Buechner: Birds
birds in the morning
“Wheeling through the summer sky, perching in the treetops, feeding their young, birds go about their business as generally unconcerned with the human race as the human race is generally unconcerned with them. But every so often, they do something that catches our attention. Canada geese heading south in the shape of a V. A white-throated sparrow grieving over poor Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody. A cardinal darting through the shrubbery like a flame. For a moment or two, even the dullest of us dimly realizes the world would be a poorer place without them.
One wonders if, from time to time, birds feel the same way about us. A man with an umbrella walking in the rain. A woman in a bathing suit picking peas. The patter song of a two-year-old in the sandbox. Do birds every once in a while see us as we see them, as basically irrelevant but occasionally worth the cocking of a beady eye, the flicker of a wing, the first few notes of a song?” —Frederick Buechner in Beyond Words.
The birds that visit the feeder just beyond my window save my life. As I write or read, their movement pauses me to look up from my page or computer and see the world outside my window. They call me to stop what I am doing and briefly say a short prayer of thanksgiving or a blessing for the healing of someone I know who is in pain that day. They bring me to a power outside of my world that is consuming me to be greater than myself and any difficulties I might feel that day.
I also see similarities between our lives and theirs. Some birds don’t like to share. Some are constantly vigilant of their surroundings, seeming to fear constant danger, almost as if they are so nervous that they only feed for a moment.
I try to name them, but most stay for such a brief time that I barely get to know them. Today, I give thanks for the many sparrows, the brown thrasher, the blue jays, the nuthatch, the tufted titmouse, the Carolina chickadee, the male and female cardinals, and especially the downy woodpeckers, the northern flicker, and the red-bellied woodpeckers, who change and redeem my life each day.
My husband gave me a clock for my office that plays a different bird call each hour. David Kalvelage, a longtime friend and former editor of The Living Church, shared with me his spiritual practice of reciting a prayer at the hour as the clock in his house strikes. I have started following this practice, which keeps me connected to the God of my understanding for brief periods, as the “real” birds do.
Joanna Seibert https://www.joannaseibert.com/
