oh so habituous

Birds in the Brambles

Today Jessie and I learned with disappointment that something which we had been hoping would happen for us next fall is no longer going to be possible.

Today on our midday walk I found that some songbirds had shown up, as if spring were here already, and they were darting among the thorny bushes that dominate the south side of a nearby stretch of path.

It occurred to me that I am like those thorns that Jesus describes in the parable of the sower. Especially when it speaks of desiring other things, things of the world, I identify so strongly with it, that it has begun to be a matter of encouragement for me. (I figure it is usually more helpful to be fair in your analysis of yourself than to be tormented by how you might be better, if you don't know how to address the difference. I also happen to believe that creativity demands a willingness to address your desires as they stand, and that good change demands this kind of creativity.) So I'm a thorny bramble and that's what I have to work with.

Is it any coincidence that I find birds, especially the small pretty singing ones (though not only those), to be incarnations of the Spirit in the world? The dunamis of the Spirit is such that, when the farmer's seeds have failed to produce fruit, it sends in birds to liven the dark knots and prove that there is air and hospitality and shelter even in those places that can't be harvested for sustenance in the traditional sense. The birds that pollinate the field, nest in the brambles.

Jesus, when he told us to consider the sparrow (it was Jessie's and my wedding text), spoke to the brambles. Brambles are shelter; in the midst of our daily worrying and our uncultivated desires, we unwittingly host the birds that do not worry or labor in the least.