Behold the Birds of the Air

More Fun, Less Shtuff!

2007-10-16T11:32:00.000-04:00

Sermon Podcasts

2007-07-29T23:38:00.000-04:00

I recently began podcasting my sermons at www.brimfielducc.podcast.com My three most recent sermons were inspired by the work I am doing for the Mass. Audubon Breeding Bird Atlas. You can listen to them using the embedded players here:

Dependence

Questions for the Journey

Scrambled Eggs

There Is No They

2007-05-25T16:35:00.000-04:00

At the World Series of Birding, there is a longstanding tradition of “breaking bread with the enemy.” This takes the formal form of a “swap meet” on the Thursday night before the competition. The informal breaking of bread with the enemy is a continual process that begins as soon as two birders who are scouting for their respective teams meet in the field. It also takes the form of shared trips into the field, and this year it even included a web site updated daily by one of the top-flight teams. Our team, the Wicked Witchities, was able to add a number of nests and one particularly active feeder because we were in regular contact with other teams’ scouts. In fact, on most days of the week preceding the competition, at least one of my teammates was scouting with one or more scouts from another team. One day I met up with another team’s scout in the field who had been speaking to one of my teammates more recently than I had! All of this is the case because we all believe that a rising tide raises all boats. In other words, one way to help one team do well is by helping all the teams do better. Even though this is a competitive event, there is more emphasis on the birds than the birders. Of course I want my team to do better than other teams, but while we are witchities and they are luna-ticks or lagerheads, we are all lovers of birds and trying to help preserve them and the environment that sustains them.

Unfortunately, this sort of mutual aid and cooperation is all too rare in our dog-eat-dog world today. Even more sad is the way in which the divisive and demeaning practices rampant in our culture work their way into the practices of our churches. I’m particularly sorry that our local congregations remain islands of independent effort. There is a wealth of talent eager to be used in God’s service residing in the pews of all the church buildings around us as well as our own. We have all found ourselves from time to time bemoaning the fact that we don’t have enough people or other resource to accomplish some worthy goal. Perhaps if we paused every time we spoke like this and simply imagined the same conversation happening in another congregation we would begin to understand the truth that “there is no they….just more of us!” Some of us here and some more of us there could get together and get more done. I really don’t understand why there isn’t more desire for this sort of solution. Perhaps part of it lies in diminished expectations based on history. The expected way of connecting with other churches would first be through our denomination. Particularly in the United Church of Christ, we only have connection if we make it happen since there is no hierarchy to impose it. Since there seems to be a natural tendency to grant authority to those willing to represent us at wider settings, we have at times gotten ourselves into the spot of looking to “them” (i.e. the staff in Framingham or in Cleveland) to do things for “us.” But (and don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming) there is no they! There is no “they” who will come and fix our problems, there is no “they” who are the cause of our problems, there is no “they” who are the ones we need to oppose…or support. The truth about the church is that we are the body of Christ and therefore we are one. We are the ones who are both solution and source of all our problems, we are the one body, which includes diverse and opposing views and positions. With Christ as our head we don’t lack for direction. With the Holy Spirit as the breath filling the lungs of this body with life, we lack for nothing. We are strong enough to change the world, but only as we recognize our unity. If a bunch of crazed birders can find a way to work together for the common good in the course of a heated competition, then perhaps there is hope for the church of God gathering together in both large and small ways to bring the life-giving gospel to the places of hurt in the world.

Reading the Landscape

2007-04-03T00:27:00.000-04:00

I recently participated in the Interfaith Walk for Climate Rescue sponsored by the Religious Witness for the Earth. A hearty core of walkers traveled all the way from Northampton to Boston, I simply joined in on a couple of days. But on those days I experienced what Brown-headed Cowbirds must. They are raised by surrogate parents so the first time they meet others of their species is after they leave the nest and venture out into the world. I have no idea how a cowbird raised by something other than a cowbird actually knows that it is a cowbird, but someone they find others of their species. I knew I was with my own species when I joined the tribe of compassionate walkers bold enough to believe that we can reverse the damage we are doing to the planet.

One subject of discussion during our time together was our need as humans to reconnect to the planet; to learn again how to read the landscape. Too often, we are at a complete disconnect from the environment that sustains us. If we only had a better understanding of the fragile ecological balance that keeps us alive we might treat the earth better. Of course for me reading the landscape involves identifying birds. I kept lists each of my two days of walking.

On Monday we walked 16 miles from Ware to Spencer. I recorded 350 birds of 29 species.

On Saturday we walked 4.5 miles from Cambridge to Boston. I recorded 91 birds of 7 species.

Interestingly, the density of birds was nearly the same, 22 birds/mile on Monday and 20 birds/mile on Saturday. Obviously, the diversity was vastly different. Clearly, the difference between a rural and urban setting shows in these numbers. Likewise telling are these numbers: on Monday we passed 1 Dunkin' Donuts and 1 McDonald's in 8.5 hours; on Saturday in just over 2 hours we passed 2 Dunkin' Donuts, 2 McDonald's, and 3 Starbucks!

While some of my fellow travelers marveled at my ability to find and identify so many birds, none of them had any difficulty understanding the difference between the two ecosystems and the need for more of the former and less of the latter. For me, I didn't consider either day a very good day birding, most of the species where what I expected. Indeed, in less than a half-hour in my driveway awaiting my ride to the city, I heard a dozen country birds singing. As a birder I tend to live for the surprises. The real surprises for me lay in the encounters I had with the walkers. In fact it was my encounter with a not-quite 5 year-old that led to my birding highlight of the walk.

Wren, who is four-and-three-quarters, was not familiar with the song of the Carolina Wren before I shared it with her. At the end of our 16 miles of walking together she was cheerfully singing "teakettle, teakettle, teakettle" letting me know that she was a Carolina Wren. Sadly, we had not encountered one that day. But moments before I was about to rejoin my newfound tribe on Saturday, just as I put my hand to the door handle of Christ Church in Cambridge, a loud, jubilant sound reached my ears...."teakettle, teakettle, teakettle!" I smile at the serendipity of the the Spirit's gift and with the eagerness of the four-and-three-quarter year-old that still lives in me, I set out to share the good news.

What if....?

2007-02-03T15:11:00.000-05:00

So after my Super Bowl of Birding Team, the Wicked Pishahs, failed (miserably by my perhaps over-demanding estimation) to defend their championship over the weekend, missing out on the opportunity to again lift the crystal Great Blue Heron seen here, I got to thinking the inevitable what if...? I wondered, what if we had gone for owls in Essex? What if we had left more time for Newburyport? What if we tried harder for a vulture in Ipswich? You get the picture. It was a painful case of Monday morning quarterbacking.

One tiny consolation was that the month of January was not yet over and I had a list for the state for the month of 98 species, just two shy of the personal best I had set just last year (when my team won the Super Bowl...ouch). So I thought maybe I could up the record. So on the last day of the month I spent some cold minutes waiting out the Red-headed Woodpecker here in town. No look, but I heard it in the distance, so I got one species closer. The only good chance I had of getting to 101 was to search for owls before midnight. I gave the hardest one (screech owl) a shot and came up short, so I let my hopes go with it and went home. Then I started a whole new "what if" game. What if that large black bird over the reservoir a couple weeks ago was a raven? What if I count the murre we saw on the Super Bowl (but was it thick-billed or common?)?

In the end it didn't really matter, first of all because it wouldn't get me to the record I wanted, but mostly because it was just my personal birding and nothing all that critical. Not to mention that I was worrying about a past I couldn't change. How much of our lives do we spend considering alternate pasts that obviously can have no impact on the actual present, let alone the future? I realized that at some point I had to give up the "what ifs" and simply replace it with "so what?"

But I do want to hold on to one important use of "what if...?" I want to look to the future and continuously ask "what if...?" Faith demands the sort of optimism that can envision all sorts of wonderful future outcomes. What if the God who cares for the birds of the field actually does care even more so for me...and for you?

Marshallah

2006-12-18T15:49:00.000-05:00

What a nice day today was. Sure, I had to spend time at the mall Christmas shopping and it was rather dismal outside, but I also added a new bird to the list of those I've seen in Brimfield. The bird was a juvenile Red-headed Woodpecker. That makes 161 species I've seen in Brimfield and it means that I've seen seven species of woodpecker in town. As a matter of fact, the first bird of each of these species that I saw in Massachusetts this year was in Brimfield. All pretty fun facts, making me enjoy all the more the simple beauty of a single one of God's wondrous creatures.

