A frozen female cardinal lies in the snow on the deck outside our dining room windows, another casualty of collision. Sadly, we have had several hits per day. Some are simply stunned and spend a few groggy moments before they fly away; others lose their lives to concussive blows that rival those in the NFL.

I’m sure it doesn’t help that we’ve gone through a couple hundred pounds of black sunflower seeds. Our deck is bird central. Finches, nuthatches, cardinals, blue jays, tufted titmice (is this the plural of tufted titmouse?), juncos, sparrows, and woodpeckers buzz in and out from the surrounding trees. And most are successful in eating their fill and retreating to the woods behind our house. Except for the collision casualties, that is.

My daugther, Collyn, recently alerted me to the fact that Chicago has an organization created expressly for this problem. According to their website, Chicago Bird Collision Monitors is an all-volunteer conservation project dedicated to the protection of migratory birds through rescue, advocacy and outreach. Their members rise early and hit the streets of downtown Chicago, rescuing birds that have survived collision and documenting deaths of those that have not. They promote bird-safe glass and bird-friendly building design. And they have special vans with their CBCM logo on the side! And special CBCM equipment! This is a well-organized, well-funded effort, indeed.

Jokingly, my daughter suggested that I sign up for the bird collision monitoring training identified on their website. Seriously, though, I think the world might be a better place if there were more collision monitors. Not so much for birds, but for humans.

So many human victims of collision stagger about us, wounded, disoriented, and forlorn. These are individuals who believed they could move easily through encounters with co-workers, bosses, friends, family, or strangers. Only to be met with resistance–degradation, disapproval, alienation, or shame–that stops them in their tracks. And, like their feathered friends, some recover, and some do not.

To borrow the words of author Philip Yancey, perhaps the truest resistance is ungrace. Yancey writes:

Ungrace does its work quietly and lethally, like a poisonous, undetectable gas. A father dies unforgiven. A mother who once carried a child in her own body does not speak to that child for half its life. The toxin steals on, from generation to generation.

We all know individuals who have suffered from collisions with ungrace. In truth, most of us know this suffering personally, for we have cracked our souls on impenetrable words, acts, and attitudes. There is no disputing the fact that collisions like this occur every second of every day, perhaps even generation after generation. But where are the collision monitors?

American author Flannery O’Connor understands that what falls must be redeemed. In Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose, she writes:

There is something in us, as storytellers and as listeners to stories, that demands the redemptive act, that demands that what falls at least be offered the chance to be restored. The reader of today looks for this motion, and rightly so, but what he has forgotten is the cost of it. His sense of evil is diluted or lacking altogether, and so he has forgotten the price of restoration.

So I ask again: where are the collision monitors who redeem the fallen? Where are those who understand the price of restoration? Clearly, God’s eye–and that of the Chicago Bird Collision Monitors–is on the sparrow. But what about us?

In Matthew 10:29-31, Jesus says:
Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

You are worth more than sparrows. We sing the hymn, we quote the verse, but where are the collision monitors, the grace-givers who act as God’s hands, recovering those who have collided with ungrace? I’m confident that they’re out there working just as diligently, just as compassionately as those who rise early to rescue wounded birds. They may not have fancy vans or agency t-shirts. But like the bird collision monitors, they do have amazing equipment. Armed with grace and the conviction of the Beatitudes, they are ever on the lookout for collision victims.

Don’t get me wrong. Bird collision monitors are obviously caring, committed people. What bothers me is the reality that we often go to incredible lengths to rescue creatures of the air, land, and sea (heck, even the air, land, and sea!), while ignoring the wounded humans around us. I know there are wonderful agencies and organizations filled with selfless people who focus their efforts on wounded people of all sorts. And I realize that there are good individuals who quietly do recovery work because it’s the right thing to do, because they are loving their neighbors as themselves. Perhaps because there are these agencies and individuals, we may take their efforts for granted, choosing instead to celebrate the work of bird collision monitors and the like.

In his book, Vanishing Grace: What Ever Happened to the Good News? Yancey writes:

Herein lies the most solemn challenge facing Christians who want to communicate their faith: if we do not live in a way that draws others to the faith rather than repels them, none of our words will matter. 

It goes without saying that there is a whole lot of repelling around us. A window and a word of condemnation are both powerful repellents. And a collision with either leaves the wounded stunned, at best, or destroyed, at worst. Yancey encourages Christians to redeem rather than repel. This is the real work of human collision monitors.

I confess that I have a difficult time watching the news these days, for collision carnage is piling up. Hateful words, quick judgments, and searing sarcasm all prove to be as destructive as my dining room windows. I dream of tuning in one day to see a collision monitor rushing onto the scene to restore a wounded individual, a victim of those who oppose his or her convictions . Now that would be newsworthy, indeed.