Before 7 : AM I sit for a few minutes on the porch as the weather gets warmer, watching the birds. There are almost 40 different birds in our garden, just up from the E train. The sparrows and the doves are usual visitors, singing away, but the other day they couldn’t be seen or heard. I soon saw why: a big hawk flew by overhead.
After awhile the birds were back, chirping and moaning as usual. Someone told me our ears are wired to hear the song of birds. Why? They tell us no dangerous enemies nearby, all is well.
Birds singing tell us the world’s in good hands. Is that why Noah sent a dove from the ark? The dove not only brought back olive branches signifying all was well, but sang the good news to those in the closed boat.
The Holy Spirit descends in the form of a dove. The ancients saw birds as mysterious visitors from heaven. I notice something fearless in the doves at our feeder. The sparrows scatter quickly at the least sign of danger; the doves stay and hold their ground. Like the dove, the Holy Spirit is a giver of life to our land and won’t abandon us.
By baptism we’re wired to hear God’s voice. We listen for God’s good news, despite the dangers. We listen for a world redeemed, a higher plan at play. Good reason to begin the day, listening to birds singing..
The Victor's Place 
Beautiful.
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I agree with you Susan. The simplicity of being tuned into creation is an awesome thought. We are visiting with our son, his wife and our darling grandson who is nearing 17 months. He sees and is aware of so much around him that I often miss. His pure delight is wonder and awe for all of us here. There is a bird feeder outside his windom and he watches the birds often and tries to repeat their songs.
May the gifts and fruits of Pentecost be ours…………….
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Well said , Father ,
Joe Bowden
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Wired by Baptism to hear the sound of the good news! What a great thought – Thanks, Fr. Victor!
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It doesn’t have to be bird song, as this poet says:
It doesn’t have to bethe blue iris, it could beweeds in a vacant lot, or a fewsmall stones; justpay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t tryto make them elaborate, this isn’ta contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in whichanother voice may speak.
From: Poems by Mary Oliver
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