For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.—1 Corinthians 1:18
To the world, the message of the cross is like cake crumbled in the snow.
I like cake very much, particularly yellow cake with chocolate frosting. My wife knows this, and being an excellent baker and cook, she sometimes makes yellow cakes with chocolate frosting from scratch for me, a loving and time-consuming act in a Duncan Hines culture.
They usually do not last long. But shortly after she made the most recent one, I caught that nasty stomach virus that has been going around. With my first and second child out of the house and my third child very sick with a cold, half the cake went stale before being eaten.
When I recovered, I found the remaining cake in its container. Not wanting it to be completely wasted, I carved the chocolate icing off the top, crumbled the cake, and scattered it in the front yard, where I could watch the birds eat it from the parsonage’s front window as I worked.
This was Thursday, Jan. 30, the last of the bitterly cold days we’ve experienced in Northeast Tennessee. I figured the birds would be quite hungry for yellow cake at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. Hey, I usually am. And as I scattered it about, I even heard a rising, collective twitter from the trees at the edge of the yard.
I went back inside and sat down before the window. This is when I began to learn the message of the cross is like cake crumbled in the snow.
About 30 minutes after I put the cake out, two enormous crows landed in a large maple tree overhanging the winter treat. These two will have it all eaten in five minutes, I thought. And they certainly seemed to study what was on the ground, cawing and turning their heads.
I suppose crows have reason to be suspicious of anything unusual. In Tennessee, people can hunt unlimited numbers of them for sport from June through February, despite the fact that no one wants to eat crow. I’ve seen shotgunners do this, using electronic calls to draw them in like black clouds and then drop them like rain. You’re not being paranoid if people really are trying to kill you.
But hey—this was cake, in the midst of the hungry season! Surely the crows would find life in the midst of death. But they did not, overthinking the situation. After a few minutes, they cawed again and flew away. I wondered if their cries meant “foolishness, foolishness” in crow talk.
Other birds remained in the surrounding trees; I couldn’t see them, but their little chirps continued. Finally, two brave female cardinals ventured forth.
The first one out hopped around the edge of the crumbs, looking but not touching. She chirped loudly, in what I suppose is excitement for a cardinal. But she would not dive in. She finally flew from my view. I supposed the cake must have been too different for her, too.
The second one was bolder. She began pecking at the tiny crumbs, and you could see her excitement build. She would stop and chirp loudly, and then return to eating. Once, she briefly flew up in the tree, chirped again, and then went back to the ground, eating some more. She had found what she needed, and not only that, I’m convinced she was trying to tell the others, “Look what I’ve found! Come and have some!” No one joined her, however.
Finally, she grabbed a thumb-sized chunk in her beak and carried it off, again out of my sight. I wondered if she shared it.
I could hear birds chattering through the rest of the afternoon, but to my surprise, the cake remained. As the sun set and the landscape once again hardened into a deep freeze, the crumbs were still there. The scene made me sad.
A postscript, though: When I looked out just after sunrise the next day, the cake was all gone, replaced by dozens of tiny footprints in the snow. The suburb’s undesirables—racoons—had come during the coldest, most desperate hours and found what they could not have expected to receive.
I thought of Gentiles taking up what most good Jews had rejected; I thought of the drunk, the drug addict, or the prostitute accepting what a thinking, affluent person might deem a risk or a waste of time.
The message of the cross is like cake crumbled in the snow. Christ has been broken for us, and in that breaking we have the opportunity to find joy and eternal life. It is a strange message, one now scattered all across the landscape. And it does look foolish to those who are used to the ways of a sinful world.
The message of the cross is a joy to be consumed, however. It also is a message to be carried to others. And be you a crow, songbird or racoon, it is for you.