One of the first things that I've done most days of Advent this year is to watch an on-line video devotion sponsored by the United Church of Christ. Today's devotion was bird related. You can watch it here. Rev. Panagore shares some interesting facts about birds and then shares an interesting word that he learned in Turkey marshallah which means "behold the marvelous works of God." That's exactly what watching birds is all about.

December Ticks

2006-12-04T22:52:00.000-05:00

Nothing like a good double-entendre for a title; yes, I actually had a tick crawling on me after a traipse through a wooded area on the second day of December! There is something very wrong with that picture! And that is the theme of this post. On the left you will see something wrong with a picture. What is wrong is that I should have taken the real camera with me today instead of relying on my cell phone camera. In any case, that smaller goose in the center of the picture is a Cackling Goose. Yes, the bird that claimed me by its naming is now officially a tick on my life list. Unfortunately, this very obliging bird was in Branford, Connecticut, some 80 miles too far south to make my Massachusetts list. I did, however, check out the report of the same species in Southwick on my way home, but to no avail. Something is wrong with this picture! Of my 391 life birds, I have only gotten 275 of them in Massachusetts, although my Massachusetts life list is 363. That's right, there are nearly a hundred species of birds that I've seen in my lifetime that I saw in some other state before seeing them in my home state.

Another thing wrong with the picture today was the reason I went to Connecticut to begin with, that being what turned out to be life bird number 390, a Calliope Hummingbird. How this tiny visitor from the west has survived these cold temperatures, let alone getting all the way to the east coast is a great mystery. It was a beautiful creature and I wish it well, but I don't have great hopes for its long-term survival unless it figures out very quickly which way is south.

These out of the ordinary opportunities are what drives much of the obsessive joy of birdwatching. If everything were always normal, never changing, never surprising, then we would never have any reason to have hope. While I don't have high hopes for the lost vagrant hummingbird, I have to remind myself that it survived getting here, so it has an outside chance of surviving to get somewhere else where it can safely remain. God always gives us a slightly out of focus picture, showing us that some things just aren't right. BUT, there always remains the hope that if God can make things the way they are, God can also make things better. I don't pretend to know why God works the way God does, but I do choose to believe that part of the way God works is to use me to make the changes necessary. I witnessed one of those changes today. A couple of people watching the hummingbird struggle to get to the feeder that was swaying due to the wind decided to tie it to a stake. This had an immediate impact on the birds ability to feed. Who knows, that simple, inspired act may be the very thing that saves this bird's life. Often it isn't the extraordinary effort that is needed, just simple works of kindness.

One Lucky Guy

2006-11-24T10:53:00.000-05:00

Of all the big obvious things to be thankful for, I'm thankful for all them: family, friends, health, employment... I am truly one lucky guy when it comes to all these things. At the community Thanksgiving Service last Sunday, when I asked the congregation to name those things for which they are thankful, my teenage son was the first to shoot up his hand and he said, "family." I'm thankful for him too, as well as the rest of my children, and most especially my wife, who could find plenty of reasons not to put up with me but does anyway!

When I named my items of gratitude, I decided to add to the obvious with a more subtle list of small joys that make life so very rich. In the days preceding the service, I had first seen the David Grisman Quintet in concert, then held a saw-whet owl while volunteering at a banding station, then spent a gorgeous day on Nantucket Sound seeing thousands of birds all around the boat (the photo above doesn't do justice to the vast numbers, but it does include a Lesser Black-backed Gull, a Black-legged Kittiwake or two, and few Greater Shearwaters).

Isn't always those simple joys that stand out from the routine of our lives that make us recognize the full extent of the rich blessings that come from God? Of course the birds of the air (and sea in this case) do that for me. How about you? I think that it is the smaller blessings that help us to develop a complete and genuine attitude of gratitude.

Named and Claimed

2006-11-03T13:47:00.000-05:00

Recently, I preached about naming and claiming. In that sermon I suggested that it is suspect theology to think that we can boss God around by naming promises that God has made and then claiming them for ourselves. Likewise, the blessing often promised by those holding this view is material gain. My point about claiming possessions is that the possessions ultimately claim you. In fact, one who is too concerned about possessions might rightly be called possessed.

Since that sermon, on one of my birding expeditions I saw a life bird (i.e. one I had never seen before). It actually was a species that didn't used to be a species. When I started birding there were Sharp-tailed Sparrows. I've seen a lot of Sharp-tailed Sparrows over the years. But a number of years ago, the species was divided into Salt-marsh Sharp-tailed Sparrows and Nelson's Sharp-tailed Sparrow. The sharp-taileds I regularly see are of the Salt Marsh variety. Had I seen what later became Nelson's? Perhaps, but even so, I needed to see one after the split to make it "official." So I have been hunting this species for a number of year's now. It occurred to me, that although there are subtle differences between these species, the power lay in the name itself. I was "claimed by the name!" More to the point is my current obsession with trying to find a Cackling Goose (you can see more pictures here) This species used to be considered a sub-species of the Canada Goose and was called a Richardson's Goose. I've actually seen a Richardson Goose, but it was years ago when it wasn't its own species, so officially it was a Canada Goose. A few show up in the area every fall, so I'm constantly flustered by reports that leave me a day late and a dollar short. If the powers that be ever decide to do the same sort of splitting to make Oregon Junco a separate species I'll face the same silly dilemma.

Is all of this just a bit obsessive and not particularly important? You bet it is, but it is important to me. We all can be possessed and controlled by worries that are far less important than life and death. I will wander into fields full of thorns and burrs to chase a sparrow, but in the end I walk away when the chase is over, even if the bird remains "in the bush" and not "in my hand," that is, on my list. Are their topics and issues that burn in you that possess and control you? What names claim you and your attention, liberal? conservative? Democrat? Republican? Pro-life? Pro-choice? The list could go on. If there are topics on which you always take the bait, then maybe you owe yourself the gift of an exorcism. Sometimes we all need to just walk away from a chase that is over. Tomorrow is another day and why ruin the wonderful gift known as the present?

A Present

2006-10-04T00:47:00.000-04:00

I received these words of Wendell Berry in an email from Sojourners today. I pass along the gift to you:

The sense of it may come with watching a flock of cedar waxwings eating wild grapes in the top of the woods on a November afternoon. Everything they do is leisurely. They pick the grapes with a curious deliberation, comb their feathers, converse in high windy whistles. Now and then one will fly out and back in a sort of dancing flight full of whimsical flutters and turns. They are like farmers loafing in their own fields on Sunday. Though they have no Sundays, their days are full of sabbaths.

- Wendell Berry

Living Up to Your Name

2006-09-27T23:08:00.000-04:00

I was doing the most mundane of tasks this morning, taking out the trash, when I was called upon to live up to my name as a birder. Well, that makes it sound like the demand for my skills was some matter of importance. Naturally, it was simply the fact that I noticed birds in the tree top and wanted to investigate. Still, the fact remains that I needed to “transform” into a birder in an instant, which, of course was no transformation at all since I’m never not a birder.

The reward of being prepared (my binoculars were practically at my fingertips to begin with) was adding two more species to the list of birds I’ve seen in or from the parsonage yard. For those keeping score at home, I had heard a Red-shouldered Hawk being harassed by crows prior to taking out the trash, then Nashville and Tennessee Warbler joined the hawk on the yard list bringing the total in four years to 66 species. This was an event typical in the practice of my birding in that I never know where or when I will be called upon to live up to the name of birder.

If “living up to my name as a birder” sounds a bit forced, that is because it is. I intentionally want you to think about living up to your name as a Christian, a much more important consideration! The name Christian literally means little Christ. Some children are named after famous and important people and may feel a bit of a burden in living up to their name. How much greater is our burden in living up the name of Christ. Part of our worship each Sunday is glorifying and honoring the name of Christ.

In her book, How Shall We Worship?, Marva Dawn asks these important questions:

Does the character we exhibit in our daily lives bless [Christ’s] name or blacken it? Do we honor God’s name or malign it by the way we worship? If we engage in our supposed “worship” only to make ourselves feel good, are we exalting the Holy Spirit’s name or denigrating it?....Do we sing to God with all our being? Do our practices of public, corporate worship and private, personal devotion form us to be people who live praise?

