The Mockingbird (April/May 2014 Newsletter)

          It was nearly 11pm on a weeknight.  Marianne and I had been sitting on the sofa in our living room in Shelby, NC, chatting about one thing and another.  We wallowed in that groggy never land of too tired to sleep.  The window behind us was open, and the street was dark, still and quiet.

          After Marianne had wandered off to bed, I lingered on the sofa for a while.  About the time I had drifted off to sleep, the night sprang to life.  In the maple tree outside the window, a lone mockingbird unleashed a rare, nocturnal aria.  The hymn broke through the stillness with the kind of passion reserved for prophecy and grief.  The mockingbird sang as if it had only minutes left to live, only moments to pour out its last song as a glorious benediction upon the earth.

          Or could it have been an ancient song, a primordial refrain that I had just begun to hear?

          I turned out the light and sat back to listen.

          Like the first rays of dawn, the complex medley of birdsong pealed back the darkness.  The longer I listened, the more each perfect note revealed uncharted space for wonder.  How does a single, tiny throat have the capacity for such variety of phrase and strength of voice?  From what corner in so small a heart does such a song arise?  It seemed as though a hole had been punched in the floor of heaven and the liquid gold of angelsong had begun to spill into my yard.

          When the ecstasy tapered into silence, I sat still for a few moments, hoping that the bird was simply gathering new breath for new song.  The night remained still, but I continued both to hear and feel that music as it found a perch within my heart.

          Such moments of grace steal in to surprise, delight and renew us.  They are gifts of the Spirit that wing their way through all our days.  Sometimes they dart through like a nervous sparrow.  Other times, like that mockingbird, they roost outside the window and stun even our darkest nights with hope.

          May you be aware of those moments in your own life.  And may you claim your own voice to sing your verse of grace.

          The heavens are telling the glory of God;

          And the firmament proclaims his handiwork.

          Day to day pours forth speech,

          And night to night declares knowledge.

          There is no speech, nor are there words . . .

          Yet their voice goes out through all the earth,

          And their words to the end of the world.

                                                (Psalm 19:1-4)