It is Spring and a bird has moved into the large holly bush near our home.  The bush is large and lush, the leaves a deep green.  The bird is rather ordinary looking; it wears black, white, and shades of gray.  Its song is extraordinary.  I can not help but smile when I hear it’s music.

One particular day, we left the house to walk our dog.  It was a lovely morning: the sky was blue, the sun bright and warm, and the breeze was light.  I stopped at the bush and talked to the bird.  “Good morning, bird,” I said.  The bird looked at me and cocked its head.  I continued. “A pandemic is sweeping the planet.  What shall we do?”  The bird responded with its beautiful song.

Another day I stop at the bush.  “Good morning, bird.  The politicians are ruining the country.  What shall we do?”  The bird sang its song.

Each day I asked the bird a question.  “Healthcare costs are out of control.  What shall we do?”     “Our country is at odds with Russia and China.  What shall we do?”  “There are racist attacks against blacks and Asians.”  “There is civil war in Mali.”   The bird sings its song.  I, with the growing fury of a plodding brute, slash at the bird with broadsword problems.  One slash, healthcare.  Another,  Russia and China.  A third, racism.  A fourth, civil war.  One, healthcare.  Two, Russia and China.  Three, racism.  Four, civil war.  Slash, slash, slash, slash. Healthcare, Russia and China, racism, civil war.  With each grunt and swing of my broadsword, the bird, with the grace and ease of an expert fencer, parries my attack with its song.  Women’s rights, song.  Poverty, immigration.  Song, song.  Refugee camps, healthcare, starvation, terrorism.  Song, song, song, song.  Slice, parry.  Thrust, parry.  Slash, parry.  Problem, song.  Problem, song.  Problem, song.  National debt, human trafficking, immigration.  Song, song, song. Pandemic, politicians, war, racism, debt, starvation.  Song, song, song, song, song, song.  My strength is fading.  Russia and China, women’s rights.  Perry and now riposte: song, song, song, song, song, song, song, song, song.  Pandemic, I croak.  Song, still the song. 

From my exhaustion, “The bird does not understand that these are serious problems and that they must be fixed.”  I make one more attempt.  I explain to the bird, “These problems will destroy us.  We need a task force,” I say.  “The task force needs funding to study each problem and develop plans. It needs the authority to create departments and to hire people.  We need these people to act on the plans and collect data.  We must have more laws.  We must regain control.”

Song.

“You do not care about the problems of the world, bird.”  To my ears, the bird’s once exquisite song has become the noise of uncaring.  I no longer smile at its song.  “Stupid bird.”

I want the bird to care more about the world, to share in my frustration and anxiety, to join in my cry, “We must do something!”  The bird only sings its song.

I want the bird to be more like me.

Jesus wants me to be more like the bird.

See the birds of the sky: they do not sow, or reap, or gather into barns.  Your Heavenly Father feeds them!  Are you not much more value than they?¹

I want a task force.  Jesus says to first seek Him.  I want action.  Jesus says to love God and my neighbor.  I want to control events.  Jesus says that He has overcome the world.

Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.  Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.  Each day has enough troubles of its own.²

God became man and dwelt among us for perhaps 33 years.  For the first 30 years, He lived in obscurity.  Infant, child, teen, apprentice, adult, carpenter.  For three years of His public work He moved slowly and deliberately.  No horseback, no chariot, no Facebook friends, or Zoom seminars.  No planes, trains, or automobiles.  He did not blog.  Jesus moved slowly and deliberately.  Jesus walked.  A person who walks can see the eyes of another.  A person who walks can hear the words of another.  And at the most profound moment in human history He could not move; nailed to a cross, no action at all.³

The song of the bird is the song of Jesus.  What do I hear?  An exquisite song or the noise or uncaring?  I cry out to Jesus, “You must fix these problems!”  He continues to sing.  The verses are simple: “Love your God.  Love your neighbor.”  The chorus repeats: “Prayer, fasting, alms giving”; “Prayer, fasting, alms giving.”

It is Spring and a bird has moved into the large holly bush near our home.  The bush is large and lush, the leaves a deep green.  The bird is rather ordinary looking; it wears black, white, and shades of gray.  Its song is extraordinary.  I can not help but smile when I hear it’s music.

Sing the song of Jesus and the bird.

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1 Matthew 6:26-27; EOB: The Eastern / Greek Orthodox New Testament.

2 Matthew 6:33-34; ibid.

3 Kosuke, Koyama.  (1979).  Three Mile an Hour God.  Orbis Books.  3-7.

With a tip of the hat to the writing styles of Father John Oliver and Ray Bradbury.