Good morning church family,
The crows didn’t caw as I crept near the opening in the woods. I saw them up there, high in the pine; perched like ushers at the cathedral door. But what a blessing they didn’t spy me. Had they set to squawking, earth’s finest choir might have flittered away.
I feel funny relating this tale of mine for I know you won’t believe me when I tell you what I saw. I hardly believe it myself. It was late in the spring of last year. The thawed and muddy ground was firming up under the sun’s lengthening rays. Perennials were poking their heads out through last autumn’s leaves. Ladybugs strolled across window screens, warm breezes made sails of unzipped coats, and what was left of winter’s snow was retreating deep into mountain woods. Even though I knew there were groggy bears with grumbling tummies about, I decided to leave our family bird feeder out for one more weekend. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to the family of goldfinches that dined with us every morning or the pair of black-capped chickadees that darted in and out throughout the day. With the promise of occasional sightings of blue birds, cardinals, nuthatches, and orioles; there was more value in looking out the kitchen window than at any of the blinking screens around the house.
But on Sunday morning of that week, the feeder didn’t boast a single bird. The budding maple standing just beyond was also empty of every winged thing. Coming closer to the window and looking down to the ground that lay beneath, no mourning doves or jays were scavenging the droppings. “Where is everyone?” I wondered to myself.
Though I thought it strange, I didn’t think of it for long. It was Sunday morning after all and I needed to pour my coffee, eat my porridge, and get myself ready for church. But every once-in-a-while during breakfast the wind would sway the feeder and the sudden movement would draw my eye out the window again. But still – no birds.
“Honey,” my wife said to me as I was walking my empty bowl to the kitchen sink, “before you get all dudded up, would you mind taking the trash out? It’s got the packaging from that chicken I made last night.”
“Oh yeah,” I replied. I lifted the malodorous bag from out of the can, looked briefly about for any prospective trash to top off the sack, and cinched the red, plastic strings; tying them tight. Walking out the back door, the morning air was chilly and invigorating.
I trundled down the back steps and walked across the soft yard. Arriving behind the shed where the trash bin was kept, I lifted up the lid and swung the bag in; dropping it on top of the other garbage. Letting the lid drop, it clattered loudly back into place; interrupting morning’s prelude of quiet. As I turned to head back inside, I heard the flutter of wings and caught a glimpse of the most striking, beautiful blue feathers flying toward the back woods. “An indigo bunting,” I declared; whispering to myself. As I stood tracking the bunting flying through the budding trees, my eye caught the glint of yellows, oranges, reds, and golds shooting through as well. I was only in my pajamas, but having stepped barefoot into my snow boots – I felt sufficiently outfitted to tramp a ways into the woods to see what I could see.
It was really a lovely morning. The wind was down, the way it often is early in the day, and the ground had that smell that seemed to say it was eager to warm up and get to growing things. Walking a few steps into the woods, I found the forest floor damp and quiet under foot. There was no path exactly, but I picked my way through the brush and trees, stepping over fallen limbs and around patches of brambles. With timers going off in my head, reminding me of suits and ties and responsibilities, I suspended my progress and stood looking up into the canopy above. Again, there were fleeting glimpses of brightly colored feathers flapping through the branches and boughs above. And then, quite out of nowhere, I heard a rambunctious chorus of chirping coming from deeper into the forest. The sound was something like the fellowshipping of many birds.
My curiosity kindled, I carried on in the general direction of the chatter. As I grew closer, the tweeting suddenly hushed and my steps turned stealthy. Drawing near to a sunny clearing, I looked up into the limbs of the encircling trees. Hundreds and hundreds of birds were fidgeting on branches, facing the center of the opening. It’s then that I noticed the crows – dozens of them – with their backs to the clearing; perhaps standing guard as they looked out into the wood. I leaned out of sight against an oak tree and stood still. Looking more carefully now, I saw birds of every feather gathered together. There were warblers, wrens, rusty blackbirds, veeries, and thrush. I spied juncos, gold and purple finches, flycatchers, flickers, redstarts, and woodpeckers. I also counted pewees, chickadees, robins, jays, cardinals, and grackles. Everyone was there. I even saw a pair of owls perched on a sturdy branch; the very picture of perfect composure. “What in the world is going on?” I wondered.
Despite the presence of all these birds, the forest was still and silent. I stood there in quiet wonder and anticipation. Suddenly a cooing came from a single dove perched gracefully atop the uttermost twig of a spice bush located at the center of the clearing. The cooing was rhythmic and staccato. The birds ceased their fidgeting as the congregation grew even quieter. And then it happened. All the birds laid aside their own songs to sing a single song together. I’m not enough of a musician to describe it adequately but they were clearly singing parts and keeping time. There was a pleasant trilling and toodle-dooing to the melody. The song was more sweet than grand; a lovely little chorus sung with a most attractive lightness of heart. I can’t say for how long they sang – probably just a minute or two. Whatever the length, it was too short for me.
With the last note still hanging in the air, the dove fluttered off of the spice bush and up through the opening in the trees. Hundreds of birds took to flight right behind her; darting off in every direction. Turning and heading for home myself, I shook my head and pondered on what I’d just witnessed. “Were they just singing together? Were they singing to God?” I wondered. “Did I just stumble upon a woodland worship service and did I just hear a songbird choir sing a song unique to none of them and conducted by some Spirit-filled dove?”
My pace quickened as I walked back through the woods. I was more eager now than I had been before to get to church myself and join the throng in singing a new song. My heart had a new “hallelujah!”
As I walked back up my back steps, I saw the finches at the feeder. “Thank you for sharing this morning,” I said, calling after them as they flew off to light on one of the branches of the maple. “You really blessed my heart.”
“Poh-day-doh-twip, poh-day-doh-twip,” came the finch’s excited reply.
Whatever your feather and song, we’re looking forward to gathering together to worship and sing along. It’s a communion Sunday and I can’t wait to sit at our Father’s table with all my brothers and sisters around. It will be grand being about Heaven’s business! May the Lord, mighty God, continue to bless and keep us!