When we engage in the rituals of our worship it is clear that we are Christians because of the form and content of the worship. But what happens when we leave the sanctuary? First of all, do we continue to worship during the week? Second, do we engage in any practices that identify us as Christians? Would anyone see in our lives the living of worship and the living up to the name of “little Christ”?

Mt. Auburn Cemetery Memorial Service

2006-05-27T10:43:00.000-04:00

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?" - Matthew 6:25-27

Perhaps when Jesus said “Look at the birds of the air,” he didn’t mean it as an imperative describing how one should behave all the time. But I have to believe that since Jesus did say it that I at least have some cover for my bird-watching obsession. For nearly twenty years now I have been a serious bird-watcher. It is no exaggeration to say that it is something I do 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Now you might say that I’m not birding when I’m inside, but I am as long as there is a window (especially if it is open so I can hear birds singing). Not to mention that my family has grown accustomed to my identifying bird sounds on the sound tracks of television shows and movies. They hear more than they care to when the location of the movie and the range of the bird don’t match, or as is often the case, the sound doesn’t match the bird shown (Turkey Vultures do not screech like Red-tailed Hawks)!

Looking at the birds of the air compels me to get up, get out and chase those winged creatures that are carefree in the care of God. And the more I let go of the concerns that might stop me, and the more that I marvel at the beauty of these flying artworks, the more I learn about not worrying…well at least not worrying about non-birding issues. I do tend to get a bit worked up about my birding. Like most birders, I can be very intense when chasing a bird I’ve never seen before (a life bird, or lifer). I also keep multiple lists, which can shape my time and come close to running my life (particularly during migration).

And then there are the birding competitions. Yes, I know, competitive birding sounds like an oxymoron. The competitions are opportunities to maximize the birding experience in one 24-hour period on a limited playing field that birders call Big Days. I’ve been a Big Day birder for over a decade now. I recently returned from my 11th time competing in the World Series of Birding in New Jersey, where my team had a personal best 193 species, finishing in the top ten for the second straight year. Along with some of these same teammates, I was on the winning team at the Third Annual Super Bowl of Birding this past January on the North Shore. These are about the furthest thing from a casual stroll along the paths of this cemetery admiring the avian parade passing by. There are rules to abide by and little time for abiding.

I use the word abide advisedly, since we tend not to use it often in its original, etymological meaning. Instead, we more commonly think of the word in terms of toleration; “I can’t abide rude drivers,” or in the sense of the idiom I just used, to abide by the rules. But on this day when we might well remember the hymn Abide With Me, my focus in on the sense of the word meaning to stay put, to remain steadfastly in one place.

Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me.

At the opposite end of the scale from frenetic pace of a birding Big Day as I’ve described it, there is a newly emerging way of doing a Big Day called a Big Sit. Instead of going to the birds, a team remains steadfastly in one limited space and lets the birds come to them. This sort of abiding is one of the more sublime joys that birders experience.

There is something mysterious, almost mystical about birding at times. Birds are wise enough to know that concealment is a valuable defense against predators, so whether it is the dense cover of a thicket, the remote reaches of a marsh, the thick canopy of leafy trees, or just the other side of a tree trunk, birds know how to hide from sight. So very often, if a birder wants to encounter a sought after species, he or she is required to remain steadfastly still. Sometimes the waiting one must do is completely passive, given that there is nothing you can do to entice the bird to arrive, appear or otherwise make its presence known; you simply wait. Waiting in silence, and sometimes in darkness as well, is an act of faith. There is never a time when I venture out into creation that I don’t expect to encounter birds (and other surprises). I have certain expectations, but almost every intentional birding expedition has at least one disappointment and one surprise. One only has these types of experience by first having the faith that they will happen.

I have this type of faith in God. I never know what to expect from God. If anything, I expect the unexpected, I anticipate being surprised by God because I believe that God is still speaking. I take seriously the advice of that “great” theologian, Gracie Allen; “Never place a period where God has placed a comma.” This still-speaking God is clearly unpredictable, often surprising and sometimes even dangerous, but one thing that is steadfastly true is that God is good.

Sure, there are many things that we don’t like in this life and it is easy to be angry at God because that is whom we blame. At this moment of remembrance, we gather at a chapel (and abide the ramblings of clergy) because we acknowledge that ultimately God is responsible for all life; both giving and taking. So we have the classic glass half-full/half-empty dilemma. I would argue that the evidence for a half-full glass is all around us. Look at the beauty of this place; a place set aside both for the preservation of the beauty of memory and beauty of nature. It is no coincidence that refuges set aside for wildlife and holy property set aside for sacred use share the same name: sanctuary. Pessimists don’t expend energy maintaining sanctuaries.

Or to bring the message full circle, look at the birds of the air. We have every reason to be filled with hope when we see the care and attention that God gives even to the birds and the flowers. This is the same hope to which we cling when we face and remember the loss of loved ones from this life. The reason for our hope is that we are known and loved by a God who abides with us. At the heart of my faith is the story of a God who is steadfast; stubbornly sticking to a plan of loving humanity and all of creation. In addition, the great love of this God compelled the very creator of the universe to enter into creation itself, in order to abide with the creatures. Not only have we received the promise that God, and God’s holy love will always abide with us, we are welcomed to make that our home, our abode if you will. We have the comfort, if we choose, of abiding in God’s love. That is our hope this day. We may choose to worry and fret and go it alone. Or we can be like the bird who sings in the darkness sensing the dawn to come and in hope be carefree in the care of our God who loves us madly.

Things with Wings

2005-12-03T22:25:00.000-05:00

I have officiated at many funerals and memorial services in my years of ministry, but today was a first for me. I was able to serve in my pastoral role for my fellow birders as we gathered at the Old Pines observation platform at the Parker River National Wildlife Refuge to remember Steve Leonard. It was a great opportunity for me to don my "alternate plumage" and have people in attendance actually able to identify the American Goldfinch and Rose-breasted Grosbeak on my stole. I also shared a scripture that I sometimes share at funerals and have those gathered further appreciate the deepness of the meaning for me. I read Matthew 6:25-34, where Jesus reminds us not to worry about our lives by pointing to the birds of the air and reminding us that they don't worry because God cares for them. In relation to remembering Steve, I tried to share the assurance that being carefree in the care of God was something that Steve taught us, in no small part by chasing things with feathers.

Steve had a wonderful and ancient quote that he used as a signature for his email; "A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they will never know." This reminds me of the words of Hebrews 11:1, "Now faith is the assurance of things hoped, the conviction of things not seen." Sometimes those things with wings that we birders chase are "things not seen." But that never stops us from chasing them. That never stopped Steve either, because he had the assurance of things hoped for, yes, he had faith.

And so we gathered today to take some solace in the community of believers. We may not all have shared the same religious beliefs, but I know enough of those who gathered well enough to know that they believe in the goodness of life, the value of kindness and the spark of divinity in creation. Those are the things that sustain us regardless of what we name them. We also all believe in hope, otherwise there would have been no reason to gather. The hope that we shared today is that Steve now is also a "thing with wings." And just like those feathered creatures we pursue with our expensive optics, we won't always see our newly winged friend. But we will catch glimpses in our remembrances and we will smile. I hope we will also realize how our lives have been changed by knowing Steve and thus keep him alive not just in our thoughts, but also in our actions.

One thing that would have been nice to share with those with whome I share an ornithological passion is my "trademark" benediction, which mixes the ornithological with the theological. Since a benediction is a parting word, it seems fitting to share it now as a farewell to Steve.

Go in peace and in your life give glory to God the creator. May this creator God, who knows even the sparrow that falls, lift you on gentle breezes that you may soar with the eagles. Give glory also to the Christ, who comes to you still, and challenges you, in the form of the least, the last, and the lost. And give glory to the Holy Spirit. May God's spirit of love, gentle as a dove, be with you all, and all those whom you love, and all those whom nobody loves; now and forevermore, world without end. Amen.

Hole-y Peeping

2005-11-30T22:16:00.000-05:00

Chickadees and titmice in particular are easily aggitated by the sound of a screech-owl. They are conditioned to flock together and work on driving out the predator. This group effort provides for their mutual protection. Birders know about this behavior and regularly seek to "call in" flocks of small song birds by imitating a Screech-owl (usually in hopes of finding something rarer than a chickadee or titmouse). I do this quite often.

