One time in the 1880s, so the story goes, a flat-lander transplanted into Arkansas presented a bill to the state legislature proposing that the pronunciation of Arkansas be officially changed from -saw to ¬-sas so that it rhymed with Kansas, as in Ar-kansas. Of course, that proposal set off a firestorm of controversy until Senator Cassius M. Johnson took the podium and delivered one of the finest pieces of oratory ever uttered in those hallowed chambers. You can find the transcript of Senator Cassius' speech, unexpurgated and nigh transcendent in its obscenities, in the Ozarks Folktales & Legends section. Never underestimate the power of a well-delivered speech.
Anyhow, after Gerald L.K. Smith spoke about the glories and righteousness of the Vietnam War and made everyone in the audience feel ungrateful and cowardly, another fellow mounted the stage. He wasn't tall or impressive like Mr. Smith; rather, he was stocky but in a fit way. He wore khaki shorts with zippers on the pockets, and his calves were as solid and muscled as if they had been carved from cedar. His tee shirt was sky blue and tucked in, and the sleeves fit tight around his upper arms. In fact, he was an Indian—today, we might say an indigenous American—and he looked to be carved out of cedar entirely. He had high cheekbones and brown eyes set close together and full lips, all framed by black hair that hung to his shoulders. This is what he said:
"Mr. Smith has moved to Eureka Springs and done a fine thing, as he reminded us this afternoon. He commissioned a great statue of the Son of Manitou, and though the Son's expression seems disinterested, unfriendly, or even grim, I agree with Mr. Smith that his statue is big. Very big. And so, people will come to see Mr. Smith's Yeshua, and for that, he says, we should be grateful. But I'm not so sure.
"My name is Henry Sparrowhawk, but I go by Hank—" and he took the microphone from the stand—"and I drove here from Quapaw, Oklahoma, this morning." He moved a stool to the edge of the stage and sat down. "Before they were forced off their land, my ancestors hunted in this valley and drank from this spring and other springs around this town. They lived and died and were buried in the hillsides and not even their names were engraved to preserve their memory.
"Do you know what destroyed my people? Violence and betrayal destroyed them and greed for their land and vain superiority. But all these are just symptoms, and you know what they're symptoms of? Bigness. That's right: In the end, it was Bigness that destroyed my people.
"Oh, they called it by other names: Manifest Destiny, efficient land use, God's Will. But in the end, it was the Europeans' desire for more lumber, more land, bigger homes, more cattle, more gold—you know, Bigness. And so, they created a Big God to bless and justify their big ambitions. Of course, the irony was that their own professed beliefs were opposed to what they were doing.
"Amen, I say to you, amen: The Son of Manitou, Yeshua the Anointed, came to teach that His Father is really quite humble, quite small, more like a Word whispered during lovemaking than a tower raised on a pedestal. The universe, says St. John, was born of an utterance not an explosion, and the Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed and not mustard gas, a nest for birds and not a machine gun nest. Yessir, even when that little seed grows and blooms, it will not be a mansion for robed royalty nor a garrison for warriors, for Solomon has been put to shame and Charlemagne lies in state."
Hank leaned forward from the stool and said in a quiet voice: "Can I tell you a secret?"
We nodded yes.
"Well, here it is: To say that God is love is the same thing as saying that God is small."
Huh. I thought the whole point about God is that He is bigger than we are.
Hank continued: "Yeshua tells his followers this over and over. He tells them to gather in twos and threes: 'That's plenty for me and should be enough for you.' He says, 'You can talk to me in your closet; you don't need a temple.' And he even says, 'I will be with you in bread and wine and in the passing mood of a rainy day in November, not through TV sets and revivals and wild, ramped up emotions.'
"So, heed my words: Do not look for Him in great statues or lavish displays of caparisoned camels or klieg-lit tombs or even in true-to-scale replicas of Jerusalem. Listen to me! God is little, tiny as a bluet in early spring and as quiet as the breath of a sleeping child. God is as small as the last hope on a deathbed.
"But y'all already know this in your hearts: That's why you love folksongs and folktales and just plain folks. That's why you're here. You have chosen the small, the local, the at-hand, and the rural, because in your heart, you know here is where God is!
"Again, I say to you: Yeshua warned us not to diminish him by making him big. He knew that people are fascinated by Bigness—big bank accounts, big houses, big cars—tall men and towering buildings and mounting thunderheads. But we saw Bigness incarnated over Hiroshima and Nagasaki when the human lust for power rose in a horrible column of fire over the burned bodies of children.
"Amen, I say to you: You have also felt the seduction of the Big God who justifies our fascination with Bigness, the God who looms over every burned-out landscape with His rage and threats of hell and declarations of war. Verily, verily, I say unto you: Beware the Big God and beware the institutions that appeal to his authority! They will crush the early blooming flowers and kill the sleeping child, and they'll try to persuade you to help them. And if their persuasion fails, they will wield their Bigness to force you to take up arms! Don't do it! Don't do it! Stay small: rock your cradle, sing your song, till your field, tell your story, and defy their authority!
"Now, this afternoon, we heard some fine musicians sing a little song in defiance of our Big Government in cahoots with their Big God, the same alliance that destroyed my ancestors. The same alliance that destroyed Yeshua on the cross. The same alliance that will destroy the clear streams and the animals and the blue sky. The same alliance that will someday burn us all. I say to you: Better your defiance than their alliance!
"So, this is my prayer for us here today: May the little God of happy people bless our naughty songs, and may He (or She, for God is Spirit) honor our righteous protest against the war, and may She (or He, take your pick) bless the hand you hold in your own. And may the followers of Yeshua remember that a single meal given in love is more powerful than all the big statues and shouted sermons and spacious churches ever created. For our Little God is right here, right now, and He is loving us, even as their Big God dissipates like a wreath of smoke over an empty field of war."
With that, Hank stood up and moved the stool back to center stage and put the microphone back on the stand. Then he looked at us one more time and left the stage. We were all silent, gazing at the empty bandshell. I wondered what Gerald L.K. Smith and Teddy and Jake Ire and others of the Big God ilk thought about Hank Sparrowhawk's speech. Probably not much. You can't build a Jesus that big and then stop believing in Him. You've invested too much damned money. And that right there is the last word.