Mt. Auburn Cemetery Memorial Service

“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.