So it was interesting to me to observe a flock of these little critters recently. The chickadees and titmice were already a bit worked up so I thought that there might be a live owl in the neighborhood. I thought this particularly because I saw some of them investigating a large hole in a tree--a perfect spot for a screech-owl to roost. So I tried imitating a screech-owl in hopes of enticing the invisible owl out of the hole. Sadly, that didn't happen. What did happen was that a number of chickadees and titmice completely ignored the source of the sound (i.e. me) and instead peered into the hole in the tree!

So I got wondering if this was at all common (I had seen this behavior at least once before). So I sent word to a local birding e-mail list. Well, I found that this was a rather common occurence. Most startling were the comments of a couple of people about how small birds would investigate holes even when screech-owls didn't occur in the area. Someone also alluded to a study where scientists tested whether the birds simply check out any hole by posting a box they knew to be empty of owls, and the birds still peered into it!

Apparently chickadees and titmice are "hardwired" to look into holes when they hear a screech-owl. Now this behavior may seem to us to be a bit of a waste of time, but if there were something as important as a potential owl in the neighborhood and you were a chickadee you would want to be sure. Well friends, there is reportedly something rather important coming to our neighborhood. That would be the child expected on December 25th! Maybe we should take a lesson from our feathered friends who can't help themselves from doing some hole-y peeping and be sure to do some holy peeping of our own!

Dickie Birds

2005-07-01T00:00:00.000-04:00

Birders have an endearing term for those small common birds that flit and twitter in the brush and on low branches in the woods, dickie birds. These are the birds encountered on any and every trip into the field, chickadee, titmouse, nuthatch, and goldfinch being the most common. Dickie birds are so common that they are easily taken for granted. Many times when I make a list for the day I have to stop and think hard to remember if I actually encountered any dickie birds that day. While I find it hard to believe that there were none, I often cannot specifically remember one.

Although Jesus didn’t use the term, he was certainly talking about dickie birds when he asked the rhetorical question, “are not two sparrows sold for a penny?”(Matthew 10:29) He was not talking about birds that were being sold for sacrifice in the temple; they must have been for eating. A sparrow could not have provided very much meat, and at less than a penny they were nearly worthless. Interestingly, the very species that Jesus spoke of is likely the common, and pesky, sparrow that we know in our cities, the House Sparrow, passer domesticus. So this is one ancient metaphor that translates well to our time. Consider how easy it is to overlook a sparrow. Some day just try counting how many House Sparrows you see. I’m sure that you will be surprised at how many there are around you that you never noticed before. Yet, Jesus assures us, not one of these tiny creatures goes unnoticed by God. Indeed, every single hair on your head is counted! That is the nature of this God we worship. The logic is that if God cares for such small things, insignificant to and overlooked by us, then God’s care for each of us must be so incredibly great.

The corollary to this message is that since we are so loved by God we are free to be like God in showing the same compassion to others, even those (indeed, especially those) who are the least.

Impurity

2005-06-01T09:00:00.000-04:00

Recently Blue-winged Warblers have returned to their breeding grounds. I’ve been hearing their two-part “bee-buzzzzz” song in a number of places around town. Each time I hear the song I make an effort to see the bird on the off chance that it is not a Blue-winged Warbler. The reason being that sometimes the closely related Golden-winged Warbler will sing the same song. The reverse can also be the case. Unfortunately it is usually safe to assume that whatever song one hears, it is a Blue-winged Warbler singing it, as Golden-winged Warblers are in the decline and may in fact be heading toward extinction. Curiously, the reason Golden-winged Warblers are disappearing is completely natural; they are being bred out of existence by the Blue-winged Warblers. Hybrids between the two species are common enough that they are named and depicted in field guides. These Lawrence’s and Brewster’s Warblers are capable of reproduction and Blue-winged Warbler genes are winning the battle.

With the mixing of the gene pool it is becoming increasingly difficult to find a pure Golden-winged Warbler. And once the impurity works its way in, purity can never be achieved again. Think about it, 99 and 44/100% pure is still impure. Picture a single drop of food coloring in a glass of water, once it goes in it spreads throughout the whole glass eventually. And isn’t it especially true that most of the time motives are something less than pure? This past week, one reason I was checking out the songs of warblers was that I wanted to attempt what is called, in birding parlance, a Century Run. That is, I wanted to locate 100 species of birds within Brimfield in a single 24 hour day. My motivation for this quixotic quest was similar to what long distance runners or mountain climbers have: the thrill of the chase and the satisfaction of personal achievement. Or at least that was part of my motivation. Truth be told, I was also highly motivated by competition. Last week, while I was competing in another birding marathon, the World Series of Birding (where my team broke its own record finishing ninth with 191 species), three local birders attempted a Brimfield Century Run. They fell short by four species. I was determined to beat that. In the end I ended up two species shy of their mark.

So what can be done about impurity? Can any of us ever have pure motives, even when we set out to do good? Honestly, I don’t think that we can ever make such claims as perfection is simply beyond our human capacity. Fortunately, God has a plan to deal with our impurities. Unfortunately, we won’t like it. A number of scriptural passages describe trials and tribulations as God’s way of refining us. The metaphor refers to the act of refining precious metals by melting them, removing the impurities that rise to the surface (known as dross), and then repeating again and again until the metal is pure. So we should expect to face troubles if we want to be the person God wants us to be. The wonderful truth about this process is that through it we reflect more and more of God. For you see, the way a refiner knows when a metal is finally pure is when he can see his reflection in it.

The Forest for the Trees

2005-05-01T00:00:00.000-04:00

It is an open secret that I am what British birders would call a twitcher. I will take off for unfamiliar territory in search of a reported bird that I have never seen before. So I was twitching on Patriot’s Day when I took off for Deep River, Connecticut hoping to see the reported Swallow-tailed Kite. This was my third attempt to see this magnificent bird. Unmistakable in flight, with its long forked tail, striking black and white coloring, and its preference for snacking on insects at treetop height, I knew that I would have no trouble identifying this beautiful bird.

Thus, I stood accused when the local resident walked up and began subtly chiding the congregation of birders lost in their compulsion to see a single bird. Still, his monologue was fraught with irony. He practically ranted that we twitchers were oblivious to all the rest of the beauty around us, obsessed as we were with a tick on our lists. I’m not sure how he drew this conclusion, especially considering that I had just been wondering about the species of insect that was hatching and providing the food for the kite. Nor did he seek a dialogue during which I could have told him how my first foray in search of this bird had led me serendipitously to witness a fascinating dogfight between an Osprey and a juvenile Bald Eagle. But the greatest irony came when he told me of a close encounter he had had with a fisher while he was hunting. Not only did I have a nearly identical encounter recently, but it happened while I was doing what he was doing, that is, twitching is simply another way of utilizing our nearly instinctual urge to hunt. So he was showing how he too was guilty of what he was accusing me of, not seeing the forest for the trees.

It is a sad reality that it is all too easy to lose perspective when one’s focus is narrow. The current alleged Red State/Blue State dichotomy in our nation is a good example of the danger of a too tight single focus. And when we set our mind on one thing alone, the blinders that we put on can quickly lead us to self-justifications of unacceptable behavior. Birders have suddenly been presented with just such an ethical dilemma with the revelation that the Ivory-billed Woodpecker is in fact not extinct but it is possible to score the ultimate twitch in Arkansas. Unfortunately, finding this bird would not be a completely passive activity. The very act of seeking this bird could harm its habitat sufficiently to cause its supposed extinction to become a reality.

Failing to see the interconnectedness of all people, and upsetting the delicate web of all life, are uniquely modern sins that we all too easily and all too often justify or ignore. Let’s commit ourselves to saving the forests, figuratively and literally, one tree at a time.

Update and a Miracle(?)

2005-04-27T23:57:00.000-04:00

I finally got around to checking out the Massachusetts Avian Records Committee report for 2004. The importance of that report lies in the power I gave it to determine whether I listed Trumpeter Swan and Thayer's Gull on my personal lists (see Waiting for the Word). The news was both disappointing and inconclusive! The committee decided that the swan was indeed a Trumpeter, but given the lack of assurance that it was a truly wild bird (introduction programs have been instituted) they were unwilling to consider it "listable." As for the potential Thayer's Gull, apparently no one submitted a report for the committee to consider, so there is still no decision. I guess I will have to prevail upon those who reported it to the birding community to report it to "the powers that be" so we can get an official word.

