How Can I Keep from Singing?

Let's face it, some sports just don't seem that exciting. Personally, I agree with Mark Twain that golf is a good walk ruined. To be fair, I've never tried the real thing, but the kind with windmills and water fountains, is relatively interesting because of the windmills and water fountains...and the promise of ice cream after the 18th hole. And the very idea of watching it on TV just seems absurd to me. Oh, I get it, if you are into it then it can become exciting because you can understand what it going on. Well, I participate in a sport whose very name sounds like an oxymoron: competitive birding. And I can absolutely assure you that it is the most boring spectator sport in the universe. If the sport were broadcast and you were to watch a team in the field, you would see a car going faster than it probably should on a back road in some secluded location, come to a quick stop, see the team members jump out of the car and stand silently, scanning the surroundings poised to raise their binoculars if needed, but for the most part simply listening. Oh, it might get really intense and they may cup their hands

around their ears to increase the chance of hearing a distant song. Then one of two things happen. If they are successful, someone points in the direction of some quiet, tiny sound and says “there!” If the team members are are alert and good birders they will nod and say “got it,” leading to a rush to get back into the car, which will peel out and be gone in an instant. If they are not so lucky, one or more of team mates has to admit that they didn't hear it and the waiting is extended. Even worse, sometimes the vigil yields nothing, the target bird remains silent as the seconds tick by. As the time approaches two minutes, someone is likely to mutter “this is killing us,” or “we are dying here.” Then someone takes the reins and declares that the team doesn't have time to spare and must go. The re-entry tends to go a bit slower, not only from the deflated energy of missing the bird, but in the bedrock unfounded optimism that the bird will call in the very last moment.

Scintillating, huh? I did my best to make it sound interesting, but I am well aware that unless you are a skilled participant in the sport of Big Day Birding (that's what we birders call the a day when the idea is to list as many species as possible) then you wouldn't have even enough knowledge to appreciate what the birders are doing and the boredom of being a spectator could only be broken by the humor of the knowledge that these otherwise intelligent individuals are acting in an absolutely insane manner. Who in their right mind would spend a week of sleep deprived bird watching in order to gather information precise enough to schedule 24 hours of 2 minute stops in order to be the team at midnight with the highest number of total species based totally on the honor system in order to win the prize of...wait for it...their name on a trophy?!?! Well, me for one. In less than 24 hours I'm leaving for New Jersey to compete in my 21st World Series of Birding hoping that this is the year my

name goes on the first place trophy having finished 3rd, 2nd, and 2nd the last three times I competed.

I share all of that to make one simple, but vital point about bird watching. That is that it involves a lot more listening than it does watching. Particularly in the spring, birds not only love to sing, but they cannot not sing. That's right, they are hardwired to sing. And fortunate for those of us chasing them that when their hormone levels rise in the spring as they anticipate breeding it causes them to sing. So it is not arriving on territory that triggers the behavior, it starts before they get there, so we are blessed with springs filled with music in the air, and the opportunity to find the singers.

When you hear it, you may think it is more babble than symphony, but regardless it is clearly the work of multiple voices together at once. For the most part, each species has its own unique songs and calls that it uses both to attract and repel. As humans, we can relate to birds singing to attract the attention of potential suitors, isn't that the reason behind so many of our love songs? We have less connection with the use of song as a way of defending territory. Birds stake their claim to an area by singing and often some visual displays. Their practice is overwhelmingly non-violent. If only we humans were to learn from them and settle our disputes with a battle of the bands instead of a clash of armies. 

Another thing we could stand to learn is that even if it doesn't always sound perfectly orchestrated to our ears, multiple voices are always better than unison. We don't all have to sound the same. The ancient tale of the Tower of Babel is meant to teach us that lesson. All of humanity was attempting to unite in an effort to establish a single identity. It was symbolized in the tower that would be higher than anything that had come before, a monument to human achievement. But it would have come at the expense of diversity. That is the point made by the scattering of the people and confusing of their language. The message is that God likes diversity, that the multiple voices are preferred even if they sound more like babble than symphony. 

The story of Pentecost is often preached as the answer to Babel. That is, the scattering and diversity is brought back together in unity. Granted, the birth of the church is a celebration of unity out of diversity, but that unity does not come at the cost of diversity. This is not a great homogenization of differences. Think about it as ice cream. Unless you are lactose intolerant, it is likely that you would agree that ice cream is good. You may not like all the many flavors, but you likely have a favorite or two. Your favorite is definitely not the favorite of everyone. Variety is a real positive when it comes to ice cream flavors. I think we can all agree that if the goal of ice cream unity were to be achieved by mixing all the flavors together it would result in ruining a good thing. When it comes to ice cream, diversity is a gift. Why should it be any less true when speaking about people and their gifts? Notice that in the Pentecost story the miracle is not that everyone suddenly understands the Aramaic that the Apostles are speaking, but rather that the diversity-loving Holy Spirit empowers the Apostles to speak a variety of languages.

Trying to identify birds from their songs is an opportunity to learn this Pentecost lesson. We have to learn to listen. We have to pay attention to, and value differences. We have to associate the unknown with something known so that we can learn what amounts to a new language. In doing so, we make connections across the divide, even the divide between species. With practice and patience, we can not only learn what the birds are saying, but in some cases we can even enter the conversation. Most birds will respond to an imitation of their song. Wouldn't it be fun to be Doctor Doolittle? While you may not talk to the animals, learn their languages, you most certainly can talk to your neighbor, who even if they speak English, may speak a different “language” than yours. The big story of scripture, from Babel to Pentecost, and creation itself, points us in the direction of valuing diversity. All you need to do is stop your own babble long enough to hear the symphony that is going on around you. And in that quiet you begin to make the connections that the Wild Goose of God's Spirit that you have been chasing, wants you to make. Let those who have ears to hear, listen.