calls Christians to embody wisdom, that is, to be the owls of this world – a world where there is the paradox of more and more information, and less and less wisdom. Too many of us have become crows – smart to the ways of the world, but suckered into any slick and appealing gimmick.

The acquisitive way of crows leads to loud squabbles and long battles over particularly prized bits of flotsam and jetsam. For all their smarts, crows will spend the better part of a day pursuing another member of the flock who has picked up an especially appealing piece of junk. You can listen to them scream and screech as they wage war against the crow with the coveted goody.

Christian owls, James reminds us, are called not to wage war, but to wage wisdom on this world. Waging wisdom takes an entirely different type of armature than the secular world is used to wearing. James calls his Christian brothers and sisters to outfit themselves with purity, peace, gentleness, reasonableness, mercy, good fruits, and sincerity (v.17).

In one of his books, the founder of the Sojourners Community in Washington, D.C., Episcopal priest Jim Wallis, gives one example of what it means to wage wisdom.

Fr. Wallis tells of being mugged right outside his home by four kids. They rushed him, punched his face, and then yelled “Keep him down! Get his wallet!”

He writes, “I popped up quickly, which seemed to surprise them. Seeing no weapons flashed, I squared to face my attackers. I saw that my assailants were just children – three about 15, and one little one who couldn’t have been more than 13. The boys backed up a little when they saw I was bigger than they had expected. I’m a strong believer in nonviolence, but have learned that being a weight lifter often helps in these potential conflict situations! The one who had hit me moved into a boxing stance while the others circled. The little guy began attempting some ineffectual karate kicks, which I assumed he had seen on television.

“I decided to confront them and told them to stop terrorizing people, to stop such violent behavior in our neighborhood. Finally, I shouted at them, ‘I’m a pastor!’ And I told them if they wanted to try to beat up and rob a pastor, they should come ahead and take their best shot. I knew that invoking the authority of the church in the street is hardly a sure thing these days, when our churches often have such little involvement there.

“Whatever it was that changed their minds, the youthful muggers turned and ran. ‘Get back here,’ I shouted after them – then instantly realized it probably wasn’t a good thing to say at that moment. But then something unusual happened.

“The littlest kid, who couldn’t have been more than 4 1/2 feet tall, turned back and looked at me as he ran away. With a sad face and voice the young karate kicker said, ‘Pastor, ask God for a blessing for me.’

“He and his friends had just assaulted me. The little one had tried so hard to be one of the big tough guys. Yet he knew he needed a blessing. The young boy knew he was in trouble. I think they all did” (Jim Wallis, Who Speaks for God? [New York: Delacorte Press, 1996], 67-69).

When Christians wage wisdom on this world, even tough guys become touch guys who respond to the touch of God, that touch of grace. May we be so wise as to touch people with that same touch of God’s grace.