In another post, The Lord God Bird, I talked about the wonder of the possibility of seeing an Ivory-billed Woodpecker. Well, in what might be little short of a modern miracle, it appears that in the morning we will be getting official word from the government that they are still alive and kicking! You can read some leaked coverage here and here.

To Nest and to Nestle

2005-04-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

After a long day, isn’t it wonderful to come home and flop into your favorite chair? If it has been your chair long enough then it probably feels like it has been molded to your exact measurements. If it is the soft, overstuffed sort then you can literally nestle into it. Not surprisingly, the word nestle shares its root with the word nest. The literal meaning of nest is a place to sit down. The connotation of the word nestle is of fitting comfortably or being drawn close. This seems to come from the less common use of nest to denote something that fits neatly inside a larger object, such as those popular Russian dolls. What confuses me is how this idea came to be since it certainly doesn’t seem to have a basis in nature.

Nearly every bird builds a new nest every breeding season, very few birds will reuse a nest; even those birds that lay a second clutch of eggs will typically do it in a new nest. The only birds that consistently return to a previously build nest are larger birds. Some birds of prey will add to a nest each year. Ospreys and Bald Eagles do this, sometimes to the point that the tree supporting it can no longer support the weight and it collapses! Some owls are notorious for not ever building nests but instead using the sturdier nests built by others the previous season. Herons are colonial nesters, so they return annually to what is called a rookery, where there are multiple nests (sometimes finding that a Great Horned Owl has taken up residence!)

None of these structures are particularly comfortable. That is, at least not until an adult bird literally feathers the nest with downy feathers plucked from itself and then settles down first on the eggs and later the nestlings. Perhaps this is the very image that brought forth the term nestle. Birds give us a great example of how to cope with change. In a way, each spring presents a whole new world to a bird, yet they find a way to make a new home and to nestle their young safely. Compare this to 2 Corinthians 5:17, “So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old is passed away; see, everything has become new!” When God brings change into our lives it is radical, hardly bringing the idea of nestling to mind!

Choosing a Direction

2005-03-25T11:09:00.000-05:00

Well, it is almost that time of the year. The time when it becomes increasingly difficult to attract and keep my attention unless you have wings and feathers. May always brings the peak of migration to this area. Every day there is a bird to be seen that is a first for the year. Who am I kidding? Not a bird, many birds. And these are birds that often don't stick around for long. In particular, many warblers show up as night falls and take off the next morning giving the faithful only a brief early morning window to greet them.

This is also the time of year that I combine competition with birding. May 14th is the 22nd annual World Series of Birding. I will be there in New Jersey with dozens of other crazed birders competing for 24 hours straight trying to observe more species than any other team. This year I am captain of our team, The Friends of Salem Woods Wicked Witchities ("witchity, witchity, witchity" is the common description of the call of the Common Yellowthroat). The best we Witchities have ever done is 173 species and a 13th place finish. After the work of learning how to identify all these birds the real distinction between the top teams and the also-rans is route choice. With so many species scattered about the state of New Jersey, connecting the dots in the most efficient way is critical. That is not to mention the problem of uncooperative birds stealing precious time by not be present at the exact moment the team is there!

Of course, not all my birding is this intense. Indeed one of the most rewarding practices is simply wandering good habitat expectantly. This is something I do regularly as well. It is not unusual to show up at a site and have no particular plan as to where to go. That doesn't mean that I wander aimlessly and get lost. It may mean that I wander around to the point that I find it hard to return to the start, but that is different than being lost. I like to compare this type of travel to the way I think we should pursue our spiritual walk. When I wander like this I listen for voices, the voices of the birds, to choose the path to take. In our spiritual life we need to listen for God's voice to tell us where to go. Just like the birds, God doesn't usually speak so clearly that we have no doubt. Whether it is a matter of identification or interpretation, there is still a lot of guesswork involved. Only a commitment to following in the direction that the voice comes from will lead us to the increased experience that will make future discernment easier. I hope that you take the risk of following the voice of God in your life today…and every day!

The Shelter of God's Wing

2005-03-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

One of the miracles of engineering is the feather On flight feathers, the veins coming off the shaft are barbed. These barbs interlock to create a seamless structure that is solid enough to sustain the bird in the air and to repel water. A wing full of feathers is a powerful tool, one that we humans at times envy. No doubt this is part of the reason angels are conceived as winged. A wing is also a welcome sight to a young bird. When confined to the nest, a bird needs all the protection it can get and a mother’s wing is sufficient for that task.

Whether shade from the sun or protection from the rain; a wing over a nestling’s head will do the job. While in the egg, a bird has a shell to protect it from the weight of the parent bird providing warmth. After hatching, a wing wrapped tightly around the clutch of young birds pulls them in to the warmth of the mother’s breast. The shelter of the mother’s wing also protects the young from detection by predators. Loons will ride on the back of their parents, sometimes completely concealed by their wings as they nestle down into the soft warm down of mom’s or dad’s back.

Seven times in the Psalms we read of taking refuge in the shadow of God’s wings. Jesus weeps over Jerusalem wishing that he could protect the people like a hen gathering her brood under her wings. This is a beautiful metaphor for God’s love for us. Some of the women of our church have begun providing a similar metaphor in the form of prayer shawls. These lovingly knitted shawls have begun to find their ways to people who need to find refuge in the shelter of God’s wing. Wrapped up in the warmth of the shawl, the hope is that one will also sense the love and prayers that have gone into its creation

There is one more way that some birds use their wings that demonstrates a remarkable form of love. Killdeer are most famous for this behavior, although other birds have also been known to demonstrate it. When the young are threatened, an adult bird will often feign an injury to its wing. Dragging along a wing as if it is broken makes it a more appealing target to the predator. Once the young are safe, the bird then is free to end the charade and fly off. Obviously, this behavior is not without risk. This should remind us of Jesus’ words that there is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. As Holy Week approaches and we draw near to Calvary these words have all the more power.

Dabblers and Divers

2005-02-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

There are two basic types of ducks: dabblers and divers. The names describe the way that they feed, dabblers dabble and divers dive. Dabblers are the classic “puddle ducks,” mallards and black ducks for example. They can feed literally in a puddle because they eat emergent vegetation protruding above the water or within reach of their extended necks with their bottoms tipped skyward. These are ducks of the shallows. Divers are deep water birds. Like torpedoes they paddle along under the water to the vegetable or animal life present on the bottom of the lake or pond. There are more species of divers than dabblers, but they are less familiar to us because they are more migratory. They also don’t tend to come on shore to eat bread offered by humans. So there are scaup, goldeneyes, ring-necked ducks and mergansers that spend a few weeks a year on our ponds heading north or south.

Diving seems to be the preferred strategy since there are other species such as grebes, loons, and cormorants that also dive. Logic would dictate the preference since there must naturally be more food in the expanses of the pond or lake than in the shallows, since there is more deep water than shallow water. In Luke 5, when Jesus calls Andrew, Peter, James and John, he first tells them to push their boats out into the deep water. There they let down their nets and they become so full of fish that they almost break! The lesson here is that the fish are not in the shallows. The moral of the story is that if you want to know the miraculous truths that God has in store for you then you must get into the deep water. You need to be a diver not a dabbler.

Sure, dabblers and divers are both necessary to exploit all the niches in the environment. But a diver afraid to go into deep water will starve to death competing with the dabblers in the shallow end. Life is too full of rich blessing to do nothing but dabble. Don’t you want to dive in deep and learn all that you can about God and more particularly what it is that God has in store for you? It will mean some scary moments of holding your breath and moving through dark and murky places…but don’t you think it is worth the risk?

Colonial Life

2005-01-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

One opportunity that winter provides is the ability to see all those bird nests that had been so well hidden when the trees held leaves. Most often we see confirmation that birds are pretty solitary when they nest. In the breeding season, birds of a feather not only do not flock together but they quarrel over territory in which they attract mates and then forage for food to raise the young.

But there are exceptions to this general rule. Some birds are what are called colonial nesters. That is, instead of defending an individual territory they build their nests close to each other. When birds nest in colonies they have to travel farther to find food since there is rarely enough in the immediate vicinity of the colony to feed the entire group. But this is offset by the protection provided by more eyes and ears. Colonial nesters come in all sizes from Purple Martens to Great Blue Herons. There is the beginning of a heron rookery in Brimfield that is visible from the turnpike. This year there was only a single pioneering family there. In time they will surely be joined by others.

