Birds of a Feather Splash Together

The discipline of Christian life is mostly about learning to be still and listen. Timothy Radcliffe (Take the Plunge)

I glanced outside this morning and found quite a variety of birds splashing around in the birdbath we’ve got in the backyard. I’ve been filling it (and one out front) quite diligently all through the spring and summer, but this is the first time this year I’ve actually found it being used. I presume that perhaps fear of contracting Avian Flu has kept my feathered friends from gathering. I note, also, that this summer seems to have been cooler and wetter than usual.

In summers past, birds and squirrels always seemed to enjoy frolicking in the little concrete ponds we’ve got around the house. They’re generally pretty safe, and on those odd occasions a neighborhood cat sneaks into the yard, they’re up high enough (and out in the open) so they really needn’t worry about a sneak attack from the fuzzy felines that roam the green-scapes around here.

The only time the fonts are an issue is when some of the crows decide they want to enjoy a sip of the wet stuff. I don’t want to fat-shame the pudgy darlings, but a couple times they’ve toppled the bowls off the columns as they’ve set their plump rumps too close to the edge too carelessly.

Be that as it may be, I enjoy watching birds splashing around. I am fascinated by the sparkling water drops flying to and fro every bit as much as if they were being shaken off a dog coming in out of the lake. It is amazing how much water those dainty creatures can displace with their feathers. 

Picture Note: It was interesting (to me) that a variety of birds

could enjoy the bath without fighting or arguing.

Photo credit: Keith Axberg (2020)

If and when the bowl gets toppled, I simply go on out and set it back up and fill it again. It’s not that heavy, and I think word gets around about what the crows have done, so once they’ve toppled the font, they stay away for a while. I think the robins, swallows, and starlings make fun of them, to be honest, and I’m sure I’ve heard a humming bird or two go from humming to hee hawing on occasion. 

That can’t sit well with the Corvus Corax crew. They are surprisingly sensitive creatures, you know, and embarrass easily. They’re also quite smart. They warn each other when a car is coming, but sadly are often hit by pickups because they can’t say, “truck,” instead of “caw.” So when the other birds make fun of them they simply move on (as they have no caws to stick around).

People should be like that. People should be able to pick up and move on when things in life bug them or hurt them. Believe it or not, there are people on social media who have different views than me, and as we find the sites increasingly bombarded by political nastiness, I find I can either stick around and fight fire with fire (or toss water on the firebrands who burn me up), or I can simply scroll quickly past those I suspect to be less than correct. I choose the latter course.

I’ve only unfriended one person, and that was due to their attacking friends of mine. After repeated requests for them to be kind (and their refusal to do so), I unfriended and blocked them. I hated doing it because I honestly value hearing different perspectives. But I won’t abide nastiness (even among those with whom I am otherwise in agreement). So I have chosen to scroll past (quickly) so as to avoid them soiling the water in which I am cooling my feathers.

Timothy Radcliffe suggests we take time to be still and listen, and I think that’s a sentiment worth embracing. The problem with social media is that what was once intended to bring us closer together has become a megaphone from which we humans spew forth the ugliness of what’s on our minds and in our hearts.

Saint Paul tells us if it doesn’t build us up, or help build up the community, we would be wise to toss it overboard. If a wide variety of birds  can share the birdbath without squabbling in my neighborhood, maybe we can learn to share the blessings of our lives here in this, our valley, too.

Cleanliness Can Be Cat o’tonic

Let your continual mercy, O Lord, cleanse and defend your church … Book of Common Prayer (Proper 13)

I had the wonderful opportunity to take care of our daughter’s cat while she and her family were away on vacation last week. Sophie (the cat) is about twelve years old and very well behaved. At her age, she has slowed down a bit. I suspect her sleep-time runs about twenty to twenty-two hours a day. I remember when she was younger and never slept more than eighteen hours a day.

Be that as it may, I found myself amazed at just how much dust and loose fur filled the house with her presence. She was a walking, living, breathing debris field, and there was really no staying ahead of her mess-wise. She tracked cat litter throughout the house after doing her business; she left evidence of her wanderings atop the stove and kitchen island, window sills, and every other horizontal surface.

I got to wondering if God doesn’t have that same issue with us. We often think of God as living “up there” in heaven, even though Jesus made it very clear that we live in heaven right here on earth. It isn’t that there isn’t also that heavenly abode upstairs, but it is dangerous for us to ignore this earth, our island home, as being outside of God’s own presence or influence. The earth is not a disposable diaper in which we do our business and, when finished, see it taken off and thrown away by the Great Diaper Changer in the Sky.

The creation story reminds us we live in a garden. We are called to take care of it, and to take care of one another. 

I should note that our daughter didn’t “dump” the cat on us, either. She asked if I would take care of Sophie. I know their cat is precious to them, and rather than run over to their house to feed and water the cat (which was their request), I offered to house the cat here so she wouldn’t feel neglected or abandoned. 

Despite my allergies to cat dander and the consequent stuffy nose, tight chest, and other unpleasant discomforts, I considered those temporary travails as piffle when compared to the delights of providing hearth and home to a feline companion for such a comparatively short period of time.

The collect (prayer) quoted atop this column acknowledges the truth that someone always needs to watch over us and to clean up after us. Sophie  is an indoor cat, which is good; I didn’t want to risk losing it or having her run away or bring home fleas, ticks, or get run over by the neighborhood cars and trucks. But it also meant there was the added responsibility of entertaining her royal highness and meeting her various needs (which actually weren’t many).

God does that for us, too. Just as I cleaned the cat box daily and saw to it there was fresh food (as needed) and fresh water throughout the day (even adding ice cubes so the water would be fresh and cool, and not old and stale), so God provides for us and “continually” rewards us with God’s own good favor. 

Although there is much I can (and do) grump and grouse about, the fact is that life is and has been pretty good for me. Still, my attitude often stinks, and for that reason I really identify with the prayer, asking not just for a spot of God’s mercy, but for that “continual mercy” to wash over me like a cat o’ract, because the fact is, I am continually making little messes that, over time, will become big messes, and I don’t see them as easily in their development as God does with his untrammeled vision and overflowing wisdom.

A friend reminded me that cats don’t have owners; they have staff. I worry I sometimes treat God more like staff than as the true lover and companion God considers me to be. That would be cat o’strophic, wouldn’t it? I hope I’m not so cat o’tonic I can’t change; that would be cat o’clysmic!

God, help us become what you’ve always called us to be here in this, your valley. Amen.