Afraid that the creaking door might shatter the darkness outside, I gingerly open it, peeking outside, scanning the backyard. The world is still at rest, in peace, sleeping. And then, over there, a distant light, a sliver of the sun, peeks over the horizon. Soon, like a commander arriving at camp to rouse the troops with revelry, it, not me, will rule the morning.
But, now, for a sacred second, it’s that moment just before the dawn has pronounced its official arrival.
And then, glory be, almost in unison, God’s creatures, the birds, take their respective positions, and as if on cue from their maestro, the orchestra begins to play.
Could they be inviting me to join as lauds begins?
Nodding my head to them in humility, I smile between sips of coffee.
“This is why I get up early,” I whisper, breathing in the fresh air, with its hint that spring is almost here.
One bird is vocalizing to my left, another chirping to my right, and in the middle, a cacophony of mixed instrumentalists vie for center stage. If only I had taken a course on bird sounds, I might know the names of these performers prompting my praise with their all-natural vibes. Crooking my neck to one side, I try to hear what I believe to be an owl, and yes, I think I detect a bluebird, too, at the fence line, and at one and the same time, I spy a cardinal by my composters, the redbird modeling his fashionable plumage for all of us to admire.
Beyond the identity of those singers, I’m lost.
But, it’s a good loss, for I am lost in wonder, love, and praise.
My “lostness” in “wonder, love, and praise,” I later recall, is from a Charles Wesley (1707-1788), hymn, “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling.” The hymn progresses from prayers for the Holy Spirit, to the return of the Lord through the second coming, and finally to the culmination of His new creation.
None of that enters into my consciousness in any recognizable sense, only as a feeling prompted by the sound of God’s work through his creation, the same awe-inspiring natural wonders whose imperfections occasionally remind us that the effects of the fall penetrated not only humans but God’s creation in nature as well. COVID-19 is a nasty and painful reminder of that.
So, standing there, worshipping with the birds, I pray, spontaneously, no litany needed, only the unburdening of a wearied soul to God, the God who is an ever-present help in times of trouble, shielding me against the world out there, a world infected with the pandemic, the invisible foe that creeps closer and closer to home.
But, in that moment, looking to the east, longing for the return to a New Eden—that anticipated reconstitution of the heavens and the earth, which will replace this worn out, terrestrial ball with a new earth and kingdom—a dose of hope seeps deep down into my aching heart and settles there.
And in this moment, amidst the threats of fear, loss, and suffering, I choose to take courage.
After all, the birds are still singing.