More typically, the colony only succeeds because of the numbers. Such a species is the Monk Parakeet. These noisy, large green parrots made a foray into the southeastern portion of the state in recent years. Their large, active nest of sticks is the equivalent of a busy avian apartment building. It is truly a marvel to witness such a thing in a suburban back yard! But, to the best of my knowledge this colony has failed so one must go further afield to see this species.

We humans, like it or not, are more like Monk Parakeets than chickadees or even herons. We may quarrel about what is ours and work hard to obtain personal possessions, but in the end we desperately need each other. For the most part, a chickadee only needs other chickadees to propagate the species, but even they know enough to forage together when the going gets tough, say, in the winter. And while some of us may risk pioneering efforts like the solitary heron family did this year, the purpose of blazing a way is for others to follow. No, we are a species that is at its best when we lean on others for help. Together we are greater than we are individually. Jesus knew this when he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane that "they may all be one." Colonial living may try our patience. It might mean putting up with some that we would rather do without. But not one of us is indispensable, just as one body has many parts…and needs them all!

Light of the World

2004-12-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

On a recent Monday afternoon, I parked along the power canal in Turner’s Falls, pulled out my lunch and started waiting. A thorough scan of the geese resting on the water made it clear that the bird I was looking for was not present. Amongst the Canada Geese, the small, white Ross’ Goose would have stood out like a sore thumb. So I enjoyed my lunch, listened to Car Talk on the radio, talked with my brother on the phone, talked with other birders who showed up for the same reason and well, mostly just waited…and waited…and waited.

Waiting is the most common activity of birders. The problem with waiting is the pressure to do something else. Sometimes it is the pressure to abandon the stake out in order to look elsewhere. Other times it is the pressure to do other things, like laundry or like getting supper. Sometimes it is the pressure just to admit defeat and go home. This last is the one against which we always fight the most. But when the rest of the area geese finally started to fly in to join the original group the sun had already begun to set. Each small group of geese coming in for a noisy landing of flapping wings and squawking honks brought with it a ray of hope even as the rays of the sun slipped away

Then in what turned out to be the final group of geese there was a smaller white bird. It was now full fledged twilight but the white of this goose was still quite visible. Surely this was the bird—but how were we to see it well enough to be sure? At this point I was glad that I had driven the minivan instead of the sedan. I turned the van so that the headlights, just barely higher than the guardrail, shone on the water where the goose was.

This is the time of year when we watch the light slip away as days grow shorter. Thus it is not by chance that we celebrate Christmas during this season. Humanity is lost in the dark without God, so we look for the coming of the light. Sometimes we feel the pressure to stop waiting, to stop looking. The darkness falls around us and we think there is nothing more that we can do. But if Christ is indeed the light of the world then shouldn’t we keep waiting…and waiting…and waiting?

And then when the gift of God comes in the dark of night don’t you want to be there to see it? And here is part of the great mystery of each Christmas since the first one. Since Jesus has already been born we are not waiting for that child. In fact, we believe that this baby is now the risen Christ…whose new birthing place is not a manger, but our hearts. So, in a way, all this waiting is just to see if we will understand that the light of the world can and should now shine from each of us. Will you help those in need around you by letting your light shine? There is no greater gift you can give this Christmas.

I Hear Music in the Air

2004-11-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

Bird vocalizations can generally be separated into songs and calls. Typically songs are the music of courtship, heard almost exclusively in the spring. Birds use calls for basic communication. They tell each other things like, “there’s food over here,” or “stay away,” or “danger!” Songs are usually melodious and sometimes complex, very often providing conclusive identification of the species audibly. Calls tend to be chips and twitters, often similar between species. Even after years of experience it takes some real chutzpah to claim to be able distinguish between the chip notes of most sparrows. A few calls are distinct enough to distinguish like the lispy chip of White-throated Sparrows or the nearly ultra-sonic squeal of an agitated Tufted Titmouse. Agitation is often a reason for calls. Ironically, when a large congregation of small birds chip and twitter together in a scolding tone it doesn’t matter if you can identify the noisy birds since they are aiding you in identifying a silent one. Hearing a racket coming from chickadees, titmice and nuthatches in the yard a week ago I scrambled for my binoculars in hope of seeing the bird that had upset them. Typically this would mean seeing an Eastern Screech-owl roosting, but this time of year it could equally likely be a Saw-whet Owl. I saw neither, but just because I didn’t see an owl didn’t mean there wasn’t one there.

The experience reminded me of the words of a wonderful spiritual: “Over my head, I hear music in the air. There must be a God somewhere.” What a sublime expression of hope! Hope is a precious commodity, too often in limited supply. Our lives are enriched and empowered when we can allow simple gifts like the songs of birds lift our spirits and confirm our belief in God. Harriet Freeman was a person who knew both how to receive and give these simple gifts. When we were laying her to rest at the cemetery last week I could hear bird calls including the high squeal of a titmouse. I had to agree, none of us, even the birds, wanted to let go of her. And then, on some unseen signal, the whole flock took off over our heads. I’m convinced that they were Harriet’s companions on her flight to that place where God lives, our true home.

Waiting for the Word

2004-10-01T00:00:00.000-04:00

Every birder has to decide what rules will govern his or her lists. For example, I will count birds that I’ve heard but not seen, others will only count those that they get good looks at. There are two birds that are currently “asterisks” on my year list. Ironically, both showed up in Northampton this winter. The first was a bird whose identity is still up in the air, the second is a bird that may not have been completely wild.

The first bird may have been a hybrid between Thayer’s Gull and “Kumlien’s” Gull. I definitely saw the bird in question, but don’t have the experience or expertise to settle the identification question. The second bird was by nearly all accounts a Trumpeter Swan. The problem with counting this bird is that there is a chance that it may have flown here not from traditional breeding grounds for this species, but from a population that has been reintroduced to the wild. So I have decided that for the sake of listing these two birds I will abide by the decision of the Massachusetts Avian Records Committee (MARC). This committee examines the evidence as submitted to it and renders a decision. I have not always chosen to abide by their rulings. Once I saw what I am sure was a Henslow’s Sparrow but my report was not accepted by MARC. Needless to say, the sparrow stayed on my list. Sometimes personal experience trumps external authorities.

This made me think about the Bible. The books of the Bible were written by a variety of authors and gathered by the faithful. There has not always been agreement about which books belong in the canon and which don’t. Thus, there are the books of the Apocrypha which are accepted by Roman Catholics but not by Protestants. Each of us has to approach the Bible with our own “rules.” Some will attempt to take every word literally; others will see the truth of stories in the message more than the content. Regardless of your own approach, you are beholden to mere mortals who penned the words and other people who chose to call them holy. We all must accept the human factor in the process. Sometimes we all find ourselves choosing personal experience over external authorities, but at all times we should be carefully waiting for the word…of God.

Morris Island's Lofty Heights

2004-09-01T00:00:00.000-04:00

I first saw a Black Skimmer in Virginia in 1993. Since I started competing in the World Series of Birding I pretty much count on an annual glimpse of this species in New Jersey. But for over a decade I have been chasing Black Skimmers in Massachusetts with no luck. I go where they are supposed to be. They breed, albeit in small numbers, somewhere near the “elbow” of Cape Cod every year. I make at least one annual shorebird pilgrimage to South Beach in Chatham. Relatively inaccessible and inhospitable to humans they are a hot spot for southward migrating shorebirds in late summer. Often I have read reports of skimmers at these places, sometimes even from the day before, or the day after. Or most disturbing of all, I have come home only to read a report that a skimmer was seen while I was there!

And so it was that I set out on the quest yet once again this year, only there was a serious wrinkle in the form of a Red-footed Falcon on Martha’s Vineyard. Considering that this bird had flown across the Atlantic from its normal range of Africa and Eastern Europe, and it was the first of its species to do so made this a must-see bird. Unable to resist, I took off in the wee hours for Wood’s Hole. I got there, got the first ferry to the island and the first taxi to Edgartown. Only a few steps from the van and someone was already calling out, “there he is!” Sure enough, sitting on a yellow sign was the bird …and it was only 7:35 AM. Since there had been a steady stream of skimmer reports from South Beach it looked like I would have my cake and eat it too!

