Consider the Birds
Consider the Birds
Consider the birds, said our Lord,
so I do. This morning the birds
are chorusing a song of exuberance
in earnest—heralding
a sure victory I have yet to comprehend.
They sing as ones whose very feathers testify
to invisible currents of grace, floating
from branch to branch, insisting
on full-throated praise—as if
they know how the Story ends.
Each day it is ours to choose
between song and silence, thanks and despair.
This day, I entrust myself to the evidence
of things unseen: birdsong in the wind;
a heavy heart lightened;
a hope that stretches its wings.
A simple observation: Perhaps when Jesus said, “Consider the birds,” he meant it. This morning, the birds out my window were singing with a sound that could only be described as “riot”—fully, exuberantly, unceasingly. This went on for so long under the low-bellied heaviness of a dark grey sky, pregnant with impending rain, that I began to wonder, “Is there something I missed? These birds seem to know something I do not. What am I not seeing?” It was dark and cloudy—an oppressive scene that easily ushers me to the cliff edge of depression that persists from fall to spring. But the song I heard sang of hope, of eternal sunshine. This was not a sweet little wisp of birdsong floating on the breeze; it was a laughably loud outpouring of melodies from God knows (and he does!) how many birds, each note ascending and descending, layering upon and sometimes clashing with the next. It was as if the birds were competing to see who could sing loudest and longest, all at the same time. And it worked. In moments, I was smiling with the joy of being let in on a secret. No matter the darkening skies: they were singing for the joy of the Creator, unworried about the future—wholly present, as if they knew that all would be well. Jesus said,
Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? (Matthew 6:26)
I’ve been worried about many things this week—things that have kept me awake at night, consuming hours of my life that I could have spent sleeping, or at the very least, trusting. But for this day, at least, I will believe the birds’ song more than the dirge of anxiety that creeps in with unceasing drumming in my heart and mind. Worry, the birds tell me, is a waste of time. Try singing, instead. Try trusting. Try soaring.
Let it be so.
Going Deeper: Listen to “Your Love Is Strong” by Jon Foreman.
I look out the window
The birds are composing
Not a note is out of tune
Or out of place