That is when I heard the devastating news that the boat to South Beach would soon be hauled out of the water in advance of tropical storm Charley. Not giving up that easily, I took the next taxi back to the ferry. The traffic was relentless, but I arrived at Morris Island in time to see some birders returning from South Beach. They had had their fill of skimmers, and had their sights set on a dessert of falcon. Later reports confirmed that they indeed had made the right decision.

Had I been a bit more patient I could have had skimmers in the morning and the falcon in the afternoon. But instead, there I stood, like Moses on Mount Pisgah, staring off at the Promised Land. But Moses didn’t have the luxury of a 20 to 40 power Kowa scope, so I decided that I would scan the island in hopes of picking up this bird. But two hours of scanning did not produce a single skimmer.

I wonder how Moses felt that day. Was it enough simply knowing about God’s blessing? Or was he bitter that he didn’t get to go there himself? I had had a wonderful day, but was still empty, and yes, even bitter. But in the end I realized that the struggle is filled with lessons and its own blessing. The happy ending is that by not seeing a skimmer on Saturday, I chose to go back on Tuesday and got up close and personal with 14 of them! So don’t be too quick to complain about God’s ways. Not only are they mysterious, but sometimes they hold unexpected blessings.

Hearing Is Believing

2004-07-01T00:00:00.000-04:00

Some birds are only active at night like owls and goatsuckers (yes, that actually is the family name of whip-poor-wills and the like). This is not a rule written in stone since it is certainly possible to see an owl roosting in the daylight, but some birds just require late night excursions if they are going to make your list. That explains why I was at Jake’s Landing, a marsh in New Jersey, at midnight. I was there in search of a Black Rail, a tiny, secretive bird that is vocal almost exclusively at night. I had the marsh to myself that night, even though other World Series of Birding teams had had their scouts out there earlier. I discovered later, to my chagrin, that those scouts had heard Black Rails. I had no luck with that species, but this turned out to be my lucky night.

Literally in the still of the night, I was able to hear all the bird song around me. There were Clapper Rails, Marsh Wrens and even Seaside Sparrows calling and singing. Then I heard a song I had never heard before. Chip, chip, chip, churrrrr. It took a moment or two to recognize what I was hearing. I was pretty sure that the live version I was hearing matched a song I had on the CD in my car. So I played the CD and sure enough, I was listening to a Sedge Wren! I had never seen a Sedge Wren before…technically I still have never seen a Sedge Wren. There was no way that I was going to see this small bird hidden in the sedge in the dark, so I had no choice but to report it and list it as an audible. I have long since given up requiring visual confirmation before life listing a bird, but since this was going to be a bird worth chasing for World Series teams I was a bit concerned about being believed.

As I shared this report in the following days, not one person doubted me, at least not to my face. The bird was probably a migrant that moved on the next day since no one ever reported it again. The record breaking cumulative total of species seen by all teams during that Saturday’s World Series did not include Sedge Wren. I was the lone witness to this bird’s brief appearance. I’m not sure what I would have done if some didn’t believe me. I’m not sure that there was anything I could have done. Isn’t that the same problem we have when we witness to our faith? Your experience with God is very personal and nearly impossible to describe to another, particularly someone who has never had a similar experience. On top of that, our still-speaking God is full of surprises for us, giving us new experiences as often as we are willing to accept them. So how are we to spread this good news? I think the other birders believed me because they could see my dedication and conviction. That my story was only a little abnormal certainly helped. To many people we encounter the story of a transformative, liberating God active in the world and in our lives today is going to sound pretty far-fetched. I hope that you are able to demonstrate your conviction and dedication through your living. This way, your words will be backed up by the actions others can see, and of course, seeing is believing.

Love Your Enemies

2004-06-01T00:00:00.000-04:00

Last month some well meaning birders directed me to what quite possibly might be the stinkiest place on the planet. In Port Norris, New Jersey there is a pile of clam shells that must be at least 30 feet high. Someone suggested that a way to endure the smell was to think of it as leftovers from last night’s seafood dinner. That would be OK except that it smells more like last month’s seafood dinner! On top of that, to find the birds, one must walk on grassy impoundments that are a tick nursery. After my short visit there I picked a dozen ticks off various parts of my body. Joining the assault are swarms of winged blood-suckers of varying shapes and sizes.

It may seem at this point that the birders weren’t so well meaning after all. Considering that they, like we, were scouting for sites for birds in advance of the World Series of Birding perhaps they were tossing us a red herring (it certainly smelled like a dead fish!) Standing downwind of the malodorous mountain of shells, being eaten alive by tiny flying insects in the sweltering heat, knowing that ticks were at that very moment anticipating the taste of my blood, and all the while not seeing or hearing the King Rail that I was there to find, I was still willing to trust the information. Our team had been told about this bird and this location by the team that won the previous year (and repeated this past year). Actually, I had no good reason to trust them beyond the fact that the whole event hinges on trust. When the teams arrive at the finish line with their bird lists they have been running around New Jersey for the previous 24 hours completely unmonitored. The only system preventing rampant lying and cheating is the honor system. All in all, that is a pretty good system. Not only does that encourage trustworthiness, it also makes this perhaps the friendliest competition in the world.

Out on that miserable dike I met a very pleasant fellow scout who confirmed that he had previously heard a King Rail at this location and shared a wealth of other information with me. He told me of a place to find a Prothonotary Warbler. Later that week when I saw him again I was able to thank him for that with the news that additionally I had found a Kentucky Warbler at the same location. Teams were also free with tips and tricks on finding birds and getting them to reveal themselves.

This got me to thinking about Jesus’ command that we should love our enemies. It is too easy to approach much of what Jesus taught with the attitude that it is a lofty ideal beyond our reach. But my experience with the generosity of my competitors at the World Series of Birding made me realize that the best way to defeat your enemies is to treat them as your friends. I don’t ever expect our team to win the World Series, but since I could never muster any animosity toward other teams I could never feel like a loser. This “love your enemy” stuff is actually more practical than lofty. If more of us could truly believe that it works then maybe some day they will have a war and nobody will show up!

Snipe Hunt

2004-05-01T00:00:00.000-04:00

Did anyone ever send you on a snipe hunt when you were young? By definition a snipe hunt is a search doomed to frustrated failure because of the non-existence of the sought after item. Searching for a left-handed monkey wrench would be a true snipe hunt. Diogenes is said to have taken a lamp in broad daylight out in the streets in search of an honest person. He used a snipe hunt to sarcastically make the point that there were no honest people.

I’ve got bad news for all those intent on sending naïve initiates out into the dark night with a bag…there really are snipe! I recently went in search of snipe, actual snipe. Wilson’s Snipes are birds of wet meadows and bogs that occasionally breed in this area and regularly pass through on migration. If you have ever looked for them in the wet fields that they prefer you will know why they are said not to exist. It is quite easy to look over the field and see nothing only to notice some movement, lift your binoculars and find the area literally crawling with snipe. They accomplish this because of their build and coloration. They are squatty birds with mottled brown patterning, meaning that they are low to the ground that they resemble.

My snipe hunt took me to perfect habitat where others had reported the species only days before. I even donned my boots and walked the wet field, all to no avail. If there were any snipe there that day they were indeed invisible. Who knows, perhaps they possess the power to become transparent. Certainly no one could disprove such a theory. Or perhaps they have the ability to transmogrify. This I might be able to accept since I went out with hopes of adding Wilson’s Snipe to my year list but instead added a (not surprising but unexpected) Savannah Sparrow.

In reality, the power of a snipe hunt is not in the snipe but in the hunt. I love the post Easter story of the two disciples walking with Jesus on the road to Emmaus. Just like a snipe in a field, Jesus was invisible to these disciples. They were unable to see what was right in front of their eyes, until they looked with the eyes of faith. They saw Jesus in the breaking of the bread.

Where do you see Jesus today? When you come to the table of Holy Communion can you see Jesus in the breaking of the bread? And once you are fed do you go out into the world on a snipe hunt for the Christ? I’ve got news for you, Christ is as real as snipes and often just as difficult to find, until you know how and where to look. The best habitat for finding Christ is anyplace where God’s love and justice are needed. I’m sure that you encounter this habitat regularly, try using your faith eyes to find Christ the next time you are there.

The Lord God Bird

2004-04-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

Two years ago scientists scoured the bayous of southeastern Louisiana in search of what was believed to be an extinct bird, the ivory-billed woodpecker. Since the last confirmed sighting in the 1950s, people have often claimed to have seen one, but proof has been as elusive as the bird. That was until the story of a forestry student held up to cross-examination, convincing two teams to investigate.

The ivory-billed woodpecker was an impressive bird: a huge white bill that seems too large for its head and a wingspan the length of your arm. Even when they were being seen they were rare. Their nickname is ‘Lord God’ bird because that is said to be the normal exclamation upon seeing one. One person involved in the recent search unashamedly said that he expected to “burst out in tears” if he were to actually lay eyes on one!

I don’t have any illusions about ever seeing one. At least if I did it would be easy to identify given its distinctive appearance. But that is not true of every bird. Some can be infuriatingly difficult to identify. Currently there is an immature swan in Northampton that is easy to see but next to impossible to identify. It is either a tundra swan or maybe the first state record of trumpeter swan. Many of us who have seen this bird will be waiting for a decision of the avian records committee before we mark our lists in ink.

What these two stories have in common is the desire of faith. In both cases there is a great desire to believe that the rare bird is being seen. The Northampton swan was reported as the more expected tundra until someone suggested that it might be a trumpeter, and then the hordes descended to check it out. After hours of observation and multiple photographs the jury is still out. In this case Jesus’ words, “blessed are those who have not seen but yet believe” do not apply. It is akin to Mary’s encounter with the risen Christ, mistaking him for the more expected gardener than the miraculously resurrected Jesus.

These stories are also about doubt. There is good reason to doubt that there are any ivory-billed woodpeckers alive. But if there were proof the reaction would be dramatic to the resurrection of the ‘Lord God’ bird. How much more dramatic doubting Thomas’ proclamation must have been when he was confronted with the presence of Christ alive again. Can you imagine what he thought and felt beyond his potent words, “my lord and my God”?

Courage and a Cardboard Box

2004-03-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

Last week there was a report of a Common Murre in Rockport. While this species is rarely seen this particular bird was reported in the same location for a few days in a row. Unfortunately, the reason for its remaining in one location was that it had apparently been through an oil spill. It had been seen sitting on the rocky shoreline. This is bad news for a murre. Murres are part of a group of seabirds known as pelagics. Pelagic birds spend all their time on the water, coming to land only to breed. One birder commented that someone with courage and a cardboard box could retrieve this bird and get it to a wildlife rehabilitator. Sounding like a reasonable proposition, I set out in hopes of seeing and possibly helping this bird.

When I got to the location I couldn’t see the bird anywhere so I took off over the rocks searching. The pounding surf and uneven footing were enough to make me cautious but not actually fearful. Not finding the murre, I scanned the area carefully. Then I realized the potential risk involved in this rescue mission. Where the water met the shore the rocks were green with plants that would make them quite slippery. And there were perilously steep drops and numerous small loose rocks ahead. Had I located the bird, saving it would certainly have involved a good deal of courage.

One thing Mel Gibson is attempting to do with the movie, The Passion of the Christ, is make this very point. Telling just the part of the story involving the passion, i.e. suffering, of Jesus places emphasis on the high cost of salvation. The viewer is compelled to consider the courage necessary for Jesus to remain true to his calling knowing the incredible pain that lay ahead, including death. My minor attempt at salvation for one bird required a small dose of courage and a cardboard box. Christ’s work of salvation for all humanity required nearly inconceivable courage and a cross!

The pale comparison continues when I consider that it was my passion for birds that drove me…what level of passion for undeserving humanity drove Jesus to accept such dire consequences? Finally, I realized that when that birder commented on the need for courage he was assuming another element. What he assumed and we cannot ignore when considering the passion of the Christ is a closely related, yet indispensable element—compassion. God’s compassion for you and me is more than immense. Forty days is not nearly long enough fully to know this truth, but Lent is a good time to reflect on God’s mad love for us.

Come Thou Long Expected

2003-12-01T00:00:00.000-05:00

I doubt that many of you, if any, have ever heard the sound of a saw being sharpened. If any of you have I would appreciate hearing a description of the sound since I have been spending a good deal of time lately listening to a monotonous whistle that is supposed to sound like a saw being whetted. This sound is being broadcast rather loudly in the nighttime woods of Lookout Rock on the Uxbridge, Northbridge line. The reason for this admittedly odd behavior is to fool migrating Saw-whet Owls into investigating what would be the mother of all owls (since the volume is a couple of magnitudes greater than normal). And the reason for this deception is to lure the little night flyers into one of a series of nets set up in hopes of catching them. As the operation approaches six weeks, the number of captures is pushing 200. Each of these owls now sports a small silver bracelet on one of its legs that will make it identifiable should it be recaptured. The great hope of any bander (the name for one who bands a bird with these numbered bands) is a recapture, either one of its banded birds recaptured at another banding station or perhaps the opposite, a foreign capture. Each night during migration, weather permitting, a small group of banders has stood in the dark and cold counting down the time to check the nets hoping that when they make that walk they will find captive owls and maybe, just maybe, that one that already has the jewelry above its ankle that will identify it as an individual that has traveled here from a known foreign place. This is part of the reward for losing hours of sleep and enduring the elements.

During this Advent season, I am struck with the parallel between the wait for a recapture and the wait for the messiah’s return. Each year we tell the story again and we wait. We wait for something we think we know, a child, wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying a manger. But every year we light the candles and sing “Silent Night” yet I don’t know of one instance yet of angelic hosts giving instructions to shepherds since the original event. For me this begs the question, “Do we know what we’re waiting for?” We’ve got what we think is good data in the Christmas story, shouldn’t we be able to identify the returning messiah? At the banding station we are confident that all the owls passing through are coming from somewhere else, it is just that none of them have happened into someone else’s net prior to their stopover in ours. How many times over could it be that salvation has been sent our way but we didn’t understand because we were looking for something else? Do you really believe that God would only visit humanity once with a single return trip at the end of time? Surely the God who so loved the world that sending us God’s only child seemed like an appropriate means for our salvation wouldn’t stop trying after one attempt! Do you think that God has stopped loving the world? I certainly hope not. God loves us madly and I believe that God sends us a steady stream of opportunities for salvation. Oh, we can debate about the return of the messiah, but even Jesus said he didn’t know when that would be and that we wouldn’t recognize him, so what exactly is the value in that? I suggest that we open wide our eyes and ears and engage our whole beings in pursuit of discovering all of God’s gifts to us, no matter the form. After all, isn’t the thrill of discovering a mound of gifts the joy of Christmas?

A Community of Killdeer

2003-10-01T00:00:00.000-04:00

Getting the church out of the doors is what church is all about. I mean that both literally and figuratively. On Rally Sunday we took our worship outdoors, but the challenge remains for us to carry church in our lives day in and day out.

When the last softball was fielded and all the pylons were collected, the field where we held church returned to usual state. Nearly the moment we left the field a few of its regular inhabitants returned. I was coming in from the outfield when I heard the familiar cry of “ki-dee, ki-dee, ki-dee.” I turned to see nine Killdeer wheel in flight and then land in a tight group on the field. It was as if they were watching and waiting for us to get out of their way. Fields are their natural habitat and some of these nine were probably hatched in this very field. But seven offspring fledged and ready to migrate seems to be a good deal more than expected from a single pair of Killdeer. The likely explanation is that this was a community of Killdeer. Once the competition over territory ends (i.e. the end of the mating season), most birds see the wisdom of combining their efforts in the name of survival. The most common gathering of birds is in migratory flocks, the most dramatic of which are the huge numbers of hawks that soar south together over mountain ranges. This community of Killdeer was just a smaller example of the same.

I was struck by the fact that this field had hosted two communities on the same day, one avian and one human. The fact that both communities had use for the same resource reminded me of the importance of being aware of the many things we share within and between communities. This sharing makes defining where one community ends and another begins a difficult task. When we speak of our church community do we mean only members? Only active members? Only those who contribute time, talents and treasure? Only those who have at some time worshipped here? Or do we really mean community in the sense that we ought; those who gather to help one another? I pray that we mean the latter. I pray that when we speak of getting out into the community what really mean is that, like the Killdeer, we are prepared to gather with any and all who understand the wisdom of bearing one another’s burdens.